Page 29

Sistine

T ime was a mystery to me, but it felt early.

Perhaps the sun was not up yet. However, that did not make sense.

It felt as if something was moving across the sun, storm clouds perhaps, and it seemed as if the room was shaded in certain spots.

The side of the bed that Mariano had been sleeping on felt cold, although the temperature in the cottage was almost stuffy.

My eyes were stuck together. I rubbed them, making them unstick. It was still a slow process to open them fully. I was tired to the bone. I could not remember the last time I had slept so sound.

Also, I usually woke up with a million thoughts circulating inside of my mind.

I had only one.

Mariano.

When I found the source of the blocked light, I rubbed my eyes again.

“Mariano?” My voice was full of gravel. “What are you doing?”

He was pacing the floor in front of the window, and it was his body that blocked the light and then released it. His hair was a mess. He was taking his right fist and smacking his left palm with it. He was so concentrated on whatever he was thinking of, he did not stop or even respond to me.

Something was wrong.

I jumped out of bed, standing in front of him, putting my hands on his chest. “What is it?” I asked quietly, but there was a definite undercurrent of panic in my voice.

His hands came over my shoulders. Was that a slight tremble I felt? My heart started racing. My breathing picked up. I opened my mouth to speak again when he whispered, “You are so beautiful, Sistine Evita. My Annie. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

My breaths and heart raced for another reason.

In the morning sun, when clarity had a chance to take hold, I knew I would never forget the look on his face when his passion ran high, and it overflowed on me.

The way his eyes would lower but be focused.

The way his breath left him in whispers, but no less strained than mine.

How with one touch, I felt his heat, his brand, down to my bones.

How I needed him inside of me, making us one, like I had never needed anything before.

“I need you more than life,” he whispered in Italian. “You are my life now.”

“Mariano,” I whispered, not sure where he was going with this.

In a sudden rush that popped our intimate bubble, he tore away from me, then took me by the shoulders and back-walked me to the bed.

He sat me down on it and paced again, running a hand through his hair.

He covered his right hand with his left, then started doing it constantly, almost slapping his curved palm against his tightened knuckles.

This was not like him.

Before I could speak, he said in a rough tone, “Give me a minute.”

It was a natural reaction to find out what was wrong with him and fix it, but I sat patiently, watching him. Exactly a minute later, he took a knee in front of me, taking my hands in his, and looked into my eyes as if he was looking into stars that held all of life’s mysteries.

“Date me.”

The two words, date me , flung me out of the world we had just been in and into another. Without my mind’s permission, the breathed word “ Scusi? ” slipped from my lips.

He gave a sharp nod, squeezing my hand. His hands were a delicious balance between hard and soft, and his palm was keeping my entire body warm.

His position, lower than me, seemed to mean something.

Faustis were subtle about their language at times.

The true meaning had to be dug up in a second to keep up with the treasure hunt.

This was why some schools taught about them in college.

Fausti Curriculum, as compelling as any Romance language.

“You need this from me,” he said.

“Dates?” I almost choked out the word.

“ Sì . To date.” He seemed to almost choke out the word as well.

He moved my hands back and forth. “I am who I am. I was who I was. I can’t change that.

You trust me, but you don’t. I’ve seen how that can work by watching my mamma.

My father never gave her a reason to not trust him, but she still struggled with it.

She has lingering issues because of my grandfather that are still not resolved. It’s different for you.

“My past is an issue. And…dating—” he almost spat the word out, as if it was distasteful “—is not something the men in my family usually do. We get serious. We marry.” He stared at my hand, my left hand.

“It’s fucking naked,” he grumbled, then seemed to get a hold of himself.

“You will trust me—completely, irrevocably.”

“Ah,” I breathed out. “You think dating will change this?”

“ Sì . It will give us time together before we marry.”

“You do not ask, Mariano Fausti, but, ah, what if I say no?”

“To the dating or the marriage, Annie? Don’t keep me in fucking suspense. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Let us start with the dating.” I was breathless, because perhaps he was right.

It was a beginning that was something different for him and for me.

He was also offering me something that he had never offered another woman before.

This, for him, was not normal, and I could tell it was making him uncomfortable—which was proving a point.

