Page 119

Sistine

T he conversation at the table was heated. We had all been summoned to the dining room, where a family meeting was taking place.

That night, in his will, Gramps had requested a party in his honor at the local bar in town, The Road House, as a celebration of his life. However, I was not sure if all sitting at the table were going to attend.

Mariano’s aunt, who Stella and I referred to as “the evil aunt” in secret, had called the meeting.

She demanded to know who was getting what, as far as Gramp’s belongings.

Charlotte’s husband, Travis Becker, sat next to her, their children and spouses if applicable next to them, as the evil aunt went on a rant as to why this was necessary.

“I don’t want to have to war it out with the leech if I don’t have to,” Charlotte snapped at Pnina. “Daddy would have wanted this.”

“If Daddy would have wanted this,” Scarlett piped up, “it would have been in his will. I don’t want anything. You can have it all. But as of right now, all of Daddy’s belongings go to Mati .”

Mati —meaning mother in Slovenian. Mariano had told me that, although his grandmother had Italian roots on her father’s side, her mother, Maja Resnik, his famous ballerina great-grandmother, was Slovenian.

The family could speak the language. Mariano rarely did, but he could if he needed to.

His mamma, he had told me, still spoke to them in the language.

The conversation sometimes took that turn at the table, and although the grandchildren understood it, it did not seem as if their spouses did—or the spouses of Scarlett and Charlotte.

Perhaps to a certain extent, but not fully.

I was lost at times. Lost and ready to stand from the table and walk away.

Charlotte reminded me so much of Capri, I almost lost my cool a few times and flipped the table over.

“Insufferable,” I muttered to myself.

Charlotte’s narrowed eyes came to mine. “You have something to say, say it.”

“Enough!” Pnina rubbed her temples. “What do you want, Charlotte?”

“What’s mine!”

“Meaning…everything,” Scarlett said.

“You have always been the bane of this family’s existence!”

My hand had been in Mariano’s the entire time, and at this, I squeezed. If his hand would have been a lemon, I would have enough juice to make limoncello.

“Look who’s talking.” Scarlett laughed, but there was no humor in it.

It was drier than the humid air. Scarlett lifted a hand toward her sister, her gold bangle bands clinking as she did.

“Daddy isn’t even gone an entire week, and you’re sniffing around his things.

I’m surprised you haven’t cleared this entire place out.

Even the rugs—so you can sleep on them like the bitch you are. ”

Charlotte stood from her seat abruptly. Scarlett did as well. It seemed like the two women might lunge over the table at each other. Brando had been right behind Scarlett, his eyes on Charlotte’s husband, who looked interested and bored at the same time.

Interested when the valuables, property, and money were brought up. Bored at this point in the proceedings. He met my eyes and smiled at me.

“The usual,” he said, shrugging.

My husband gave him a cold, detached look—one that could freeze the air. His uncle by marriage turned away from me. However, I got the impression he was a sleaze ball, as Atta called some men.

Pnina stood from the table. She looked at Scarlett. “What do you want?”

Scarlett shook her head. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Whatever Daddy has is yours to give or not as you want. I just know you don’t want his dogs. Neither does the woman sitting across from me.”

“Hah!” The leech slammed her hands on her hips. “I do want his dogs. Mati?”

Pnina sighed. “Scarlett gets the dogs. The rest...” She waved a hand. “I am too tired to discuss right now.”

“ Mati !”

“ Mom .”

All eyes turned toward the oldest of Charlotte’s sons, Charles, who seemed like a decent man. It seemed as if all the Fausti siblings got along with all of Charlotte’s children. It was Charlotte herself, and her husband, who seemed to be the problem.

“Let it go for now,” he said. “Gramps just left us. This isn’t fair to Babica.

And as a lawyer, I can tell you, Babica doesn’t have to decide today who gets what.

She’s still here!” He stood from his chair so fast it almost fell to the ground.

Marciano caught it before Charles’s wife did.

She stood after her husband and ran behind him.

“Go to your room, Charlotte,” Pnina whispered, but her voice was laced with sadness. “Just…go to your room. You make me tired.”

