Page 125

Sistine

I had begun to wonder if smiling could be considered a permanent disorder. Not to mention the fact that, paired with dreamy eyes, it made most people look like psychopaths, especially in ordinary situations.

Or people who were inflicted by the smiling disorder had been hit by the thunderbolt of love.

I was in the latter group.

I had been struck by a thunderbolt named Mariano Leone Fausti, who could cause me to be as spicy as he could sweet. One minute I wanted to strangle his tough Fausti throat while hitting him in his hard Fausti head, and the next, I wanted to heal him.

At all times—I wanted to make love to him.

My eyes cut to his on the plane back to Italy. We were enroute to Tuscany first before we went home to Grosseto. My husband was eager to have the meeting with his grandfather and Lev. The favor I had asked of him seemed to be keeping him contained, at least for the moment.

Although the thought of Italy and all it entailed made me feel as if an elephant sat on my chest and my throat was tight, we were miles above the world, and I had learned from my husband to take the time to relax. He was working at his computer, and I watched him, which was no work at all.

Somehow.

Someway.

Over the course of our time in Louisiana, he had become more stunning to me.

This happened quite a bit. No matter where we were, what we were doing, we were constantly getting to know each other.

This thrilled me to my core. There was so much to learn about my husband, things I had yet to discover.

And somehow, I knew, for the rest of my life I would hunger to keep getting to know him.

I had accepted this path the moment I made vows to him.

My husband had confided in me his plans about getting to know me forever as well. He had said his great-uncle, the great and wise doctor, Tito Sala, had once told him that women were butterflies, their lives a constant metamorphosis of change.

Mariano had added that, if women were butterflies, then men should become chameleons.

The basis of who they were would stay the same—a rock is always a rock—but their acceptance of their wives during each season of her life should change colors to reflect hers as well.

This way, both husband and wife kept close in the walk of life together.

I had a feeling Prozio Tito would love this new addition.

Without looking up from his computer, he said, “Tell me.” Then he looked at me. He had known the entire time that my eyes were on him, but he was proving to me that even when he was not looking at me, he knew where I was, always.

These subtle gestures were the language of the Fausti family. Sì , the men of the blood could be explosive, but other times, if you slack on their metaphors, you lose out on the core of who they were.

My husband.

I sighed.

He was skilled at subtle gestures and just as talented with reading who I was.

The Mustang, for instance. I could not stop smiling about it.

I could not stop smiling over the bar fight.

Mariano did not have to, but he had gone with it.

All the men had. I believed because the men knew we needed the release.

Everett Poésy, also known as Gramps…I was not sure of all he had done in his life, but in his death, he had somewhat redeemed himself in my eyes.

In a sad and heavy time, when even a less than perfect man was being grieved, he had brought us together and made us appreciate…

life. He did not demand we cry for a life that was lost, but we celebrate a life that was, perhaps, well lived.

Perhaps in some respects it was too well lived, as far as women were concerned, but when Pnina ( Babica ) gave a speech at her husband’s celebration of life, this was what she had said about him as she stared at Scarlett.

“I can never remember a time in my life that my husband did not make me feel. Good. Bad. He made me feel alive.”

I gestured to my husband’s face and body.

“Even without the shell, Mariano Leone Fausti. Without this—” I motioned to the plane but meant worldly goods “—I would still be yours. You are much more than those things.” I motioned to his face and body again.

“Then this.” I motioned around us. “Your heart. The way you love me. How safe you make me feel in love. In life. This is everything to me. In a world that does not always value these things any longer, you do.” I pointed to his heart and then set my hand over my own.

Just the thought of him made it race in my chest, but it also calmed me as nothing else in this world ever could.

“You value these sacred things. You value me . You protect them. You protect me .”

He cleared his throat. “ Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies, my wife.”

Our eyes connected.

“I am not finished,” I whispered. “ You , Mariano Leone Fausti, my husband, are what God intended a man to be for a woman. For me.”

