King of Italy (Fausti Family Royal)

17. Forgiveness takes Time

Chapter 17

Forgiveness takes Time

T wo days later, on a Sunday, I’d been invited by Scarlett to attend the island church, Santa Maria delle Stelle, or Stella Maris, with the family, then lunch after. My symptoms had mostly passed, but Scarlett insisted on staying close in case I needed her, just as she had done for every bath or shower I took after being released from the hospital. I didn’t ask her why Rocco hadn’t returned, but I had a feeling she knew I was curious. She kept giving me knowing glances, a sly grin on her face.

I took cues from how the group was dressed to choose my outfit, even though I stayed true to myself. Nonna had left me a dress that had belonged to her sister before she had inherited it. Her sister was a good bit older than her and had died in World War II when she was in her early twenties. She was in Italy when a bomb was dropped on her shelter. Nonna came from a long line of seamstresses, and her sister was no exception. She had sewn the dress by hand right before the war began.

Nonna had cherished it, even though she told me after she gave it to me, “Wear it, Amora! Be respectful of it but wear it. This is what my sister would have wanted, for it not to be hidden but to be shown to the world from time to time. You are so much like her.” Then her face would cloud over, and she would busy herself doing something else for a while.

The dress was done in the popular style of that time. The fabric was a light burgundy color with a delicate white flower print. I loved the cool feel of it against my warm skin in summer. The hem landed right above my ankles. It had always been a little snug, but it fit perfectly after I’d lost some weight. I paired it with sling-back, open-toe heels. I felt it brought the dress into the future, but also respected its roots. My hair was done in soft waves that I pulled away from my face with a burgundy bow, though I’d gotten curtain bangs before I left New Orleans, and they framed my face. I went light on the makeup and then spritzed some of my signature perfume on, the sweet and citrusy scent drifting like a subtle melody in the heat. I felt for the lion’s heart. It was still there, still warm and a little wet from the shower.

I sighed, then stopped short. I almost forgot! I dug in my dresser drawer and pulled out the white lace mantello Nonna had made for me. She was traditional in that sense. She had made a black one for me for after marriage and a few other colors for different seasons.

I walked out to find the sudden explosion of people in my life. I smiled at that. I didn’t mind people, for the most part, if they didn’t drain me. This bunch didn’t. If anything, I felt more alive when I was around them. Especially Scarlett and Mia, since I felt nothing from them. Brando, too. Most of the people who I’d met through Scarlett rarely gave me feelings on way or another. I wondered if maybe they had learned how to school their feelings around her? Maybe she told them I was…gifted, as she was, and that they should guard themselves around me too?

It didn’t matter if she had. I didn’t want to feel their emotions or anything that belonged to them. It always felt invasive to me, but I loved having this ability when it came to writing. I felt it gave the characters who spoke to me a realness that made them come alive on the page. Their drive created who they were, what they were after, and what they would do to obtain whatever it was they wanted.

Another sigh slipped from my lips. I didn’t have to see Rocco to know he was close, but it was still a disappointment when he couldn’t be found in the group.

Scarlett smiled at me when she noticed me. “You look so beautiful, Ari.”

“You too!” I smiled at her. Scarlett had always been beautiful, and I knew that would never change. She just had whatever made a person attractive. Her soft beauty, all but those eyes, hit with a force that I was sure had stolen a lot of breaths and hearts over the years. I glanced at her husband.

Yeah, to claim that kind of man, she had to have knocked him to his knees.

“I love your dress!” Mia said, coming over to feel the fabric. “It’s absolutely beautiful!” She sniffed around me. “I love your perfume too! What’s the name of it? If this island had a perfume to bottle, that’s what I imagine it would smell like.”

I gave her the name of the perfume, then I explained about the dress and why it was so special to me.

“I love that.” Stella smiled at me. “It’s so nice that you still have something so special to pass on.”