Charlotte’s mouth fell open, and she huffed and stormed out of the room. Her husband drained the rest of his drink and went for the covered patio in the back of the house. He seemed to enjoy smoking cigars and getting drunk off the finest alcohol the house had to offer.

Pnina started to pass Scarlett. She stopped. It seemed as if the room was holding its breath, as if mother and daughter touching was a rare occurrence. I knew this feeling. I did not get hugged or touched either. I was the outcast, same as Scarlett was.

Although…I sensed a change in her mother. Perhaps the woman was coming to see how wrong she had been about whatever she had put Scarlett through. Mia had given me a hint. Marciano as well.

Scarlett and I were kindred spirits in this.

Pnina seemed to move closer to Scarlett, then she took her hand back, straightened her designer pantsuit, and left the room.

The air seemed to flow back in.

We all stood, going our separate ways.

The sky was overcast, and I stared out the window as I searched for signs of another storm as Brando spoke to his sons in a hushed tone.

It was as if we were back at the funeral again.

Mariano squeezed my shoulder and then went upstairs after the talk with his father.

I followed the path he took to our room.

He was going to change out of his suit and into something he could run in.

Always racing.

My eyes scanned the antique pictures on the way back down. A line of them hung on the walls. They were so old they had been done in paint. The eyes. The eyes made me shiver, and I rubbed my arms, feeling cold suddenly.

The eyes seemed to follow.

“Same,” Scarlett said as she stood beside me.

“Those pictures have always given me an odd feeling. It’s as if the painter knew how to take a part of his subject and set it in motion for all time.

Those people are related to me. Not that they scare me, but…

let’s just say they’ve always reminded me of those dolls that can open and close their eyes.

” She sighed. “Our men are going for a run. Mia’s cooking dinner.

Stella’s going to nap. Want to walk with me?

We’ve never truly had a chance to talk.”

I nodded.

She held out her arm for me and I took it.

We helped each other into rain boots before we stepped outside.

She whistled for her father’s dogs (now her and Brando’s dogs), and they came bounding down the steps, each taking a side.

Perhaps some people did not believe dogs could understand death, but I had always felt they understood loss, felt it as deeply as we did.

Once a connection is formed, no matter what type of animal, they feel it as we do when it is severed.

This was why some animals refused to eat and grieved themselves to death.

I had a feeling Everett’s dogs would do the same if they stayed with Pnina or were forced to go with Charlotte. The dogs seemed at home with Scarlett. The warmth from this thought filled my heart some.

The humid air seeped into my clothes as soon as we stepped out the door.

It felt as if pressure surrounded us, and as soon as it broke again, we would be able to breathe again.

This was weather that fish could enjoy outside of the water.

The dogs did not seem to mind it either.

Scarlett flung a ball, and they both chased after it.

One of the dogs brought it to me and I did the same as Scarlett, smiling as they both gave chase.

Scarlett smiled at me. “You’re good with animals.”

“I love them,” I admitted.

“Horses?”

“My relationship with horses is complicated,” I admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I—” I stopped.

My husband’s father exited the house before his sons, one right behind the other.

I was sure a million years could pass, and no matter how many times my husband passed my vision, I would stop and stare.

He was…breathtaking. Part lion, part stallion, in a man’s form.

He nodded to me, giving me a look I knew meant— stay on the path with my mamma .

Men surrounded the place, although at times, they were brilliant at keeping in the shadows.

Scarlett and I seemed to come back to ourselves at the same time.

She was living proof that being close with a Fausti for years did not make a woman immune to their charms. She looked at her husband as if it was the first time—time and time again.

He returned this look, initiated it before she did, time and time again.

She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Horses, you were saying.”

“This was what we were discussing?”

We stared at each other, then we both grinned in tandem.

“My relationship with horses is complicated.” I showed her my teeth. “Therein lies the problem.”

“You’ve been bitten.”

“Knocked off before the bite.”

She did not seem to want to, but she grinned. “You smell like apples.”

“So I have been told.” I waved a hand. “I have braved them because I love them, even if I do keep my distance now.”

“You are brave.”

We stopped walking and faced each other. One of the dogs came up and nuzzled her hand. She petted the animal’s head before she flung the ball past me.

“I have had to be.” I sighed. “My life…my life has been so much like yours.”