King of Italy (Fausti Family Royal)

11. The Spinning Toy and the Mesmerizing Stars in Her Eyes

Chapter 11

The Spinning Toy and the Mesmerizing Stars in Her Eyes

M y husband had returned from his last trip with what seemed like prickly pears stuck up his culo . I was not sure what had gotten into him, but for him to be in such a sullen mood, whatever it was must have been personal.

For an entire week, I listened and snuck around the family as if I were part rat. I had no idea whether my husband had gotten wind of Brando Fausti, or whether he had connected the truth of it to me.

Was that the reason why he was being so sullen?

The night we were traveling to Volterra, he had gotten this look in his eyes, as if something I had done had made his ears prick and his senses turn on, as if I might become dinner. Did he realize on the way that the club was owned by the Nemours, and that I was in on the secret about his brother? I did not believe my husband was having me followed.

Outside of our intimate life was our life as Faustis, and even though we had an arrangement to have sex with other people, Rocco knew my loyalty was to the family—no matter what. I might have been a whore, and enjoyed it, but I was a loyal bitch to one man when it came to the table I chose to sit at.

I shook my head. No, Rocco did not know about the secret son of Luca. If he had, I would have heard about it. I would have felt the change, whether Rocco knew about the secret son or not. Brando Fausti was not a part of our world, and him being this close would have shaken it up some.

Especially knowing what I had learned on my own after the party.

Brando Fausti was older than my husband. Brando was born in August, and my husband in November of the same year.

Sighing, I admitted to myself that my sleuthing was getting out of hand when it came to Brando and his toy, and I was not ready for the trail to lead back to me. However, I knew it was going to after what I did that day. I was going to contact the spinning toy.

For whatever reason, she had decided to relocate from Paris to Milan for the ballet. I suspected this had to do with Olivier. He was not a man to waste time on dancers he felt were beneath a monetary line. I saw the way he looked at the spinning toy, and how mesmerized he was by her. He knew Brando Fausti was going to be a problem, but since this Brando did not carry the weight of the Fausti name with him, perhaps Olivier thought he could start something on his terms.

However, I saw and heard the pride in the spinning toy’s eyes and voice as she had announced to the crowd Brando’s father’s name. Perhaps this was her way of moving closer to Italy, so the claim on him and him on them would not be countries apart. Or was the fierce pride she displayed for her man only? Either way. There was pride there. Perhaps Olivier was putting too much pressure on her. If she started to decline, he would start her on drugs so she would perform as he wanted her to.

In terms of criminal families, the Nemours could not hold a candle to the Faustis. Even though they were powerful, they did not get there by dealing in flesh. The Fausti men loved women. Revered them. Blah. Blah. Blah. But at least it was not a jail. If anything, it was a golden cage. I could deal with gold.

I wondered if the ballerina could deal with the same if it meant trading in the man on the leash she knew for the dangerous animal that no leash known to man could control .

The thrill of it sent a shiver down my spine, and my entire body trembled.

Before heading to Pienza, I stopped off in Siena to speak to a man who was connected to the Fausti family by marriage. His sister was the famed Italian movie star, Grazia Angeli, and she had been married to Marzio, my husband’s grandfather and Luca’s father. Grazia’s brother had numerous properties, and since the one in Siena did not mean a great deal to him, he wanted to sell it. He was the only son born among seven girls. The girls were all older, and the place meant a great deal more to them.

I believed I had the perfect buyer, though. I explained to Grazia’s brother who was interested, Grazia’s grandson and his wife, the famed ballerina, Scarlett Rose Poésy, though she had decided on the American custom of taking her husband’s last name. She was going professionally as Scarlett Fausti after her wedding to the bella bestia in December.

Was that another clue that she wanted Brando to claim his family and for them to claim him, or was she just following the tradition of her home country?

I was not sure, and I did not enjoy the uncertainty of it. If Brando was going to challenge my husband, he had to be prepared. But I was not sure how to go about this, except to bring them closer to us so we could get in with them before they showed up on their own terms.