At the rate I was going, a thirty-year-old virgin, I might never have a child to pass it on to. The thought made me sad, especially looking around the room and seeing so many children. Four boys and girl. They were divided up between Mia and Saverio and Stella and Matteo. Mia and Saverio had twin boys and a daughter. I thought maybe Stella and Matteo’s sons were twins too. They seemed to be the same age, and they looked alike.

“Ready to go?” Scarlett took my arm and pulled me close to her side.

“Ready.”

“Teo, Rio, and Papa Brando will walk ahead,” Stella said. “Just in case you need a wall of muscle to break your fall down those narrow steps. ”

“I’m pretty sure I’m okay now.” I smiled back at her, giving Pisolino a pet before we started for the door. “I haven’t had any more symptoms.”

Except, on the last step, it felt like I was nearing a height that was so high, even I was wary of the drop. My heart started overreacting. I couldn’t catch my breath. My stomach was anxious. Like I couldn’t even think about eating, but I was ravenous at the same time.

Rocco stood at the door, his eyes on me. At the last step, he offered me his arm, and I took it with a sigh that sent my heart floating outside of my body. Was I imagining him pulling me closer? I certainly wasn’t imagining the warm kiss he placed on my knuckles with those gorgeous lips.

“You are a vision,” he said to me. “A vision powerful enough to sustain me until my dying breath.”

“ Grazie mille ,” I breathed out, not able to say more. He took compliments to another level.

He took the mantello from me and held it in his free hand almost reverently.

We walked toward town, the same kind of music—ancient Roman style—seemingly serenading us along the way. The island’s inhabitants had come out to look, like this was a spectacle they didn’t get to see every day. Even Faustis came out, nodding to, who it seemed, was Rocco, like they were showing a sign of respect to their king.

Okay, this felt super formal, like the entire island was all acknowledging royalty.

We collected family members as we moved closer to the church. Rocco and Brando had two brothers, Dario and Romeo. Dario was married to Carmen. Romeo to Juliette. Scarlett and Brando had three sons who were born after Matteo. Mariano, Marciano, and Maestro. Then…Rocco introduced me to his sons.

Amadeo and Ludovico. He explained that Massimo was unable to attend.

Amadeo and Ludovico were both gentlemen, taking my hand, kissing it, saying how pleased they were to meet me. Both men seemed to be younger versions of their father.

Their father.

As we started to near the church at the far end of the island, almost perched over the sea, I couldn’t stop the whirling inside of my mind. Rocco had sons. Was he divorced? As traditional as this family was, I didn’t see that, nor did I see him having sons without being married.

My thoughts stalled on these questions as we met Luca Fausti, Rocco’s father, and his wife, Margherita, outside of the church.

Luca and Margherita had arrived at the church first, which meant they had been the first in line during the walk. Luca Fausti stole my breath. And I couldn’t help but put together his pieces by putting together his sons. All four men were different versions of him, but the reflection was almost the same. Luca took my hand and kissed it, told me what a pleasure it was that I was his son’s guest, and then his wife brought me in for a bear hug. When she finally let go, tears swam in her beautiful eyes. Hazel. A color like mine.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I whispered back.

Luca Fausti gave me a look of approval when I set the lace over my head, just like the other women were doing, before we entered the dim church. Even though the sun was high and bright, the sunlight was dimmed by the mosaic glass even as it gave brilliant life to all the colors of the stained glass. With the rolls of the sea right outside of the door, it was one of the most beautiful and peaceful churches I had ever been in.

During the mass, I let go of all curiosity, freeing myself from all burdens, giving them over to a higher power. Even though I was paying attention, I still felt Rocco’s eyes on me. It was like he was studying me. His father was, too, but for different reasons, I felt. Rocco was almost…intrigued by me and what I’d do next. His father was almost watching me for…maybe approval’s sake? I didn’t let either man steal my attention. This was my time to be brou ght to peace and relax in it, like a dehydrated person would settle into the arms of clean water.

After mass was over and the bright sunlight flowed over me again, my thoughts moved forward, and Rocco’s sons’ missing mother plagued me on the entire walk back. We climbed the hill—the hill that invigorated me and tired me out at the same time—and came to the castello where I’d first encountered my ghost.

