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Sistine

I did not even remember falling asleep. I did not have thoughts keeping me awake. I did not worry about what was on the agenda for the day. My muscles and bones were spent. I wondered if I could even lift a finger but decided I did not care.

My body was wrapped up in Mariano’s. He had made me a pillow from his— my —flannel, and then wrapped me up in his, his legs and mine intertwined, my feet covered in thick socks—my socks. I had no idea he had packed me a pair. He said I had a habit of giving my socks to the thief.

“He needs them,” I had said with a tired smile as he slipped them on my feet.

“Fuck him,” he said. “The fucking creep.”

I had taken my foot and set it between his legs, feeling the weight of his heavy balls on my foot. He was perfect. Even more perfect than a statue in Italy. Because he was real.

His lowered eyes were almost closed, as though he was high, but his stare was focused on me. I watched as he grew from soft to hard from a whispered touch. He was insatiable.

So was I.

Especially after the first couple of times, and he was not so easy on me. After he had carried me to the bathroom, and I stuck my feet in my boots and his dark cowboy hat on my head…

He allowed me to take the reins and get on top.

I moved slow at first, my palms pressed against his chest, slowly easing down on his long, thick cock.

I became breathless, but I felt powerful at the same time.

I lowered all the way down, the breath from my mouth leaving me in a pant.

I stilled and he groaned, his hands buried deep in my flesh, my hips. They would leave a bruise.

I loved it.

I loved how he marked me.

I wanted the entire world to see it.

After I adjusted to his size, his eyes ordered me to move. I started to swirl my hips, and his grip on me became as hard as his cock. It was a dull fire in the background, only making me move faster. I lifted some, came back down.

“Fuck!” He slapped my ass.

I moaned so loud, he did it again.

This sent me into overdrive. I leaned down and brushed my mouth against his, swirling my tongue over his lips.

He bit the tip of it tenderly, then our tongues started to swirl in midair, as his hands came up and cupped my breasts.

His thumbs teased my hardened nipples, and I gasped in his mouth, pushing them closer to his touch.

His fingers were calloused and felt so, so, so good against the sensitive peaks.

He thrust his hips up and I bounced over his cock, gasping for air again.

He had jolted that spot deep inside of me that he had discovered.

It sent a sharp rush of pleasure through me, so sharp, and so delicious, I could not even comprehend the noise that tore out of my chest. It was animalistic but breathy.

He squeezed my ass and, lifting me up, began to pound into me. His eyes were fixed on my jiggling breasts, and he licked his lips, while I screamed out in pleasure. The intense pressure was building inside of me, though I could temper it down longer than the first couple of times.

It felt so good.

So, so, so good.

I did not know what to do with myself.

I wanted to feel my orgasm rip through me.

I wanted to hold on to the feeling for as long as possible.

I wanted him inside of me from all angles, although he felt as if he was in my bloodstream. Rushing through it, racing through it, going straight for my heart and between my thighs at the same time.

“Fuck!” he snapped. “You feel so good. So fucking good.” His hands tightened around my hips, and when he lifted, pounding into me, I could not hold on any longer.

I shattered around his cock. At the same time, he growled as he spilled himself inside of me again.

I could not keep myself upright. Mariano flung the hat off, and I fell against his chest, our hearts pounding against each other’s.

I did not even bother to remove the boots.

My legs were as solid as overcooked pasta.

He kissed the top of my head, holding his arms over my back.

I shivered when his fingertips traced delicate patterns along my skin.

The world, again, seemed to be invading our private space, but it seemed quieter than it did when we were being loud.

It was as if our existence shrunk to fit those moments.

When they were over, the world opened, and in the silence, a pin drop could be heard.

I sighed and kissed the spot over his heart.

He growled low in his throat and pulled me even closer.

So close, I felt as if I could not breathe.

Not even a breath later, he hauled us both up.

He slipped the flannel over my arms and got to his feet, carrying me out of the bedroom and onto the porch.

He sat me down on the old rocking chair and stood before me.

A chilled wind blew, carrying the scent of fall, and my hair invaded my face. Mariano moved it before I could, his hand much warmer than mine. I wrapped the flannel around me tighter, and my eyes found his.

He nodded, as if to say, Yes, this is exactly what I want. Eye contact.

He cleared his throat. “We’re getting married.”

“Ah.” I took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Yes.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He grinned at me. “Tomorrow.”

“Ah,” I breathed out again. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Tomorrow. If I’m not able to call you my wife, I’ll die.

My heart can’t fucking take it. It knows who you are to me, Sistine Evita.

It whispered three words to me the moment I found you.

Sistine Evita Fausti. The end of my life as I knew it.

The beginning of one I could’ve never imagined would belong to me.