Curse the son of the whore—Olivier Nemours—for bringing them into our lives!

I did not know how, or when, but my instincts were screaming at me that everything was about to change.

Grazia’s brother was all too happy to hand the keys over to me, telling me he would be honored to sell to Grazia’s blood. Marzio had thought no one in the family wanted it.

The spinning toy would.

For more than one reason.

She was romantic, and what was more romantic than buying the childhood home of your husband’s grandmother? Also, it had a spectacular night show that she was going to drown in, not able to see anything else until she held the keys to the otherworld in her hand. I might have been a self-absorbed bitch when it came to half of my life, but when it came to the other half—being a central player in the Fausti family—I took notice of everything, even minuscule things that might not matter later.

The way she was gazing up at the stars the night of Olivier’s party told me a great deal about the spinning toy.

She was the romance in Brando’s veins that awoke the ruthless side of him.

Good for her, but if she unbalanced him, the family would be sure to put him in his place. As they should! Love only goes so far. Sex only goes so far. What lasted forever? Their power!

Oh well, at that moment, it was not my issue. My issue was getting in her good graces, especially after the look she gave me the night of Olivier’s party. I had to figure out what was going on. Also, lead her and her husband to my husband on my terms.

We might have to kill them, depending on what their arrival meant in our lives.

My husband’s name seemed to explode inside of my mind.

Rocco.

How was he going to feel knowing he was no longer the oldest and heir to the Fausti throne?

I punched the horn of my red Ferrari as I sped toward Pienza. Of course, the sappy ballerina would go there! It had four streets which were considered romantic and named appropriately. Via del Bacio. Via dell’Amore. Via della Fortuna. Via del Buia. One of Grazia’s most famous films was filmed there by one of Italy’s most famed directors. The sappy ballerina was falling in love with her husband’s home, attempting to assimilate—for her husband, for the both of them, or for the family? I hit the gas harder, arriving in time to watch her from afar before I made myself a part of her life.

One thing about the ballerina—her green eyes, they saw too much, understood too much, and I knew that, if I was going to do this, I would do it with my trademark honesty that made people either love or hate me. I would never be a part of the furniture or cause indifference in a person. That was not who I was, and I chose to be honest about it to the world and to myself. I did not live off likes and dislikes, and I highly suggested against it.

I had always considered myself a piece of art. Some might find me perfect for their homes, setting me over a plinth, frescoes of angels surrounding me, while others would find me too much for their simple tastes.

But they would find me.

They would judge me.

And no matter how they find me, I will still be art.

I might act when the need arose, but at the end of the day, I would turn back into me. I could find the real me anywhere, any time, any place. My faces were fluid but my core solid.

On to the next big thing.

What would I say to the spinning top once we crashed into each other on this street?

Oh, hello there!

No, that was too contrived. Anything but what happened naturally in the moment would be. I would just act on what felt natural once at her side.

She was so sweet, though, I knew a gesture of good will would not go amiss. I popped into a shop and purchased two gelati while she had disappeared inside of a pottery place. I was quicker than she was, and the sight of her standing outside of the shop stopped me.

She was…a floating being, and I wondered if her feet followed her thoughts. It was as if she had a hot air balloon inside of her, and she was always looking up for answers or looking down at the world trying to figure out how to fix it.

Taking this as my cue to enter her life, I slipped a hand around her tiny waist, yanking her side against mine. I really had no idea how she survived that bella bestia . I was surprised that he had not cracked her in two.

Impressive.

She was surviving his physical power .

One look into her eyes, and I was amazed that he was surviving whatever power she held below the surface of those jealousy-colored irises.

I smiled at her, offering her the cup of gelato. “The best in Italia . Homemade. Do not be bashful. Try it.”

I could feel her resistance, her body trying to pull away from mine, but I kept my grip firm and our hips together as I licked my sweet treat. She squinted at me, like I had suddenly brought the blazing sun out with me. Perhaps because of this, she accepted the gelato.

