Page 30

Although I had never seen this truck before, it smelled like him.

He overwhelmed even the air around him. I closed my eyes for a second and breathed in as fast as I could.

My cottage smelled like him, as well, and I would hunt him down if he stopped coming around only to keep his woodsy, spicy, citrusy, male scent in my lungs.

It was official.

I was addicted to Mariano Fausti.

A breath left my lungs that came from a different place inside.

It was a place where I had locked all my fears and doubts and quieted them for a while.

It was a shaky breath, one that reminded me I still had my doubts.

Mariano might have been Mariano, but to our world, he was still known as the Casanova Prince.

Mariano settled into the driver’s seat, pulling me over to his side, taking my hand. He put the truck in gear and headed away from the ranch. His eyes cut to mine.

“Tell me.” He lifted my hand, kissing my knuckles.

The windows were rolled down, and I kept a hand on my hat, until I pushed it down far enough so it would be snug enough not to fly out. I turned to face him and cleared my throat. “You were right.”

I expected him to make some quip. Some sarcastic remark, such as, I usually am , but to his credit, he lifted his hand from the wheel in a gesture that meant— I’m listening .

I cleared my throat again. “I do need this from you. I still have my…doubts.”

“Talk to me,” he said.

“All right.” I breathed out. “Casanova, as we know, is you. You earned that name. I am just…one woman,” I whispered the last two words.

It was as if I had spoken to him and the words did not register, and when they did, he looked at me twice, as if he could not believe I would say such a thing to him.

“Just one woman,” he repeated.

“ Sì .” I lifted my pointer finger. “ Uno .”

He took my hand and pointed it toward my heart. “The only woman, the one , for me . The woman who beat me at my own game. One fucking look. That’s all it took. You roped me in, and I’m not even fighting it. Not even a fucking little. You’re where I’ll be for the rest of my life.”

I studied his face until he glanced at me again.

Our eyes held for a brief second before he turned back to the two-lane road.

I leaned forward and turned the radio on to break up some of the tension.

When he spoke to me that way, it was as if he was carving the words into stone.

A stone that generations would read even after we were long gone.

This was how impassioned and serious he was.

I hummed the song at first, then started to sing along to it. My voice was not the best, not like Mariano or Atta, but I loved to sing. To get lost in the music. When I designed and crafted, I could not work without music in my ears. It shut the world out in the same way Mariano could.

The realization of that made me lower my voice and stare out the window. I never thought anything else would ever have the power to shut out the world for me. Reading could not even.

Mariano and music, followed by designing and bringing to life.

This was it.

I always thought love, or at the least respect, would be a gradual thing for me.

Perhaps because I always assumed my marriage would be arranged.

My family had similar practices to the Faustis.

Two individuals from two powerful families coming together to forge two long lineages into one.

It made sense to bring them together on paper.

It had never made much sense to me.

What did it matter who I married? As long as I kept serving the Fausti family to the best of my ability.

My grandfather and father had a difference of opinion.

If I looked at my family from an aerial view, it seemed as if they were only adhering to the rules set by generations before.

However, my opinion differed once I was placed in the forest below.

I could see the trees for what they were.

A lineage that did not want to mess with their bread and butter.

If something happened between Mariano and I, something that went wild and not in the good way, it could jeopardize the bond between families.

In the eyes of my grandfather and father, I was a high-risk case.

I had a temper. My sister did as well, but only if she did not get her way with certain things—a husband who was rich, and the things that sort of life could afford her.

She would not care if a man had numerous mistresses.

She would only care about her expense account, if it would swell or not.

I would tear Mariano’s heart out, rip his balls off, if I gave him all my trust and he hurt me in this way.

What my sister valued and what I valued were two wildly different things.

“Annie.”

“Hah?”

He grinned at me and squeezed my hand. “Leave the heavy thoughts back in Italy.”

I blinked at him. “Get out of my head, Mariano Fausti.”

He brought my hand to his mouth, laughing against it. “No fucking way. It’s the most colorful place I’ve ever been.”

I grinned. “No doubt a circus without the animals being held against their wills.”

He returned the grin. “More like a rodeo.”

He hit the gas, the truck growled a bit, and we arrived in town in almost no time. At the entrance to the small downtown, I pointed to the right.

“Coffee!” I shouted.

He easily swerved, turning at the last second, and went in that direction.

He pulled through the drive through. The Main Bean had the best coffee in town.

Atta and I loved their lemon drink—it was seasonal.

Only in the summer. I had made it in time!

I gave Mariano my order, and he turned toward me, thick eyebrows drawn down.

I had to resist the urge to reach over and smooth them out.

“What the fuck. Two pumps?” His shoulders shook with his raspy laughter. “Nothing good comes from anything that’s done with two fucking pumps.”

I hit his shoulder and climbed over him, giving the barista my order. His hand was dangerously low on my back. Almost to my culo .

He stopped laughing abruptly when I had climbed over him, though, and his hand curled around my tank top, holding on.

I stored the reaction away for later and continued my order.

Atta and I liked to personalize the drink.

We even asked for two lemon loaves on the side.

We crumbled them on top. I ordered Mariano one.

“Two fucking pumps.” He sighed as he paid, then handed me the two drinks.

My eyes were stuck on the barista. She was fixing her hair, but it was almost as if she was too nervous to hand him the receipt. Or perhaps she was prolonging her time with him. I sighed. I sighed even harder when three women surrounded her, bumping into each other, smiling.

I crushed the cakes in the bags, sprinkled some of the crumbs on top of the whipped cream, and handed one to him. “For you.”

“For me?” He almost looked affronted. “No, baby, those are all yours.”