The beginning of always. I can’t breathe without you.

I can’t live without you. You are the only way I know. You will be my wife tomorrow.”

I set my boots on the old wood and pushed the chair. It creaked some. I was moved by his impassioned speech, but a fear constantly ate at me from a numb distance. Once back in Italy, it would not be in the distance but would become our reality. I had to ask. “The law?”

He waved his hand, as if this was no matter. “Allow me to deal with that,” he said in Italian.

“It is that easy?” I whispered.

“Trust me.” He held out his hand to me.

I gazed at it. The callouses. The uneven nails. The man’s hands who had just made love to me for hours. The sun was beginning to soften the darkness, and a new day was upon us.

I shook my head. “Not tomorrow.”

“Tell me,” he said, his hand still outstretched, “when.”

I took his hand and entwined our fingers. “Today, Mariano Fausti. Today, or I will die as well. There is no me without you.”

He hauled me to my feet, bringing me close to his chest, as we held each other close, the sun illuminating the world around us, on what would be our wedding day.

October 11 th .

Directly after breakfast…

Atta and I ran into town for coffees. I had invited her to come along with me.

After our stop at The Main Bean, I pulled my cugina into a bridal shop.

She browsed around, and after a minute, took a seat while I continued to scan the racks.

When she met me, she handed me a note. It had two words written on it.

Be vigil.

My eyes had been constantly scanning the area, even the roads. Rattler and his brothers were known to speed in front of someone, cut them off, then slam on the brakes.

Remo and another solider had accompanied us in separate vehicles. One drove in front, and one drove behind us. If the roads leading to the ranch had not been only two lanes, I had a feeling cars would have taken the left and right of us, boxing us in.

Always protecting.

I nodded to my cugina , then put the situation out of my mind and continued scanning the racks. I had noticed a gown not long ago in the window. The sun had been setting, and the cream color had caught my eye.

Atta squeezed my arm. “What are we doing in here, Sis? I have everything I need.”

I pushed a few heavy dresses to the side. “You are all set.”

She studied my face, and after she realized…she put a hand to mine, stopping me. “Tell me right now, Sistine Evita…are you getting married?”

I could not help the grin that came to my face. “Do you mind?”

She screamed quietly, pulling me in for a crushing hug. I held her back. “Of course I don’t mind! We could even do a double wedding!”

I laughed. “We are getting married today, Atta.”

“Today?” she breathed.

I nodded. “Today…we cannot wait.”

She pulled me in for another hug. “I understand,” she whispered. “I totally understand.” She set me away from her and looked into my eyes, waving a hand in front of her face, like she was trying not to cry. “Today, then. We have so much to do! While you continue here, I’ll make a few calls.”

“Atta,” I said, stopping her.

She wiped the tears from her eyes.

“This wedding is for us only. It will be small. Given the circumstances in Italy…”

“Can I come?” Her face transformed. She was going to fight me if I told her no.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Mariano is inviting Angelo. Our witnesses.”

She set her phone over her heart. “I’m truly honored.”

“Me, as well,” I whispered, “to have you there.”

“We sure have been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

My eyes burned. “We have.”

In a breath, we went for each other again, hugging, remembering that night and how awful it was, and looking forward to the future.

I laughed a little, thinking of how we were marrying cousins—Fausti cousins.

I was about to point this out to Atta when two strong arms wrapped around us.

The smell of strong floral perfume drifted in the air around us, almost in a cloud.

“Ladies!”

Atta and I pulled apart.

Daisy smiled at us. She looked at me. “Oh, it’s the pretty Italian lady—the one with the truly handsome gent.” She fanned herself. “He is fine , girl. Where did you find him?”

“Ah.” I opened and closed my mouth. “I thought you owned the other shop?”

“I do!” She laughed. “Get it? That’s the name of this store—which I own too!

I Do ! Get it? I’m all about helping ladies in each stage of their lives.

This one is the beginning of the rest of their lives as a married woman.

My other shop caters to mothers-to-be and perimenopause and menopausal ladies.

Do either of you know any ladies who could benefit from menopausal yoga and vitamins? ”

Atta and I shook our heads—we did not.

“Well, then.” Daisy clapped her hands. “What can I help you with today?”

“A wedding gown.” Atta looked at me. “One that was in the window about two, three weeks ago. It was flowy, cream in color…”

“Also,” I said, lifting a finger, “it should be fitted, except for the train, of course.”

Atta exploded with laughter as she wrapped her arm around my shoulder, perhaps thinking of the story I told her of Mariano and the swim dress, and I entwined our fingers together.

We followed behind Daisy as she led us to the racks, telling us I was in luck, the gown Atta had described was just my size.