Page 114

Sistine

M y husband’s paternal grandfather made a commanding figure.

His maternal grandfather, Everett Poésy, made one as well, even in a hospital bed.

He was in good spirits, even being flirty with the nurses as they darted in and out of his hospital room.

I had met him at our wedding in Grosseto, but it had been a short interaction. He mostly drank and smoked cigars.

He kissed my hand when I moved closer to the bed with Mariano. He remembered my name and told both of us not to worry. The doctors said he had been dying from heart disease for years.

He seemed to have had many recoveries. Mariano confirmed this on the ride from the hospital back to his parents’ place. His grandfather was taken to a place called New Orleans about four hours from Natchitoches. With the way Mariano drove, it seemed to take much less time.

My husband was quiet most of the drive; he had been quiet most of the time since we left Italy. However, he always kept my hand in his, unless it was necessary to separate, as if to say, we are not seeing eye to eye, but that does not stop my love for you .

This gesture made me feel safe in love. I glanced at him and sighed, part wistful and part frustrated.

He had a black eye and split lip. He had allowed me to press a cool compress on his eye and some product on the cut when we first arrived.

We said nothing to each other, but our eyes held the connection, even if we were at odds with what I had done—kept Iggy’s visit from him.

I could not change my decision to hold out on telling him.

I redirected my thoughts.

My mother-in-law.

Scarlett was quiet, almost drawn into herself since the moment we had touched down. Her sister, Charlotte, reminded me of my own.

From the moment I met this Charlotte, I did not like her.

She shared a kindred spirit with my evil sister.

Scarlett and Charlotte even shared the same first initials as me and my evil sister.

S and C . Scarlett also shared coloring close to mine, darker hair and paler skin.

Charlotte was blond and tan, same as Capri.

The similarities were almost uncanny.

Except for a glaring difference.

Charlotte had not gotten pregnant by a Fausti.

My hand tightened into a fist at my side.

Scarlett seemed safe from seeing her sister often.

I would have to suffer mine for the rest of my life, since the Fausti family were a tight bunch.

My husband’s eyes cut to mine. “I’m going to take care of it,” he said, his voice quiet, but the vow behind it was plain truth.

“You are inside of my mind, Mariano Fausti,” I whispered.

“Not fucking deep enough,” he said, and I knew he was referring to Rattler and Iggy.

I wondered whether he would be able to read my deepest thoughts someday, not only sniff at them, knowing something was right or wrong.

We pulled into a rock-lined driveway, the tires of the car crackling against them.

The land had privacy bushes lining the front of the property, and it was not a far drive, but when it opened, it opened to a…

home. This was what it felt to me instantly.

A safe place in the world, just as our place in Wyoming was.

Matteo and Stella had left the hospital before us. We had stopped on the way home because I was hungry. Matteo was standing on the front porch, looking out at the yard, Stella holding his arm and rubbing his back.

Mariano’s eyes narrowed on his brother’s form, as if he was reading the situation we were walking into. He sighed, walked to my side of the truck, and opened my door. He took my hand, but I kept his in a firm grip.

Perhaps in that moment, it was not much, but I wanted him to know I was there—the woman who would always be there for him. As if he could read my mind, he lifted my hand and kissed it.

Matteo rose to his full height and cleared his throat, meeting my husband’s eyes.

“Gramps is gone,” he said.

A few beats of silence.

“I am so sorry,” I whispered to my husband and his brother. I pulled my husband’s arm closer, holding it against me. He kissed the top of my head, almost absentmindedly.

Stella leaned her head against her husband’s arm, kissing his bicep. “I am so sorry too,” she whispered. Matteo held her close, as if he wanted her to disappear beneath his skin so he could carry her in this world and all others.

I knew this feeling. My husband did the same with me.

More crackling from the drive. It sounded to me the same as splitting hearts in that moment.

“There’s Marciano and Maestro,” my sister-in-law said, her voice soft. “Why don’t we make dinner, Sistine, while Matteo and Mariano talk to Marciano and Maestro?”

Mia and Saverio were still at the hospital with her mamma and papà. I assumed one of them had called and given the news about Gramps to Matteo. It all just seemed so…unexpected. We had just been speaking to him. He had been laughing, and he was… andato .

A few seconds.

A few minutes.

A few hours.

Gone.

Rising on my toes, I kissed my husband on the cheek, then barely touched my brother-in-law on the arm on the way into the house. I followed Stella in. She sighed, and I did as well after we were inside.

Stella was a…movie star, and this was exactly what she reminded me of. Her hair was a beautiful shade of strawberry blond, thick and wavy, and her skin seemed to have crushed gold underneath the surface. She just seemed to… glow.

Her eyes were blue, but they were closer to grey on the color wheel.

There was something otherworldly about her that I did not have a word for, except to label her as such.

I noticed my brother-in-law’s eyes when she was around.

They seemed to lighten. Not as dark. He seemed to lighten when she was close, not only physically but someplace deeper, as if his wife was the reason his lot in life was lighter, the demands on him as the future ruler of the Fausti family not as burdensome.

The star and I worked silently side by side, except for conversation about the dinner we were preparing. We both seemed lost to our own thoughts.

I was lost to the thoughts of…life.

A life without my husband.

I thought of Scarlett’s mamma, Pnina, and it seemed I could not take her shoes off—I could not stop imagining walking this earth without my husband next to me.

Even the thought of it caused a pain I had never felt before.

It was as if a place inside of me, always there but quiescent, had taken a breath, come to life, and it would never again allow me to forget that it existed.

It was an ache that could not be silenced unless my husband was next to me and we breathed in the same air, existed underneath the same sky.

Sighing out a trembling breath, I used the back of my hand to wipe my eyes as I chopped onions. I could not stop the tears. My sister-in-law’s eyes were glossy, as if she might cry tears of mercury.

We squeezed hands, a silent acknowledgement of our feelings. We were feeling the same. I handed her an onion, and we both cried silent, anguished tears as we prepared a solemn meal.