Chapter 21 #3
And, incidentally, he was the reason Ermanno knew the word “cock-a-doodie.” Sometimes Shorty spent time with Romeo and Juliette, and Romeo had him on a movie marathon roll. The movie “Misery” was one of his favorites.
“I, too, once had to battle geese!” Romeo yelled. “Irish geese. I had their cock-a-doodie in my hair!”
“You saved me from it, though,” Scarlett said, her cheeks so pink from laughing, she was glowing.
Romeo kept his hands at his sides and bowed to her.
On the way up, Dario slapped Romeo in the back of the head, but it was more playful, and everyone started to laugh harder.
Especially when Ermanno was finally able to stand and started taking steps toward Romeo like he was going to hug him.
Ermanno was covered in goose crap and feathers.
This time, the gaggle changed directions and went after Romeo, as if Ermanno had suddenly earned the title of their fearless leader, and he was sending them into battle.
“Ah no!” Romeo began to wave his hands in the air, making himself seem bigger, which was huge—there was nothing small about these men. He was doing it to Ermanno, too, who had a grin on his face. “You will not touch this hair!”
Finally, Rocco set me on my feet, keeping his hands on me, and he made a joke about the geese crap making it to Romeo’s head through his hair.
It was unexpected, but everyone continued to laugh, sighing to catch their breath.
It was the first time any of us had had some kind of pressure release as of late.
In the next second, it seemed as if the brothers looked at the same time toward a downstairs window overlooking the grounds.
As if they all felt a presence we hadn’t.
All but Scarlett, but I had a feeling she didn’t look on purpose.
The window seemed to be an eye into the room where we’d be having lunch with Luca and Maggie Beautiful.
Luca was at the window, his eyes seemingly made of stone, drinking whiskey in slow sips.
“We all must go.” Rocco said it plainly, but I knew for Dario and Romeo, it was an order. When Ermanno went to join us, Rocco shook his head and sent him to a solider, who nodded at Rocco, accepting the silent order my husband had given him.
“He’s hungry,” I said, watching as Ermanno walked away.
“The solider will direct him to a bath, then he’ll have one of the cooks feed him. Ermanno will cat-sit Pisolino, make sure he is finding his temporary home acceptable.”
“All right,” I whispered, my heart dropping in disappointment. Ermanno was with me so much…I felt maternal toward him, especially knowing he had lost his mamma young.
After I straightened my dress to make sure I had no wrinkles, I rubbed my hand along my husband’s back to make sure no dirt had stuck to him.
Luca was old-school when it came to respecting the table, and his rules, which I understood.
But it was more than that. The look in his eyes hadn’t warmed, and I knew if one small detail was out of place, he might take it out on his sons—because whatever he was holding inside was making the pressure rise around us.
I could feel it, and I got the feeling the animals especially felt it—like a hunter had been set loose, and no one was safe.
My hand went to my chest, and I clasped my cross for strength.
The castello reflected the outside…opulent.
It was exactly the kind of place I’d imagine the king of Italy would live.
Antique furniture that seemed hand-carved, the wood dark and polished, and expensive marble throughout, including statues of naked men and women.
There were brass and gold touches, along with family heirlooms preserved inside glass boxes.
The paintings hanging on the walls were probably worth millions.
The entire place was stunning, and I understood why Rocco would consider living there, at least some of the time.
I wasn’t sure if the place had always had a warm feel to it, but it was full of warmth.
For as big as it was, it felt like a home.
I also thought Maggie Beautiful had a lot to do with that.
She mentioned the place being perfect as is, so she’d never requested any changes, but when I’d told her how warm it felt, that wasn’t what I was referring to.
The warmth of it had to do with her. Her essence.
She might not have decorated, but every inch of the place had her touch all over it.
From the grand dining room with a table designed for one hundred guests, down to the smallest powder rooms, her scent lingered in each one.
The masculine scent of her husband hovered, and I thought that was a great metaphor for how these men operated around their women.
It was a subtle reminder that they were never alone.
If you get her, you get him.
Which both comforted me—my husband would always be near me—and made me anxious.
No matter what, my husband would defend my honor, even against his own family.
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at dinner, except for maybe a few grins between us when a honk would echo outside of the window, but it would quickly fade. Because we all know…this dinner might be peaceful, but the times ahead were going to be anything but.