The beast/man next to me.

His eyes were steadily on me, like he knew where my train of thought was headed and was preparing for it. My heart was refusing to believe the truth of this situation, and my mind was casting doubts. But in the pit of my stomach… I knew.

Scarlett’s words from the first night I’d ran into her rang like a violent bell.

Rosaria was married to my brother-in-law.

Scarlett had three of them, but Rocco was the only one without a woman at his side. Unless one of the other brothers had married right after Rosaria’s death? But that theory was only me grasping for straws, trying to avoid the truth, which made my lungs gasp for air. My throat felt constricted, as if Rosaria had her hands around my neck, shaking me, screeching at me, “Stay away from my husband!”

She had known.

She had known Rocco was going to be…attracted to me.

How did she know?!

Or better yet, how did she know that I would be so attracted to him? I mean, yeah, he was gorgeous, and built, and seemed to be a top member of the Fausti family, but it went much deeper than that.

A feeling moved over me then, a feeling I recalled from that night on the cliffside but couldn’t place in the moment.

She had known that, how strongly I would feel for him, and she had cursed it.

It wasn’t hard to convince myself that if I was married to Rocco, and my life was about to come to an end, I’d be feral too, especially thinking about him falling in love with another woman, and just…touching her. Just the thought made me squeeze the napkin on the table, turning my knuckles white. But was Rosaria able to feel like I could? Like Scarlett? Like Eva? Was that how she knew? She felt like I had killed her inadvertently to take her place? How could someone else just look at a person and assume that person wanted what he or she had?

My eyes went to Scarlett’s. She was looking at me. She pointed toward the castello . “The bathroom is that way, bebe .”

We were having lunch al fresco, at a table built for a hundred, perched over the Mediterranean Sea, underneath a pergola scented with fresh lemons and white roses. Before I could stand, Rocco did, holding out my chair for me. My mind, focused on an escape, had forgotten to remind my fingers to let the cloth napkin go. Dropping it, I turned toward the castello . Rocco followed me, like an invisible rope had already tethered us together. He felt my need to flee and was forced to go where I went, no matter the time, date, year, whether in sunny days or perilous storms.

When I’d first found the castello , I’d found peace and a sense of unyielding curiosity. My imagination had only gone so far, though. As far as my heart would allow it to see.

Rocco had been married to Rosaria. And it hadn’t been that long since her death. Their sons were cordial to me, but what did they think of him parading me in the street for everyone to see? Like we were a couple? I stopped at the door, waiting for Rocco to open it for me. As predicted, he did. A stream of kitchen staff constantly moved in and out, and I moved around them in the kitchen, not really knowing where to go, but following hallways.

Nowhere in this house showcased photographs. Expensive art? Check. But other than that, it felt cold and empty, even if it was perched on the highest point of the island, the best view of the Mediterranean from this height, which felt closer to the sun. Not even the proximity of the rays of the sun, a literal ball of fire, could touch the chill.

Stopping in a dark hallway, turning my back to him, that was when I felt it. The tension between us was warm, steadily increasing the longer I refused to look at him. Was he getting angry because I was? Or maybe it was my own temper causing the uptick. My anger wasn’t because no one had told me Rocco had been married to Rosaria, that she had been his wife. Scarlett had alluded to it, but it wasn’t her place to tell me the man who had given me his heart had been married.

My anger had nothing to do with that.

It had everything to do with the fact that he had been married, and my feelings toward the entire situation, especially Rosaria Caffi.

If I would have known how I would feel about Rocco during my chat with Rosaria by the cliffside, would I have been so nice to her? If it were anyone else, I knew I would have been flooded with guilt at the situation I’d caused.

Thinking back, I only felt remorse that a life had been taken, but not so much that it was her.

God, that made me awful, didn’t it? But that was how bad jealousy was eating me up on the inside. I wished to erase all his memories and reboot him with ones we would make. Though a stab of guilt pierced my heart when I thought of his sons. It wasn’t their faults. And I wouldn’t ever make them feel that way. Part of them belonged to Rocco. Judging by their physical appearances, more than half.