She almost hummed as she ate. And after a tender breeze swept past us, I inhaled, smelling roses in the air. She carried the scent with her as if it was just part of her natural makeup. It did not smell store bought, even if it was. I did not usually care for rose. It gave me a headache, and that only perturbed me. But the scent on her was so natural, it was pleasant.

However, she might have been surviving the bella bestia , but she was thinner than the last time I saw her. Was it because of him? Or because Olivier was ruining her with too much dance?

I grinned. “I see the bella bestia is keeping you thin. He drives you to the point of skin and bones with his sex.”

She was so into her gelato, high in her balloon, that I pinched her side to get her to pay attention to me. She jumped a little, then smiled, a gelato mustache over her lips.

“It’s hard not to—if you were married to Brando Fausti, you’d understand.”

I could have laughed at either her smugness or innocence—it was hard to tell which. She might have looked delicate, but she was a hard nut. “I do,” I said, sighing. I had been giving Rocco a taste of what he wanted, just the two of us, as long as he fed me pasta after. The sex was not as intimate as he wanted, but the feeding was. I allowed it because I enjoyed being treated like a queen. “I have one of my own. But the difference between my bella bestia and yours is that mine feeds me loads and loads of pasta after! ”

She blinked at me when I laughed at the look on her face. It was pinched.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I think the question is…what are you doing here, Ballerina?”

She lifted her gelato, pointing at nothing in particular, and said, “Exploring.”

Not the answer I was looking for, but I knew this was not going to be easy. If it would have been, I would have been disappointed in Brando Fausti for choosing such a weak partner—the blood running through his veins, claimed or not, demanded it.

“I can see that,” I said, giving her my hand. “Come. Let me show you something.”

If I had to, I would have carried her to the car, but she came, even if a few steps behind. We stopped in front of my Ferrari, and I almost laughed at the curious look on her face. But I could tell it was warring with common sense, or whatever her feelings were speaking to her.

“What are you waiting for?” I took my seat, starting the car, giving her an I dare you look .

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

This time, I allowed the laughter that had been stuck in my chest to flow out. I revved the engine, not holding back. “Get in! I promise to bring you back to your bella bestia.” I winked at her. This was a promise I was going to keep. There was no doubt he would kill me if something happened to her. And even though I might have to kill her, she was fun!

Her face did not change, but she touched the door handle, then opened it, sliding in, her things pressed to her chest. She seemed to want to take the camera she carried and make it become a part of her.

How odd this little being was. But there was something about her that was truly remarkable.

I tied a headscarf around my hair and asked her, “Ready?” I did not give her a chance to answer. I hit the gas, heading back toward Siena .

A slight traffic incident made the ballerina hold her things even closer, her eyes narrowed on me after I gave the men a wave after they shouted at us.

The fun ballerina was not enjoying the ride, but it seemed like she might have been praying or floating in her air balloon again. It was as if she could not stay inside of herself. It seemed to me she longed to be somewhere else.

“I have seen you dance.” I pinched her to pop her balloon.

She slapped at me. “Quit it.”

I grinned at her almost…childishness. “You daydream too much. Be present.”

“I am! How can I not be? I’m too terrified to even close my eyes!”

“What did I say then?”

“When?”

“See! You have a floating mind. Bring it back down. For now.”

“All right. You’ve seen me dance. In Paris?”

“No, in Volterra. Not far from here, no?” Even though Nemours was keeping the identity of this spinning top under lock and key, I had collected the pieces and put them together. Her answer would confirm or deny this.

“Oh.” She seemed to collapse over her things as if they could protect her from the truth.

Trapped. I almost smiled at how cunning I could be.

“You are very good.” The memories of that night in Volterra after we watched her dance had changed something between my husband and me. It was the first night since the day after our wedding that we had been alone in our bed. He was ruthless with me, of course, but the after…was not so bad. What was the harm? I needed to eat, and he was treating me as a queen by feeding me.

I reached forward and turned the radio on. The song she had danced to thumped through the speakers. “I came outside of myself three times, after your dance. My lover was pleased with himself.”

“Did you get extra pasta for that?”