This was for me.

“My parents never truly dated,” he whispered. “Then they went to Fiji, and Mamma likes to tell the story of how Papà persuaded her to date him.”

I smiled at this. “While they were married?”

He nodded.

“All right.” I sighed. Lifted a finger. “If this works out, Mariano Fausti, the dates, I mean…that would lead to marriage. Would you always date me even when we are married?”

“Forever,” he breathed out, and then he set his body over mine, pushing me onto my back and making the mattress dip with our weight.

I laughed, pretending to push him off, and he growled at the pulse in my neck.

“You drive me fucking crazy, Annie.”

“Just wait.” I laughed even harder when he placed a bunch of big smooches on my face. “I am just getting started.”

“Fuck me sideways.”

I set my hands against his chest and pushed a little. I could not budge him if I tried with all my might, but he pushed back some as if the strongest person in the world had moved him.

He studied my eyes. “Tell me.”

A smile was stuck to my face, and his eyes moved down to my lips before they returned to my eyes. He was getting that look again. The one that told me he was dangerously close to making a move.

“Where are you, ah, taking me on our first date?”

His grin came slow. “It’s a surprise.”

My breath caught from his grin. “I do not do well with those.”

He started laughing, kissing me. I kissed him back, pulling him in, refusing to allow a breath to come between us. Then I pushed him a little, and he stopped. Quirked his eyebrow up at me.

“You will have to work for me, Casanova.”

He brushed a piece of hair back from my forehead and gazed at me as if I was the sun and all the colors it illuminated.

I was not sure what was going on with my heart, but either I had fallen even deeper in love with him, or I was having a heart attack.

It felt as if all the love inside of me was making it swell.

“Fucking right I am. You’re a woman worth working for. I’ll sweat, bleed, fucking shed tears for you. All for you.”

“You are very good at this, ah, dating stuff,” I barely got out.

He laughed, raspy and low, and kissed me again. Then he sighed and sat up, taking me with him.

“When do these dates begin?” I asked. “I will need to know what to wear. This is customary, no?”

He shook his head. “A curious little monster has been created.”

I laughed even louder.

“Dates start today.” He checked his watch on the bedside table for the time. “Two hours. Dress casually. This is a tester date. We’re gearing up for the real ones.”

There was a giddy-up to my step as I made my way toward the bathroom to get ready.

“Annie,” he called.

I turned and looked at him from over my shoulder.

He opened and closed his hands, almost as if he was helpless. “I’ve never done this before.” His voice was low, deep, and rough.

“I know,” I whispered. “Me either.”

“You’ll go easy on me then?”

There was so much sincerity in his eyes, so much…

innocence when he allowed himself to be vulnerable with me…

I almost responded, I’ll do whatever you ask of me , and perhaps I would.

However, I knew him. Knew what he needed.

And that came to me as instinctually as protecting me came to him.

He had chosen the right woman if working for me fell in a natural rhythm with his instincts.

“No,” I breathed. “Easy is not your style.”

“Neither is it yours.” A blazing smile came to his face.

“You know me too well already, my Annie. How the fuck you came in with guns blazing, taking my heart hostage, owning it, I’ll never know.

Eleventh mystery of the world.” He shook his head.

“Do your thing in the bathroom, and let’s get the fuck out of here. ”

I made an excited noise, and his laughter lingered as he made his way to the kitchen.

I could not wait!

I had just enough time to stop at Atta’s place and talk to her before we left for our first date.

She hugged me and told me how happy she was for me.

She seemed a little stressed, but she was getting married after a whirlwind romance, and I expected that.

I had been waiting for her to admit it to me.

I made a mental note to speak to her later about it.

She and Angelo walked me to the door after I talked to her, and my stomach flipped when Mariano was not far from it, waiting with his back against a truck I had not seen before. It was newer, but not brand new.

Atta slapped me on the culo and said, “Go get ’im, girl!” And when I was close enough and he pulled me in for a kiss, she screamed out, “Atta, Sis!”

Mariano grinned and opened the creaking door for me. I put a hand to my weathered cowboy hat and slipped inside, the leather seats feeling worn down and comfortable underneath my legs.