Page 31

Sistine

A fter our “test date,” what Mariano referred to as the “real dates” began.

Since Angelo and Atta’s wedding on the ranch was soon, we seemed to cram an entire summer into two weeks. The ranch could afford less people working on it since the Fausti family had sent more men to work the property. Mariano had told me they were getting triple the pay because of it.

It felt as if we traveled the entire state of Wyoming in those two weeks. Most times only the two of us, but other times with Atta and Angelo, or Ty and Emma, or Marciano, or all seven of us.

The most recent trip was only Mariano and I.

We spent two days visiting fruit farms in the area.

We picked cherries, peaches, and my personal two favorites, apples and pears.

We brought back crates of them to Hannah.

Although she grew her own gardens and orchards, I knew she would enjoy having a variety to can.

The weather was still warm, and as we made our way back, the sun was just starting to set.

The wind whipping through the interior of the truck was tepid, blowing the loose strands of my hair around, although it was being held down by my hat.

My face and hands were sticky with a variety of fruit juices.

I had never had so much fun, or felt so content, in my life.

Back in Italy, I loved browsing the piazza and searching for the freshest food items available. It was the same here. I offered Mariano the last bite of my pear. It was still a little early in the season for them, so it was a bit hard and somewhat bitter, but I loved the taste of it all the same.

Mariano looked down, his face darkened by the sun, the scent of him fresh and clean, although the smell of dirt and fruit surrounded us. He shook his head. “You finish it, Annie.”

I did, and he exploded with laughter. I reached in the back and pulled another from a crate, offering it to him after I cleaned it on a napkin. He glanced at me, his eyes heating, before he took a massive bite, juice running down his chin.

I breathed out, wishing I could use my tongue to clean him up. After the night at the natural springs, we had not touched in that way. We were taking things slow.

However, my body refused this pace. The want was turning me into a flashing pulse, and I knew it would not be long before I exploded.

The ache between my legs was a physical thing.

The feel of his face between my thighs was branded into my bones.

How his tongue had been magical and had sent me over a height I had never reached before.

I had been free-falling, trapped in the deliciousness of my orgasm, all my nerves so sensitive, it would have only taken one nudge of his knee to get me off again.

Mariano breathed out, his hands squeezing the wheel. He was feeling it as well. There was a constant pressure between us. A growing storm.

Sighing, I reached back and grabbed another peach. I had to do something with my hands and mouth, or I was going to attack and bite him.

He glanced at me. “You’re a hungry little monster.” He glanced in the back. “You ate an entire crate of apples, pears, and peaches.”

I laughed; it was breathy. “The cherries were good, but the rest are my favorites. I love fruit.” I shrugged.

“You love to eat.”

“ Sì .” I smiled.

“ Bene.” He nodded. “I will feed you forever.”

When he said those words, it was as if he was saying, I will take care of you forever . The vow behind the conviction in his words was louder than the words themselves.

He did not consider it me taking care of him when I threw him a surprise birthday party when we arrived home.

Our families were in on it, because… tada , we shared the same date in August. Mariano had planned a surprise party for me as well.

Our families knew what we were both doing and did the planning and executing for us both.

Scarlett and Brando even called, and when Mariano put me on, Scarlett wished me a happy birthday for them both.

After I thanked her, I cleared my throat. “He is begrudging his birthday party,” I said. “However, I do not usually go easy on him.”

She laughed. “ Good. Just remember…whatever you both do to each other, make sure it’s out of love, ah?”

This stuck with me. Stuck to the bone.

Whatever you do to each other, make sure it’s out of love, ah?

I was still thinking about the truth in her advice when Mariano took me fishing the next day.

Fishing was a quiet affair, it seemed. I wiped sweat from my brow.

It felt as though the sun was frying the land before fall came in and took over, the leaves turning brilliant crimson, tangy orange, and shimmering gold, the grass fading into a milder shade of green.

From past visits to the ranch, I remembered how beautiful it was. The changing hands of the season. One canvas bleeding into another, but creating its own scene of beauty.

Mariano moved around my straw hat and placed a warm kiss on my pulse. His hands were just as warm, and they were placed on my hips, his heat burning through the hot-pink tank top and cutoff shorts I wore. His lips moved down and kissed my shoulder.

