Page 67

Sistine

T he weather was as crisp as the apple I was eating. The sun was setting, the world around us glowing, and I opened my mouth so that my husband could feed me another bite of fruit. I was not a fan of the mushy ones. I loved the ones with a bite—the ones that made crunchy noises when I bit down.

Mariano laughed quietly at me, scooping up extra almond butter spread as he fed me another bite. His fingers had some of the delicious mixture on them, apple and ground almond, and I took his hand, sticking the digits in my mouth, sucking all the way down, my eyes on his.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, and he kissed me, stealing some of the food from my mouth. He took a drink of whiskey and, pulling me in, shared it with me.

When I pulled away, I was dazed, until the wind picked up and I moved in closer to him.

We were sitting out on our porch, on our old rocking chair, me on my husband’s lap. An old radio played softly in the background. The blanket Hannah gave me was wrapped around my shoulders. I kept trying to keep it on Mariano as well.

He laughed. It was raspy and low. “I run hot, Annie. Keep it for yourself.”

“I want us both to be underneath it together. You warm me from one side and the blanket from the other. It keeps the heat in.”

He laughed even louder. “You don’t want to share your blanket. You’re just using me as a heater.”

“No.” I laughed with him. “I like that you are underneath with me. It makes me feel as if you are warm enough too.”

His eyes softened, and he fixed the blanket so that we were both mostly under it. His legs were out. He did the rocking. He pushed against the old wooden boards, and they creaked underneath his feet.

“Sweet Annie,” he whispered.

“Sometimes,” I whispered back.

We both smiled, knowing it was the truth. I was spicier than I was sweet. Only with him did I soften and become vulnerable.

I sighed, and so did he. I asked him to sing to me. The song with the same name he had given me. His pace was slow but steady with the rocking chair. It made me curl into him and tuck my nose into the crook of his neck.

“Only if you sing with me,” he said.

I nodded. Although my voice was not as gorgeous as his, I could hold somewhat of a tune. I sang all the female parts.

He kissed my forehead after the song was over, and I stuck my nose back in the crook of his neck. He shivered. “Your nose is like ice.”

“This is why I am cuddling up.” I pushed myself even further into him, smelling almond and apple on my breath when I breathed against him. “You are so warm, Marito mio .”

“I’ll warm you forever, my Annie.”

A silent sigh slipped from my lips, and before I closed my eyes, I caught sight of the Sunday dress Mariano had ripped off my body after everyone had left. He made me scream so loudly that my throat ached. He had made me a hot cup of tea and the apple with dip to make me feel better.

This was heaven.

Pure heaven.

He grew quiet, and so did I. Birds chattered in the distance, perhaps chatting about where they would fly to when winter came.

Some kind of insect kept flying around our heads, buzzing.

The rocking chair against the wood beneath us creaked every so often.

The trees seemed to have voices of their own and whispered secrets to each other when the wind would blow.

Other than that, all was silent.

The silence did not come between us but forged us even closer together. I could sit with him—just this way—for the rest of my life.

Perhaps our thoughts were in sync, perhaps not, but in the quiet, in the stillness with him, I reflected on the last week.

I did not know how welcoming his family was going to be.

His grandmother…to be honest, I could not see anyone calling her “grandmother.” She had told me her spirit animal was a glittery lioness.

Her husband called her his wildflower. She was a mixture of the two that seemed to make her forever young. A free spirit.

I adored her from the first moment. She welcomed me into the family right away, making me feel as if I had always been a part of it.

However, I had always been cautious of Luca Fausti.

Even when he came to the jewelry store, I would be courteous to him, but I preferred when my grandfather or father would serve him.

He made me nervous. I always felt he had it in him to eat one of his young, and if he could do something of that nature, he could do it to me.

I did not want to say or do the wrong thing.

However, I noticed how different he was with his wife.

She made him human.

I sighed.

To be honest, thinking back, I wondered if I was…enamored with him as well. The fear made me respect him, but it also drew me in. I had always averted my eyes so that he did not see it. He just seemed to be a man who would know these things about a woman.

