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I truly understood what he meant when he had warned me about forces from the outside attempting to steal what we shared.

The world always wanted what it, perhaps, could not understand.

It was attracted to it. Wanted to dig in deep and find out the mechanics of it.

Dissect it for its own nefarious reasons.

Science had no place in something as mysterious as love.

“Love looks good on you, Fausti,” I whispered as we swayed to a slow song.

“Get your own line, lil’ outlaw.” He grinned at me. “Stop stealing mine.”

“Ah, you mean, like you stole my heart?” I pretended to muse.

“Fucking punny,” he said.

“Yes!” I laughed.

He kissed me, and there was no pretending.

I faded into him, and although the night was almost a soft blur, even that faded when he possessed my heart and soul in that way.

When we separated, our eyes kept the connection, and we left.

I could not stop touching him as he navigated the choppy water back to our shore.

He lifted me out of the boat, but he did not put me down. His eyes studied the sand.

“Are you looking for a fiddler to challenge?” I joked. “You do not have to worry about your…claw. It has won.” I laughed, and he promptly set me back in the boat. “Where are we going?” I asked as he sped away from our private area of the beach.

“Back to the other island.”

“For what?” I asked in Italian.

“I forgot your handkerchief at the table.”

“It is not that important.”

“It is to me.”

“Oka yyy .” I drew the word out.

He said nothing, but I could tell his demeanor had changed.

He was no longer in the tide with me but fighting against it.

I took a cleansing breath, sobering some.

When we arrived at the other private island, the band had left and music drifted from the speakers; some of the guests were still dancing.

The torches from the tiki lights stretched along the sand.

The water was a dark void that did not seem as friendly when I could not see it.

Nino, Dr. Musa, Oscar, and a few other men arrived a few minutes later.

Mariano stood from his seat and kissed my head. “Bathroom,” he said, setting a glass of pink lemonade in front of me.

“You are leaving me?”

“Not for long.”

He did not waste time. He rushed toward the bathroom as if there was an issue, and Nino, Dr. Musa, and Oscar stayed with me.

A few soldiers loitered around on the edges of the pavilion as well.

Dr. Musa started a conversation with me, but it was hard to focus.

I had a feeling Mariano was…up to something. Or perhaps something was off.

It was the first time since we arrived that time became reality again.

He was longer than usual in the bathroom, and when I saw him, I stood abruptly. “Where have you been?” I asked, my tone accusing.

He rubbed his stomach, as if he had trouble with it, but said nothing as he set his hand on my lower back, ushering me toward the waiting boat.

“I do not understand what is happening,” I said to him.

He lifted the handkerchief.

I was not sure why, but it felt as if he was holding up a flag, but it was not the one for surrender.

Three days later, I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, getting ready for our last date on the island. After the concert, Mariano said we were leaving in four days’ time. I did not understand the sudden rush, but…I knew it had to do with something he noticed about the sand.

I went over that night with a fine-tooth comb, and it was the only explanation I could come up with. I could have asked him, but I knew he was only going to skirt around the issue, perhaps not to worry me.

What could be so worrisome on this island?

Perhaps he had noticed tracks in the sand? What else could there have been?

I dropped my lipstick in my makeup bag harder than intended.

Sighing, I looked myself in the eye. I fixed a couple of spots on my face that had smeared from the humidity.

It was hard to get my makeup to stay when it felt as if I was just stepping out of the shower without drying off.

My hair was unruly as well. I had slicked it back in a bun on purpose.

I wanted my husband to go wild and take it down.

After applying the tropical-scented cream to my arms, I stepped into my long, silk dress.

I had been wearing colors that matched my husband’s eyes, and the dress I had decided to wear for our farewell dinner on the island reflected that.

A slinky, halter-top dress with a cut showing some side breast. Since our date was being held on our private beach, which Mariano went to check all was in order with, I was going sans shoes.

The gown moved like cool water against my skin when I moved.

I applied the residual cream on my palms to my legs, using the sunken in bathtub to help me keep my balance. The dress also had a split, and it easily moved to the side. I stood, finishing up, sighing. I turned and jumped.

When my heart rate returned to normal, I said, “You are too quiet!”

