Page 71

Sistine

A fter the wedding festivities were over, it seemed as if the ranch settled in for a long, cold winter.

It had only been a short amount of time since my cousin and her husband vowed their lives to each other, but the weather had taken a sharp turn.

The wind whistling through the trees was no longer meandering, giving the world a glimpse of what was to come.

What was to come had arrived.

I shivered and pulled my—Mariano’s—flannel closer.

I would have to trade the thinner material for a fabric that was thicker.

I pulled the beanie down on my head and told Rocky no , he could not eat it.

Each time I bent over to do something, he came at me—hard.

His butting behavior was growing worse. He attempted to get me as he did my father-in-law.

In the culo , or at the least, my hat, which he wanted to eat.

I gave him a rub on the head and a carrot. We would be leaving for Italy in the next week, and although he was a pain, I would miss his cute face. By the time I returned, he would be a full-on male goat. I wondered if he would even remember me.

Remo nodded toward him. “He is a pest.”

“He is.” I grinned. “I still love him.”

“Do not tell Mariano this,” he said. “He will use him for skewers.”

In Italy, the lower men called the higher men signor , although they were related. It was odd. In America, the rules were a little laxer. Remo called Mariano by his first name. It seemed more natural.

I stilled and gaped at him. When I could finally organize a coherent thought and my mouth was able to work in tandem with it, I said, “Remo, did you just make a joke?”

He shrugged.

I laughed, then laughed even harder when Remo bent down to pick up a rake and Rocky got him in the behind. I was not even sure how to describe the noise that came from Remo’s mouth, but it was funny enough to make me laugh even harder.

Rocky must have found it hilarious as well. “ Baaaaaa !” He seemed to be laughing, pulling his front lip up, showing his teeth. He did not hit Remo hard enough to send him over, but he was close to seeing his intentions sprawled out on the barn floor.

Remo popped up, giving Rocky a stern look, and I laughed even harder when Rocky took a place behind me. He stuck his tongue out at Remo.

Mariano came into the barn, and Remo rose to his full height, his face going blank.

A grin still lingered on my face, but I toyed with Rocky, putting all my attention on him.

Mariano had not been in a good mood after the wedding was over.

Atta and Angelo were leaving in a week or two for their honeymoon.

We would be leaving soon as well. His mood reflected the dark turn the weather was about to take.

It was, perhaps, warranted. We did not seem to ever have enough uninterrupted time. We did not have a proper honeymoon, as Atta and Angelo were going to have, and we both seemed to crave it.

First, Italy, and what awaited us there.

Mariano stared at Remo, then looked at me, then at Rocky, then back at Remo.

Rocky made a noise at Mariano and then razzed at him.

Mariano’s eyebrows drew down and his eyes narrowed on the kid. “Fucking skewer meat,” he said.

I was not sure why, nerves or something else, but I exploded with laughter again.

Mariano’s eyes landed on me and softened.

I smiled at him when I could. A smile that meant—it’s us .

Us against the world. I would not allow my family to come between us, and neither would he.

Just as he would not have allowed his family to come between us.

Whatever waited for us in Italy would be taken care of.

The maze, the end game, would be easy enough.

It was the details in the middle that might prove to be difficult.

My family was not going to want us together. End of story.

Nonno had been right. We were going to have to fight.

The thought of Capri made me uneasy. She was truly unhinged. She might even attempt to drown me in the canal. This time, I would fight her. I had something worth fighting for.

The man gazing at me from across the barn.

My husband’s softened eyes turned heated, starting to turn me into melting candle wax.

I knew the look on his face. How he was staring at me.

As if he was starved for me. Even in my— his —flannel, a plain white t-shirt, jeans, boots, and hat, it seemed as if he had never seen me in such clothes before.

The other day I had worn a bodysuit, the back low and scooped, with a pair of tight jeans, and he had ripped both off me.

He would gaze at me, as he was doing in that moment, and when the connection seemed to make us both pliable and lost only to each other, he would say “Fuck” and come after me.

I was a willing sacrifice to his needs.

I shared them.