My main issue was the feelings that existed between Rocco and Rosaria, his wife.

If I could have flung a candelabra at her from this side, I would have. I knew in that moment what she had known all along—we were going to war over this man.

“I will never lie to you, Amora,” he said, his voice rough. Shredded. “It is not who I am. I have never been a coward, nor will I ever be. La mia parola è buona come il mio sangue. ” I heard him hit his chest. “I was married to Rosaria Caffi before her recent death.”

Even though his tone hadn’t changed, I felt the shock of that word when he’d said it. Death. I felt the same way after my dad and Nonna had died. I wasn’t all that close to my dad. I was Nonna’s shadow. But whenever I thought about never seeing either of them again, when I had to say , no, Elisabetta Bella passed… the word, in any of its forms, shocked me to my core and stole my breath.

“I know,” I whispered, keeping my arms crossed, trying to hide the fact that I was trembling. “But what you don’t know…or at least, I don’t think you do. That night—the night her car went over the side of the cliff—I was on the bus that brought her there. I had a nightmare, and I scared the driver. He swerved, she was coming too fast, and…things didn’t end well. I spoke to her before she died. She told me to stay away from you.”

Complete and utter silence.

Until that voice came between us.

If I should stay…

Rosaria Caffi was singing the song she left behind for her husband in Italian this time.

I turned to see his face. His eyes were staring into the distance, like he was staring into the past, and were as honest as he vowed he was, as I was being with myself. I had no clue what he was feeling. It was like he had taken a step behind a block of ice, and even a fire ball couldn’t thaw it. I had no clue where he’d gone, but he’d left, escaping through that deep void in his eyes.

I went to step around him, thinking he wouldn’t even notice if I was gone, but he grabbed my arm so fast I gasped. He wasn’t hurting me, but I felt the power in his hand down to the marrow of my bone. This man could snap me in two if he wanted to. My eyes rose to meet his, and his were boring into mine. I couldn’t hold his stare and turned my eyes to the floor, my cheeks heating.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered. “The dream…it sent me running. She seemed to be running, too, but in the opposite direction, and we crashed into each other.”

“You are still here.” His tone matched mine, like we were already in sync .

“Apparently.” I lifted my arm, proving that he was holding a burning woman in his grip, and she wasn’t even getting through to him. “I should go.” I wiggled free from his hold, determined to find my way out of the castello .

As I turned one corner, Rocco on my heels, I crashed into a chest. It wasn’t the man who righted me but Rocco who pulled me back. Keeping his grip on my shoulders firm, he refused to allow me to move closer to the man.

A man I recognized right away.

You have killed the wicked witch of Italy, ah? I will alert the village.

His eyes were bright in the sunshine filtering in through the many windows, and the scar was right where I remembered it. His hair was slicked back into a bun at the nape of his neck. Our eyes met for a brief second in remembrance of the moment, then Rocco snapped at him in Italian to go a different way to wherever he was going.

The man nodded, not a second glance at us.

As soon as he disappeared, I found my way back outside through the kitchen, the feel of his palms still lingering on my shoulders, the power in them radiating to my bones, and grabbed my mantello before I thanked the table for a beautiful day. Some of the women—the ones that I’d been spending time with, along with Margherita—stood after the men did and hugged me. Luca took my hand in his and kissed it, thanking me for gracing his table with my presence. He would see me again soon.

Rocco led me to a parked car and opened the door, but I shook my head.

“I’d prefer to walk,” I said. I slipped off my heels and started walking away from him. He followed me. Followed me all the way to my apartment, as if the walk was nothing to him, and whenever he returned to his castello , he’d run up the stairs to get some cardio in.

Stopping at my door, I turned to him. A lump had formed in my throat. I held the pendant tight in my grip. “I’m really sorry,” I whispered. I hated that the fear in my dream had caused him and his family pain.