The question was so unexpected from her, and I laughed so hard, the car swerved. “I see why he fell for you, bella .” Not only him, but Olivier Nemours. I winked at her. “You are wicked.”

I made casual conversation with her the rest of the way, and she was present enough to answer most of the questions, but she was guarded. She did not trust me. Good for her. However, the information would be mine one way or another.

Taking a sharp turn, we traveled up the road leading to the villa, brown dust flying behind us. Once the car reached flat land, I hit the brake.

She leaned forward a little as the dust settled around us, her feline eyes taking in the farmhouse before us. Cream stone with a terra-cotta roof, vines climbing as if protecting the home within, and smaller buildings set around it. Giving her a moment to become curious, I stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind me. I turned toward the farmhouse, waiting for her to take the bait.

She did not just tug at it, but bit down. “Is this your place?” she asked, following me after a minute. “It’s beauti ? —”

“Shh!” I grabbed her hand, refusing to lose the catch. “Come with me.”

Opening the front door with the skeleton key Grazia’s brother had given me, I gave her permission to enter before me.

Yours already, see? the invitation stated.

She was still hesitant, so I did not allow her to pause. I took her hand and brought her further inside. She paused on the second landing of the staircase, and a shiver stole over me. Grazia’s brother had said this was his sister’s favorite place to be. She would anticipate Marzio’s arrival and stare out of the window for hours, if that was how long it took for her lover to arrive.

It was not a usual occurrence for me to get goosebumps, but it was as if this tiny dancer called ghosts to her, and I was not sure if I liked that part of her. I tugged on her hand, and we moved to the master bedroom. She took it all in as if she were a sponge.

The ceiling, the floors, and the stunning view outside of the windows facing the iconic scenery. The hills and the Castle of Meleto, the medieval village of Vertine. Before she stepped foot in this home, I knew the process of falling in love had tugged at her heartstrings. She wore hearts in her eyes as she imagined a life here.

Her fingers reverently touched a gold chain hanging from the bed’s poster. Hm. Grazia’s brother must have left it. It dangled between the tiny dancer’s fingers, and she closed her eyes, sighing at whatever she felt from it. She set it back in its place a few moments later, and then exited the room through a door that led out to the terrace.

It was as if she had stepped out into a fantastical dream. Her eyes took in the crawling roses and lilacs. And when a warm breeze touched the tendrils of her auburn hair, she closed her eyes, breathing in.

As she allowed the breath out, I took her hand and brought her around the rest of the property. This time, I tried to keep her rooted in reality by giving her facts instead of allowing her to get lost in the dream again. She had never left it, and I was almost worried that perhaps she could not.

Fate was on my side when we stood in the kitchen, and a hard dose of reality brought her back down to the earth.

One of the cabinets needed to be fixed, and it fell sideways, smacking her in the head. She laughed, rubbing it. Then she attempted to fix it, but it still hung crookedly.

Perhaps this was something her man could do for her. It was best to plant the seed inside of her head and watch it take root, instead of offering her the plant itself, already grown with nothing else to do but enjoy its fruits.

“If you buy it, you can fix it.” I shrugged, making a motion that this was the best idea.

“What?” She laughed even louder, as if this was a preposterous idea! “Buy it?”

“The villa. It is for sale. A dear family member can no longer tend to its needs.”

“I can’t buy this place.” She spun, turning into the spinning ballerina before my eyes, but it was out of shock.

“Why not? You have the money, no? ”

“We do.”

“I do not see the problem.” Okay, perhaps too much reality had invaded her thoughts. She needed more persuasion, in the form of imagining her husband here. “Come. Let me show you something else.”

I took her hand and led her back outside. I made sure to point out the different trees and the tributary of river Massellone that ran through the yard. We walked over the bridge above it, leading straight to a glistening in-ground blue pool.

It only took a second, and she smiled as her reflection rippled back at her.

Of course.

From my research, Brando Faust was a swimmer.

“You see,” I said to her as we moved closer to the farmhouse, “this place is for you and your beast.”