“If this was a game, Casanova, you would be cheating at it,” I whispered.

His breathy laugh tickled my skin. I lifted my shoulder to my jaw, trying to calm the tickle.

My eyes narrowed and I curbed the instinct to swat.

Small bugs hovered over the pond, and they kept landing on me.

Not biting, but a constant barrage of buzzing things swarming in front of my face and going for my eardrums. If I would not have been determined to catch at least one fish, I would have given up long ago and watched Mariano collect our dinner from a comfortable spot along the bank.

“I am doing something wrong,” I whispered. “The horses cannot get enough of me, but the fish are terrified of me.”

He shook with silent laughter. I slowly turned my head, not to scare them.

“You’re luring them in for supper,” he said.

“They do not know that.”

“They can sense it. It’s a game, just like the one we play every day with our enemies.”

“Ah,” was all I could say.

I was suddenly not so sure about this. I did not love fish, but I was not sure how I was going to feel if it looked me in the eye before we…silenced its existence.

Ate it.

This was the plan.

I was about to turn back to Mariano, hand him the pole, hand in my resignation as a fish catcher.

We had enough. He secured my hand over the pole, whispering in my ear that he had to piss.

He kissed me, then turned to Marciano and gave him a look.

I knew what it meant before he said the words aloud.

“Watch her.” He nodded to his brother.

“Who is going to watch you ?” I whispered to his back.

He turned and grinned at me. “Haven’t you heard, my Annie? Faustis have eyes in the back of their heads.”

Marciano laughed, shaking his head. He watched as Mariano faded into the woods, then hurriedly asked, “Did he do it?”

“I do not know,” I rushed out in Italian.

I did not want to get between those two. Marciano hated when Mariano called him Marci. So, of course, Mariano changed his name on all phones whenever he could.

Marciano dropped my phone as if it was a hot potato when Mariano emerged from the woods. His eyes went straight to my phone, and after he picked it up, he wiped it on his shirt. I rolled my eyes. He did not want his brother’s fingerprints on my phone.

Ah! I felt a tug on the line, and I did just as Mariano had instructed me to as I reeled one in. However, this was no struggling fish but a lanky black thing whipping around.

“ Serpente !” I came close to screeching as I started to panic. I dropped the pole, but somehow the line got tangled around my boots, and the snake seemed like it was chasing me as I ran.

“Annie,” Mariano’s voice was calm and in control, suddenly so close to me. He had caught up to me in a few long strides and cut me loose with the knife he kept strapped to his ankle.

Marciano took care of the snake.

“Was that—” I had a hard time catching my breath “—a poisonous snake?”

In answer, Marciano came back and handed Mariano my snake. The three of us looked down at it, and their focused faces tickled me. My cheeks puffed out while I held back an expanding bubble of laughter.

“Wait.” I held up a hand, narrowing my eyes at the limp, dripping thing. “Is that… is that a rubber?”

“A rubber.” Marciano’s laugh came hot and fast, and his brother slapped him in the back of his head. His face scrunched up and he fixed his hair.

Mariano nodded. “Deflated bike tire.”

The explosive laugh barreled out of my mouth. I put a hand over my mouth to cover another one, but I could not contain it. I laughed so hard, I fell to the ground, rocking some. When I could control it, I looked up. Mariano and Marciano had their arms crossed, watching me.

I hiccupped as if I had been drinking. A broad smile lingered on my face. “What?” I asked in Italian.

“You do that often, Annie?” Mariano was the only one who ever called me Annie, probably because it was the equivalent of baby to him. To us.

“Laugh?” I laughed again. “I try.” I sighed. “I hear it is good for the soul. Or is that chicken noooo- dal soup? Why are you both looking at me that way?” I narrowed my eyes back.

Mariano knelt, brought me to a sitting position, and picked grass from my hair. “Mamma does that when she’s nervous.”

My face instantly fell, and I thought about it.

“I do as well,” I whispered, feeling drained suddenly.

“Not often. Occasionally I have had to leave funerals, pretend I am sobbing, which I do after, depending on who is inside the box. But it hits me. The laughter. I cannot seem to control it at times.”

Mariano nodded at me, running his knuckle down my face. It was rough from a cut he had gotten when he was hauling hay. However, the softness of the caress made me shiver. “I’m bigger than anything out there, Annie.”