Mariano said his Nonno would request a walk with me. He had with Atta, but as of that time, he had not requested the same from me. I felt perhaps he did not care for me, or the situation.

Mariano said if he did not care for me or the situation, we would know it. Mariano felt his grandfather was giving me time. Perhaps to get more comfortable with him.

With women, Mariano had told me, especially beautiful women, his grandfather was merely a man. It was hard to connect the two, but Magpie, as she requested I call her, proved the theory to be true—Luca Fausti could feel.

He even left the situation up to Zia Bianca about whether she wanted to invite her father—my grandfather—and her brother—my father—to the wedding.

If she did, my family would know Mariano had been at the ranch with me.

Fausti men did not hide the truth. However, since the situation was not entirely about the Fausti family, my aunt had the right to tell them or not, since she was estranged from them, which was why it was not the same situation with Atta as it was for me.

I was not estranged. There was no way my grandfather and father would allow the union.

Whatever they both said, my mamma would agree to it.

My talent was coveted. Marrying a Fausti would not only break tradition, a law, it could potentially cause trouble between the families if the marriage was not a happy one.

My husband and I knew this was not the truth of our relationship, but my family would not be sold on the idea, no matter how much I tried to plead our case.

Mariano’s uncle, Rocco, and his wife, Rosaria, came to mind.

I had dealt with Rosaria before. She did not bother me.

She was frank and knew what she liked and did not like.

This intimidated a lot of people, especially because she seemed to hold weight in the family since she was married to the man who would lead the family someday.

I only did as she told me to and then went on with my life.

I could tell most of the family did not appreciate her attitude, and things were tense between them.

Mariano said there was a lot more to the story.

My husband was not a gossip and left me in suspense after that.

It was Mia who filled me in on all things Rosaria- and Fausti-related. Rosaria had tried to seduce Matteo! Stella, Matteo’s wife, did not appreciate this. More drama unfolded after this.

Seemed as if Rosaria was at war within her own family.

Mia also told me that, if she was not available to fill me in, I should speak to Marciano. He had smiled and waved at me from across the kitchen, where Mia and I had been talking while washing dishes.

Mariano and I had hosted the family, along with Hannah, Zia Bianca, and of course Atta and Angelo to our cabin for dinner.

Both sides of our family suspected something more serious between us.

Mariano was not hiding how he felt for me.

I did not hide how I felt about him. Still.

Both sides were unaware of what, exactly, had taken place outside of the cabin on a beautiful fall day, but they did not pry. I was thankful for that.

However, I did mention I appreciated Mia telling me these things, since her brother was not a snitch.

Even to his wife, me, which I did not feel was a snitchy (I was not sure if that was even a legitimate word, but I went with it because it fit) thing to do.

What was his was mine, just as what was mine was his, as he was prone to say.

I said all of this to him, except for the parts connecting us as husband and wife.

His eyebrows had lifted, and he came at me.

“Mariano!” I screeched when he set his hands around my waist, and whatever he did with his fingers, it tickled the laughter out of me. I oversaw washing the soap off the plates, and the sprayer, not as old as the cabin but needed to be replaced, went wild.

It hit Mia in the face before it hit us. Mariano roared with laughter from behind me. She grabbed a half-eaten pie from the counter and went to fling it at him. He started for the door, but Scarlett was walking through it.

Mia hit her Mamma in the face with a pie.

“Oh shit,” I muttered, then did what I usually did when nerves hit me—laughed.

Even underneath the pie mask, I noticed the way Scarlett’s eyes widened.

Mariano started laughing so hard, he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Marciano was doing the same, but he was goading at the same time by wiping his Mamma’s face.

“ Mia ,” Marciano said, cleaning Scarlett up, but laughing raspy and low. “How could you do this to Mamma? Your arms have turned into spaghett i and your aim reflects it.”

Mia said she was peeing herself. She was screeching so loud. Brando and Saverio came rushing into the kitchen, and I was not sure what came over me, but I hit them both with the spray. It was almost automatic. A hit first before being hit.

Brando checked his wife before his eyes narrowed on me.

Damn.