The connection moved between us.

He flung his computer to the side and, getting down on one knee in front of me, took my hands, kissed them, and then set his head against my stomach.

The plane shimmied.

Its mechanics creaked.

All the eyes on board stared at us.

I closed my eyes to it all.

I am steady, if my husband is beside me.

This world is ours, if this man is beside me.

He stood and picked me up, and my arms instinctually wrapped around his neck. I stared at his face, starved for it. I set my nose close to his skin, breathing him in.

A thought flashed through my mind as powerful as lightning, making me feel anxious and secure at the same time. The shock of it, the power of it, the bold truth in it shook my insides, stirring what should be still. I had never felt more secure, because this truth was branded inside of me.

There is no distance that could come between his heart and mine.

He would not allow it.

I would not allow it.

The fabric of our life would always be sewn together by a hand that no mere man could stop.

Our souls were already too tangled.

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

We came to the private suite, and he used his leg to open the door. He stood on the threshold, his eyes coming down to meet mine.

No distance.

Before, even when he had his eyes turned forward, the connection still moved between us without even a pause, as if our eyes did not have to lock us in to continue to feel it.

It …lived, as long as we did.

It was as simple as that.

As complicated as that.

“The woman in you has turned me into a man,” he said in Italian, his voice rough. He lifted me up, kissed my head, and then took me to bed.

My husband carried me up to the door of the villa we would occupy while in Tuscany. It was a place not far from his parents’ place.

Apollonia, who was one of Brando and Scarlett’s neighbors, had offered it to us to use while we looked for a place of our own. Apollonia’s daughter was married to Mitch and Viola’s son. The daughter was close to giving birth.

The Fausti family, especially Mariano’s part of it, might have branched off, but they did not venture too far from their roots.

The amount of traveling was something I was adjusting to. However, it seemed second nature to Mariano and his siblings. This was the norm for them.

My head was tilted back, my hair fanning out behind me, and my eyes were turned up to the overcast sky. “It is lucky for me I am no longer afraid of storms,” I said. “It seems the last few months have been a constant barrage of them.”

“It’s the season for them,” Mariano said. “But the sun always comes out.”

I blinked at him when I turned my face forward. “This is true.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll always take care of you, Annie.”

“I know,” I whispered. “This is why I am no longer afraid.”

His eyes stared into mine, and I grinned at him.

“Give me a smile,” he said.

I did, and he leaned down and kissed me, telling me how much he loved me, how proud he was to be my husband, even though I caused barroom fights, and how he would always be my knight. My own prince—dropping the Casanova title.

I smiled, then realized what he had said. I sat up some in his arms.

“I caused the barroom brawl?!”

He exploded with laughter, and I was, quite honestly, hypnotized by the sound of it. His bright white, perfect teeth would be the last thing his prey noticed before they left this world. I would be willing to do this, be an offering, if his mouth devoured me.

“Yeah, Annie. You.”

“Explain this to me, Mariano.”

“Fuck me sideways.” He sighed. “I’m Mariano when you start to get speziata .” He shook his head. “Did Chili ask you to dance or not?”

I wiggled to be set down. He set me on my feet but took a step back, as if he were preparing for my attack over what came next.

I ran a hand down my dress. It was long, buttoned-down, with a gold belt that cinched my waist in.

A pair of sexy four-inch black stilettos, the toe open, the points gold, had straps that wrapped around my ankles.

Mariano had gifted me more jewelry. I wore the many bangle bracelets he had my great-uncle design and create for me.

My husband also gifted me with a pair of new sunglasses.

The ones he had first given me were oversized and dark with a gold and diamond emblem on the side.

The new pair had a gold frame, light brown tinted frames, but were also oversized.

He said these made me look like a bug, but I loved them!

My husband looked me up and down, his eyes heating. “Later,” he whispered. “The heels and nothing fucking else.”