“I can’t buy a villa in Siena, Rosaria.” She said the words, but it was as if she could not bear to part with even the smell of it. She had taken a breath in but had not released it.

“We have covered this already, bella . You can do whatever you like. If your heart speaks to you, listen to it. Money is no matter.”

“What logic,” she mumbled.

“There is one more thing I would like to show you.” The delicious pièce de résistance that was going to put the cherry on her floating cake. “It will take a while.”

We sat out on the balcony that was connected to the master bedroom, and the tiny dancer offered me a bottle of Chianti, cheese, and pears. She explained to me that the owner of the shop in Pienza, or who she thought was the owner of the shop, had accidentally given them to her. She said it was the second time it had happened. The first time was when her bella bestia was with her. She said she honestly thought it was a case of mistaken identity. She felt bad for the true owner of the package, but the man at the shop refused to take it back.

I was not sure what was going on, but a chill spread over my arms, and I knew it was a sign from fate that I had to direct my husband’s footsteps here. There are some obstacles in life that are unavoidable, even for me. This was when I schemed and planned to avoid falling during them.

However, I should have known in that moment that my life was going to change in ways I did not foresee. I should have known and killed her right then—poisoned the pear or the Chianti—yet, the stars had come out, and I was riveted by the reaction this dreamer had to them.

“Now you are allowed to float,” I whispered as the stars seemed to unfurl from the sky like a troupe of ballerinas with candles on their feet.

“Holy Mary,” she breathed out, her eyes full of stars.

“The name of the villa is dare alla luce .” I took another bite of the pear, and she gazed at me.

“To give birth,” she translated.

“Sì. It is the way the house is cloaked in total darkness at night, except for the love of the stars, and then when the time comes for the darkness to give over to the light, she breaks free and basks in the glory of it. She gives herself over to it. She not only reflects it, she bathes in it. You see this?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I do.”

It was as if she was lost for words, perhaps her mind connecting truths her heart already knew. It took her a few moments, but then she asked, “Rosaria, do you think it can also mean breaking the surface?”

I gave her a smile as true as my husband claimed the truth in my voice was. “You mean like a diver, no? One that rises from the mysterious depths of the water to break the surface for the one he loves. Sì. It can be the same thing. You can make it as you wish, bella. The villa is here for you, not the other way around.”

She laughed as if she was high on the truth, quietly, almost disbelievingly. “If I said those same words out loud, I’d sound like a cliché.”

“We cannot all be born Italian. Lucky for you—” I pinched her cheek “—you are married to one! ”

“ Sì . ” Her cheeks flushed a scarlet red that I could see in the darkness. Her bella bestia was not even around, and she was burning for him. “I am that.”

“What do you say to this place now?”

She leaned over the balcony, a girlish grin on her face. “Sì , we’ll take it.”

Sì , I thought, tapping my chin. You will take it, but will you take the burden that comes with it once you know the truth? I had a feeling she would carry it for her husband, but I also had a feeling she was going to make this life harder for him.

Sighing, I leaned over the balcony with her, looking forward instead of up. A little floating went a long way for me. I could float when I was dead. I preferred to look life head on and ram my head into it. I had always been told I had a hard one. Why not use it, no?

However, this tiny dancer seemed to have shaken me a bit, even though it was not in a way that changed my core. I started to think about Olivier Nemours and what he could possibly be doing to this couple. Or would do.

Of course, my loyalties were with whoever the Fausti family were loyal to. But apart from my husband and I potentially having to kill this bastard son of the family and his precious wife, my heart felt lighter at the thought of her being here. Safe away from Olivier. He would not dare walk on ground that the Fausti family had claimed.

And my feelings had nothing to do with being soft…

They had to do with hard.

I did not like people attempting to force me to do anything I did not want to do. I did not like feeling trapped by anyone or anything. And because of that, I wanted to help protect this soft creature. Because despite what the world thought of me, my faults, as they claimed, I did believe that differences made the world go round, and if the tiny dancer was one thing, she was different. And I loved the world because I was in it—it had to keep spinning.