Two men standing in the doorway of the barn caught my attention. One of Mariano’s men from Italy and another from the ranch. The solider from Italy waited until Mariano acknowledged him to speak. The ranch hand said nothing.

“The vet says the horse is ready,” the solider said in Italian.

Mariano sighed, then nodded. He came over to me and wrapped his arm around my neck, pulling me in, kissing me on the temple. I wrapped my arm around his back and stuck my other hand in my back pocket.

“Should I be jealous?” I asked with a smile on my face.

“Nah.” He grinned. “She’ll kick anything, or anyone, that comes close to her. Understandably.” He pulled me in, almost off my feet, and kissed my temple again. He was wearing a beanie, and I wanted him to keep it on while he slammed into me.

A heat moved between us that never abated—it only flared when we were together, body against body.

I took a deep breath, and he looked at me from the side of his eye. I met his stare before I moved my gaze forward. One of the mares was giving birth. The doctor preferred the way Mariano put all the horses at ease. It seemed as if the mamma horse was calling for Mariano as well.

He directed me toward the main house with his arm around my neck. Zia Bianca and Hannah had invited us over for dinner.

At the steps of the main house, he pulled me in again, and this time he kissed me on the lips.

We parted for a second, so I could catch my breath, but he was on me again before another breath could be taken, kissing me as if it was the first time, the last time.

When I could not catch my breath, I pulled away again, but then I started kissing him.

Our backs kept hitting the front of the house.

Only when Zia Bianca came to the door and cleared her throat did I realize how ramped up we were getting. My cheeks flamed, and Mariano grinned when I practically jumped in front of him to hide the bulge in his jeans. He pulled me against him, laughing low and raspy in my ear.

I took the kitchen towel from Zia Bianca before she could go back inside. When Mariano went to walk off, I flung it at his head.

“Tease,” I said, still breathless.

“A sample of later.” He winked at me.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Of course I fucking did. A reminder. You’ll remember, even when I’m not around.”

I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it anyway. “Remember what?” My heart sped up, anticipating his reply.

“You’re mine .” He hit his heart.

Each time he said those two words to me, they felt as if they were being tattooed on my soul.

He took the steps down easily, as if he built them and they belonged to him, and started for the barn with the horses. I ran to the steps and leaned over the railing, calling for him.

“ Marito mio .”

He stopped, turning around, meeting my eyes.

“I would want you next to me too,” I whispered, then forced myself into the house.

If not, I was going to go with him, and once there, the horses were going to unnerve me, and Mariano would spend his time close to me. I knew the doctor liked having him near. Mariano dealt with horses in Italy, as well, and was experienced with them.

“Where is my towel?” Zia Bianca raised one eyebrow at me as I entered the kitchen.

She read the apologetic look on my face.

“It was for a good cause!” I raised my hands in surrender and laughed when she came at me with another, attempting to swat my culo with it.

She pointed to the counter. “Deal with the salad.”

I grinned the entire time I put the salad together, thinking about both Mia and I with lettuce in our hairs after Scarlett had flung handfuls of it at us. Mariano had grinned the entire time he had picked it out, saying he wished he had a rabbit close.

Zia Bianca sighed. “Young love.” She pinched my cheek. Then she got back to work on the main course. She was making pappardelle al cinghiale , pasta with wild boar.

I was just happy she was not making anything with sardines. I did not enjoy them. I enjoyed her pappardelle al cinghiale. Our family had property in Tuscany, and my grandfather and father hunted wild boar there. We had it quite often when we went there for a visit.

Sardines.

My sister came to mind.

She loved them.

I once told her this was why her figa smelled like fish.

She swatted me so hard she had bruised me.

Of course, I should not have said something so grotesque to her, insulting her tender sensibilities, although she had told me a few moments before that I looked like a sea urchin.

“Easy, niece,” my aunt said in soft Italian to me.

“Ah.” I had not realized I was chopping the lettuce back to the water stage.

I often felt I had some repressed resentment when it came to my sister and family, but I had buried it down so deep, just as I had done the night with Atta in the snake barn, that it was easy to overlook when I concentrated on other things.