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“No,” I agreed. “He looks at his wife in this way.”

He nodded.

“This means…” I sighed, knowing he wanted more for some reason. “He does not look at me the way you do, there is no connection except for a familial one, and he does not bother me. This is the same as Rosaria Caffi. Most are bothered by her. I am not. She bleeds red, the same as me.”

“You see people as people—instead of monsters and witches.”

“I have been accused of being a witch before. I am not. You have seen me swim, Mariano Fausti. I do not have magical powers. I sway like a turtle. You, on the other hand…” I tilted my head. “Why all these questions about monsters and witches?”

“In my life, Annie, our life now, some people are not just people. They might bleed, but it’s different blood, even if it’s the same color.

They are monsters and witches. Don’t fucking try to humanize them by giving them skin, bones, blood—all of the things people have.

It’s nothing but masks, understand?” He held a hand up, stopping me before I could even say the words he was about to answer.

“The Faustis are different. They wear the truth on their faces as badges of honor. Even if they do intend to harm you. But the world is not made of all Fausti men.”

“I do understand this. I was taught this lesson at an early age. Beginning with my sister.”

“Worse,” he said.

“Rattler.”

“Bad, but a plaything to men like me.” He rolled his teeth over his bottom lip. His eyes went dark, only the light on the table reflected inside of his irises.

Or perhaps it was the sun completely fading from the sky. A silver moon appeared, its reflection shimmering over the dark water.

I waved a hand, my new bracelets clinking against each other.

“I do not wish to discuss this.” It was the first time I had snapped.

Iggy and what he had done kept coming to mind.

I had wanted to tell my husband numerous times, but in paradise, I did not want to discuss it.

I did not want to discuss it on the mainland either.

I did not know when to tell him, only that I must.

“Maybe not now.” He eyed me harder than he had been. When it came to me, I had a feeling he was as touched as his mamma. He instinctually knew my feelings. “We will. Sooner or later.”

I sucked in a breath, forcing the next words out. “I have to tell you something, Marito mio .” I squeezed the cloth napkin. His eyes did not move from mine, but still, I knew he caught the action.

He nodded at me.

Perhaps my knuckles were turning white from the strain. My rings glittered in the light of the moon. I touched my engagement ring, the priceless blood diamond, attempting to gain strength from fate.

“I—” I opened my mouth and clucked. Ah, wrong expression, though related.

I chickened out. I did not want to end our first time on the island this way.

“My mamma told me that my sister pushed me down the stairs when I was a child. She might have, ah, tried to kill me.” I shrugged.

“Witches, as we were just speaking of. Mamma was delusional at the time…” I went into detail, describing when she had hit me.

He became very still, almost as a statue would. Even his hair did not move. He had gelled it. Still, it was almost unnerving. He made a ticking noise with his mouth, as though he was calling Guerriero to his side for battle.

It seemed when sanity made it to his mind, he was able to clear whatever emotion he was feeling from his throat. I could not tell which unnerved me the most. When he had been far away or when he was in the moment.

“You didn’t tell me this before,” he said.

“There was never a good time.”

“Remo hear this?”

He said it so calmly, casually, but there was an undercurrent tugging at me, warning me.

“You left him as my security!” I picked up the napkin and flung it down.

He said nothing, but I could read the resentment in his eyes, even in the darkness, even if he did not speak a word.

He had no choice but to leave me there—I was his wife, and I had made the decision for both of us.

I regretted the time apart, Dio , did I, but I could not find it inside of myself to regret the moment he found me in the maze.

No one could challenge it. It was a decree, more powerful than any Luca Fausti could speak or sign.

I turned my face away from his, not able to hold his gaze.

My eyes started to burn, and two teardrops bubbled to the surface and fell from my eyes.

I was not sure why I was crying over this, perhaps because I knew what his reaction would be to Iggy breaking into my room, and I wanted to erase it. Erase it from the timeline of my life.

“Annie,” he called.

I turned to him, and the cool tears stuck to my cheeks, the wind keeping them hostage there. He rose from his seat, moving my chair, and picked me up. He kissed the lines of tears all the way up to each of my eyes.

A snap of lightning.

A roll of thunder.

Rain started to fall, easily at first, and then it became a downpour.

He kept us in the sudden storm, and I held onto him.

“Tell me, are you afraid of storms now, my wife,” he said in Italian.

“No.” I shook my head. “Also, yes. Only if you are not beside me during them.”

He nodded, and ever so softly, he kissed my lips. He kissed me while he carried me inside, both of us soaked to the skin. His thin shirt stuck to his powerful form. My dress clung to me. My nipples were hard and pressing against the thin fabric.

He let my hair down, watching as it cascaded over my shoulders in wild waves.

“Fuck me sideways,” he said. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The solar lights had turned on, and the bure had a glow about it, almost as if candles had been lit. Shadows rose and climbed the walls, waving and shimmering as water would.

He pulled my body into his, his hand slipping underneath my hair. I gasped when his mouth came on mine, as starved as he had been for dinner.

We raged all night long, longer than the storm.