My husband’s eyes were serious on mine. His body moved toward me, and my hands came up, pressing against his chest. He had dressed as well in a thin shirt that was somewhat relaxed but still showed off his physique.

A pair of soft pants were rolled at his ankles.

The most stunning feature on him, besides his natural given ones?

The wedding band on his left hand. He wore it proudly.

He stared into my eyes.

I swallowed hard.

My breathing picked up.

As a magician would, he produced two gold earrings in the shape of suns, the rays almost reminding me of fire. Each one had tiny diamonds set inside of them. I looked down, touching them.

Before I could take one, he closed his palm, turning me toward the mirror, and put them in my ears.

Then he slipped two chunky matching bracelets on my left wrist. His fingertips glided along my arms, to the sides of the dress, where my skin was exposed, close to my breasts.

He made circle patterns, getting close, but not close enough.

A breath trembled out of my mouth.

“This dress stays here,” he said, his voice rough.

“Unless Guerriero the wa te r horse gets it first,” I whispered.

“Yeah, he fucking might.” He looked at me again. “Fuck might.” He took my hand and led me out of the bathroom, through the bure , and outside.

The evening air was full of humidity, windy, and I was thankful I had styled my hair the way I had.

It would not come loose while I ate. I could smell the scent of roasting meat and spices in the air.

A table had been set up with white linen cloths and fine china.

Candles swayed inside of lanterns that had been placed all around the sand.

The true fire came from the residual heat of the sun.

The beach glowed with streaks of peach and pink.

The world around us was highlighted, even us.

My husband pulled my seat out.

Women who worked on the island served us dinner from the inside of our bure . They were so friendly, very warm and welcoming, but after our plates were filled, they left.

“Steak,” I breathed out, my mouth watering. “Juicy steak.”

After I had gotten sick from the food at the banquet, I had not looked at seafood in the same way.

I tore into my food, savoring every bite.

It was a miracle I had not gained weight on the island, but perhaps because we were active (even staying in bed with Mariano Fausti counted as my daily exercise), my weight seemed to be staying the same.

Although I was leaner in places, more defined. No sight of a bulge yet.

We ate in silence for a moment or two until Mariano took a drink, then cleared his throat. “Why do you love my brothers?”

The question came so fast, no rhyme or reason, my head almost spun.

I set my fork down, dabbing my lips with a cloth napkin. “I believe the term I used was siblings…”

“Meaning, my sister and brothers.”

I nodded. “As family. Just as family.”

He nodded. “Even Matteo?”

Where was this headed? I was almost anxious to find out, however… “Is there something wrong with him?”

He shrugged. “I get Marciano. He’s a little…” He made a twirly motion against his temple. “Like when he was a kid, he was the only one who ever threw a tantrum, and when someone on mamma’s side died, he said, ‘ Fucking sweet. We get donuts and food. ’”

The drink I had just taken sprayed out. Mariano grinned, wiping his face with his hand. Then he licked his lips, as if he were tasting me in the drink.

“Papà Brando must have whooped his culo for that.”

“Nah,” he said. “My old man mostly talked to us. We knew how far to push. None of us wanted to go toe to toe with him. Not even Marci. We respect our father.”

I grinned. “Marci ano hates when you call him that.”

“I know.” His grin came slow.

“I have no problem with Matteo.” I waved a hand, dismissing an issue.

He stared at me for a second. “Most people find him intense.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps another man would, but I do not find him intimidating.” I lifted a finger. “No more intimidating than you.”

“You find me intimidating.”

What was with all these questions? Or even statements? I was not sure, but I enjoyed getting to know him this way, or allowing him to know me this way.

“Look who is curious now, Mariano Fausti.”

He shrugged. “I know how far to take curiosity. Only to you. Answer the question, Annie.”

I sighed, setting my drink down. “Yes,” I answered honestly.

“How do I explain this…I am not afraid of you—this is not what I meant. I mean…your eyes…ah, I do not know. Your eyes are full of hunger and thirst, and I feel the starvation and dehydration when you look at me, and I am the only source that can quench your thirst and stave off your hunger.”

“This is true.”

I shrugged, going for another piece of meat. “This is where we are, then. The truth.”

“It’s different with Matteo, though. He doesn’t look at you in that way.”