“Annie,” I corrected, shivering at the way he called me that. It was the equivalent of baby . “Only one sip? Per favore .” I fluttered my lashes at him, holding the straw out.

“Fuck me sideways.” He moved his face to the side and opened his mouth.

I held the straw closer to his mouth.

He looked down at it, dubious to say the least. “Only because your mouth was here.” He took a tentative sip. His eyebrows went up in a subtle move and his face went blank.

I exploded with laughter, knowing he liked it, but would not say so.

“Pretty good, ah?”

“Ah,” he said, pulling into a parking spot in the quaint downtown area.

I sipped on my drink while he shut the truck off and smoothly got out, the keyring looping around his finger as he came to my door. He opened it, stuck the keys in his pocket, and took my hand in his.

“Is it time to tell me what we are doing here?” I asked, looking around.

I loved this area of town. It had western-themed boutiques, restaurants, art galleries, a jewelry store, and further in, a hospital, grocery store, and two feed stores.

Hatfield and McCoy. Sì , they were rivals.

These same two families also owned two barbeque restaurants.

The town seemed to take one side or the other.

Since I was Italian, I considered myself neutral territory and shopped at whichever store had what I needed.

“You need something,” he said.

“What do I need?” I asked almost absentmindedly, biting my straw while I looked around town—what was the same and what was different.

During my absences, some businesses closed, and new ones had opened.

I spotted a new restaurant and a new boutique, even though the other businesses were still going strong.

Business was good then. I took a deep breath, breathing out in a slow push, smelling lemon on my breath.

I never wanted this town to go under. It was a second home to me.

We entered a boutique with sunflower-shaped pinwheels in the window, and I blinked when Mariano said one word to the woman running the store. “Swimsuits.”

“For ladies or gents?” the woman asked.

“Ladies.”

“Right this way.” She winked at him.

“Ah,” I breathed out, gazing over at the racks of clothes. It was all, ah, for what seemed like middle-aged women perhaps. I took a sip of my drink and shivered. The drink was cold.

The woman, Daisy the owner, as she introduced herself, spun a rack around and stopped it at what she thought was my size.

She held a few up to me, and without giving me a chance to look, she told Mariano to have a seat and then led me to the changing rooms. A closet with a fabric curtain shielded me from the world.

She left me with her picks. I looked through them, and when I caught sight of my face in the full-length mirror, my lips were set in a frown. But perhaps Atta was right. I had to try these on to see if they fit me. I was not giving them a fair chance.

“Ah,” I breathed out, setting my hair to the side, checking myself from left to right.

All these “suits” were mid-calf falling dresses—swim dresses.

I stepped out of the room, my bare feet padding against the cold floor, and stood in front of Mariano. He had been staring at my drink, and when he heard me, his eyes roamed up. His mouth was tight, but it did not seem as if he was holding back a laugh.

“ Perfezionare .” He kissed his fingers and then sent his arm out. “We’ll take that one.”

“ Aspettare .” Wait. I held a hand up. “Are you being serious?”

Perhaps it was the look on my face that did it. He exploded with laughter, standing to his full height, wrapping his arm around my neck, pulling me in and kissing my temple over and over.

Daisy must have heard him. She practically flew to where we were. She was turning me around and oohing and ahhing at me.

“This one is perfect!” She beamed. “I sell a ton of these to women who are expecting or who have just given birth!”

“We’ll take it, Daisy,” Mariano said through laughter.

I was still wearing the one she had me try on. She stopped at the rack, plucked another from it, and almost ran to the cash register in her four-inch wedges. I was in shock, unable to say anything until she left to pack up the purchase.

“Mariano!” I slugged him on the arm, and he laughed even harder, the masochist!

“I do not want this!” I waved at myself.

“I was just coming out to show you how it loo—” It hit me then, when I looked into his eyes.

“You brought me here on purpose!” I whispered.

“You wanted this—” I motioned to my body “—for me!”

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “It’s appropriate.”

“Appropriate,” I repeated, still sounding dumfounded, although I had caught up to the culprit and his sneaky, sneaky ways.

“The one you were wearing yesterday will do one of two things. Either get me arrested or get me killed. Your ass was being flossed. Don’t get me started on the fucking top. Those clothes are for me only.”

My mouth popped open before it snapped shut. “You thought this, this —” I did not even have words for what it was “—was a good alternative?!”

“ Sì .” He nodded seriously. “It’s very demure. Dizzy even says so.”

“Daisy,” I corrected.

Daisy did not know what to think of me when I chased him out of the store with the box she had packed the swim dress in, bopping him on the head with it while he continued to laugh his culo off.

There was something about his laughter that was so true. The sound of it echoed inside of my heart, tickling me, and I started laughing too.

The rest of the day seemed to be directed by the start of it.

We even came to a cease fire on a bathing suit together, one he did not think would get him incarcerated or murdered.

Although he said the swim dress might still get him either, so he might as well get used to his head on a chopping block.

I had to remind him he did that all on his own with Iggy.

As far as first date went…it was one that would go down in my heart as the best of all time.

Especially when he took me out to lunch, and after, set me against a brick wall and kissed me until I could not breathe.

“This is the only way to taste the lemon drink with two pumps,” he breathed against my mouth, and I pulled him in closer, needing him to be so deep underneath my skin, he would find himself there.

Perhaps somewhere he had been all along. A part of him that was added to me before I was born.

This was the only way I could describe it when he kissed me. I lost a part of myself to him, but this part had belonged to him all along, so I did not feel vacant. Only when we separated did I feel the loss of a vital part of myself.

It was him.

I could feel myself start to completely surrender to him, and for the time being, I tucked away the fear of what this could mean for my heart made of glass for later.