He said nothing, and I turned and ran up the stairs, my heels dangling in my hand. I opened the door so fast, Pisolino screeched at me. With tears blurring my vision, I flung my suitcase on the bed, madly removing my things from my room and stuffing them inside. I went to the bedside table and snatched the picture of Nonna and me. Our last Christmas together. A decorated tree shimmered behind us. She was in her favorite chair, and I was pretending to sit on her lap, her arms around me. We were both laughing.

All the steam in me left my mouth in a whoosh. I pushed the suitcase to the floor, where it landed with a thud. I leaned back and brought the picture to my heart, like she would speak to it and tell me what to do. Slow drips of tears ran from the corners of my eyes, and I closed them, allowing the fear and uncertainty to roll through me.

Nonna always said that was the best course when tackling fear—feel it, don’t run from it. She said fear was a fierce hunter, and sometimes the panic was warranted, and sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes what looked like a gun was as dangerous as a paper towel cylinder.

I’d just never felt a fear as consuming as this one. I was terrified to my bones of not seeing Rocco Fausti again.

Sighing, I sat up, not even bothering to wipe the tears from my cheeks. They would dry soon enough. I undressed, changing into a Henley onesie. I undid the bow from my hair and then pulled it up into a messy bun. I snatched my phone, opened the music app, and let the next song play. “Rush Rush.”

Heading into the kitchen, I checked Pisolino’s water and fed him a little extra for dinner.

All normal, but I was just going through the motions.

I started more focaccia, but there was an urgency I had never felt before inside of my heart that seemed to be directing my feet. With my hands full of dough, I ran to the balcony and looked outside, not able to help myself.

Our eyes met.

I sucked in a breath.

Rocco was waiting outside of my apartment, staring up at me. How many nights had he done that, and I hadn’t noticed? That I had blamed the excitement of the story for my overreacting heart?

My feet couldn’t be stopped when my heart ordered them down the stairs and into his arms. I rushed into them like a monster was on my heels and about to devour my time with him. He absorbed the blow, pulling my body into his like he could fuse us into one. I kept my sticky hands away from his head, but he didn’t care. He was holding me so tightly, he was trembling.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I whispered, my voice panicky, breathy, “but that was too far. You were too far. My heart can’t take it. This is going to sound…certifiable, but I can’t deny it’s how I’m feeling. It feels like we were together, in another time, maybe another place, and somehow, we were separated and now we’re close again, and my heart refuses even that short of a distance from you.”

He buried his hand into my hair and pulled my head back. We stared at each other, and in a breath, his mouth was on mine, and it felt like we were fighting to breathe each other’s air. If someone would have told me that longing had a taste, I would have called them a liar. But it had a taste. And it was in Rocco Fausti’s kiss. It was a bitter mix of starvation and the sweet taste of victory—that first taste of an elixir that came a moment before the world ended.

I had it too.

And, oh dear God, this man could kiss.

It felt like he was teasing the soul straight from my body.

When I knew I would pass out if I didn’t break it, I pulled back, but I didn’t move my head back far. I rested my forehead against his, still feeling his breath wash over me. I breathed him in.

“Stay with me?” I whispered, locking my hands behind his head. I was asking, but also refusing to let him ago .

After a few seconds, my eyes slowly opened to a reality that was far more beautiful than the place he’d taken me to in the kiss.

Him.

“I will stay forever,” he said, but there were things he was leaving unsaid.

I will stay forever, but perhaps this will be all of me. The man I am now.

I didn’t believe that. I refused to believe it. There was more to this man than he even saw. I wasn’t sure if his pain was because of Rosaria Caffi’s death, or if she had caused him pain in life. My feelings were telling me this wasn’t a man who would love in vain. If she was the great love of his life, he wouldn’t have me in his arms, trembling like he was. Like I was.

We’d found something in each other that only came once in a lifetime. It couldn’t be replicated or replaced.

“Good,” I whispered, “because I was just making you more bread. Hungry?”

He nipped at my lip before he carried me upstairs.