20. Test of Time
Chapter 20
Test of Time
M aybe I would have noticed them before, but I had been too wrapped up in the story, in my own mind and heart, to really notice before.
Watching eyes surrounded me.
Even when I had been alone, I was never alone. Rocco’s spirit not only covered me like a shield, but extensions of him had been placed to keep watch over me. Not only did I feel it, but I recognized some of the faces. The men had not been making it obvious, but it was obvious to me that they had been put in strategic places on the island to keep watch over me when Rocco couldn’t.
Since he had his own work too, even though this island was supposed to be for Fausti vacations, I’d decided to keep busy by working at the chile stand, since I’d never showed up for my shifts after the concussion. It seemed like a fun thing to do, to work there. One day I’d say, “ Oh, that summer on an island in the middle of nowhere, not far from Italy, not only did I work at a citrus stand but at a chili pepper one too! ”
Besides, the moving of the stalls was sort of symbolic to CK’s character growth. She goes from the tangy side of the island to a spicy one.
Which lead me to my next point .
Getting there was proving to be somewhat embarrassing, especially knowing I had eyes on me from all sides. I’d decided to take the Vespa, since the dead car was probably in a metal graveyard somewhere, and when I sat on the hard seat, I moaned. I was extremely sensitive between my legs after our morning discovery session, and the vibration was doing things to me that felt unnatural.
I was convinced that, after our first time, I was going to need a hundred pounds of Epsom salts, or a soak in the salty sea. I was thankful that the wind whipping against me cooled me off some and hid the fact that on bumpy streets, or sharp turns, I groaned.
Rocco Fausti and I had unfinished— something to attend to.
Business was too impersonal.
Sexual relations? Sexual awakening?
Whatever label it had, I needed more of it.
He’d awoken something inside of me that was as starved as he was. But I knew he needed time—time to process my arrival in his life. He was all about following the laws his family had set, and the ones he had set for himself. No wonder he was a lawyer—he seemed anal retentive about details. Which was why I was keeping up with the symbolism in his life. At Sunday dinner, even though the men talked, I could tell it went much deeper than what they were saying at times.
I was going to have to keep sharp and keep pace. I was going to have to keep up with his hesitance too. I could literally feel it when he swerved from cold to hot and back to cold. He’d pull away from me like he’d done this morning.
I hit a bump and made a “ Mmm, eeee, mmmm, ” noise, groaning after. It was like my body was eager for another orgasm. The one I’d had this morning was powerful, so powerful, it felt like I’d been thrown out of myself for a minute or two, then floated back into myself. Since I finally knew what all the fuss was about, I felt like I might finally have an addiction in my life—Rocco Fausti sex.
It was a relief when the chili-pepper stand came into view and I found a place to park. Then I noticed the fat tabby, eye sealed shut, loitering around the stand like this was his territory. Pisolino had been following me, but he veered off and gone in a separate direction before I got to the pepper stand. I was glad. At least the stand itself was as cute as the citrus stand.
The pepper stand had a red and white awning, and the hand-painted sign was emblazoned with one word: Calabrian . A second word, Chilis (maybe?), had faded from time and sun to almost nothing. Bunches of dried chilis hung from the awning, fresh single red peppers were in baskets in the front, two wooden scales hung on each side, and there were rows of flakes, powder, and something called bomba di Calabria , which looked to be some type of paste.
The woman behind the stand lifted up a jar. “I make this myself. Balsamic vinegar, sea salt, olive oil, and garlic, ah?”
I blinked at her.
This woman was a spicy pepper incarnate. Her long, straight hair almost glowed fire red in the bright sun. Her amber eyes seemed to pop because of the color of her hair. She wore a red dress that hung from one shoulder, her breasts filling the fabric out, then tapered in at her tiny waist before it flowed around her curvaceous hips and dropped to a ruffled hem. Her sandals were gold. Her nails and toenails were painted the same color as her Calabrian peppers. She wore dazzling bangle bracelets up to mid-arm on both arms. Around her neck hung a dainty gold cross.
She pushed the paste at me, my eyes going crossed for a second, her bracelets clinking. “You want?”
“Ah.” I found my tongue. “I would love to try it, but I’m here to work. I’m Aria Bella.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You are the girl from Iliana and Pirtinac’s citrus stand?”
“I’m pretty sure I can prove it,” I said, going for a little humor. “I still smell like lemons and blood oranges.”
“They tell me you were whacked in the head with a candelabra at the haunted villa. ”
“Word travels fast on the island.”
She set the paste down. “Aria Bella, ah?”
“Most people just call me Ari.”
“‘Just call me Ari,’ you are the talk of this island.”
“Getting whacked in the head by a supposed— ” I made air quotes “—ghost is big news.”
“A ghost?” She smiled at me. “He is no ghost, girl. He is a man.”
“A man didn’t whack me,” I said. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Are you special ?” She made air quotes around the word special .
I sensed an insult—couldn’t slip anything past me, right?
“My Nonna thought so.” I would have stood a little taller, but I was already an inch or two taller than her. She was on the shorter side, but I didn’t realize it until she started trying to intimidate me.
“Of course,” she said. “We all love our own donkeys. Heee. Haw. Heee. ” She made donkey-like noises at me.
Wow.
Okay.
My first impression of her had been correct. Spicy as her peppers. But I had a feeling we were having two different conversations. I ran the conversation back in my head, wondering where it had all gone wrong, where we had veered off in different directions.
Ah. Got it.
I wasn’t the talk of the island because of the ghost whacking; I was the talk of the island after I paraded myself in the streets with the royals of Italy—the Fausti family. Let her think I was “special.” I wasn’t sharing anything about my budding relationship with Rocco Fausti. My lips pinched and so did hers, for two different reasons, it seemed.
A line started to form at the stand. I noticed it was mostly men .
“You will help me or not?” She lifted what reminded me of a wooden bar flap, inviting me to her side.
Invitation accepted. I said nothing as I started working side by side with her. Her stand was twice as busy as the citrus stand, but the woman, who some of the men had called Peppina (a name I assumed was a diminutive for Giuseppina)— go figure —had stocked her stall well. Even after the line thinned, she still had some loose peppers, one or two jars of paste, a few flakes and powders, and a few of the dried bushels left.
She took a seat next to me, watching as I finished up with a customer (a man) who bought a bushel. He wore a thin white T-shirt with a pair of swim trunks, a towel hanging over his shoulder. The look of him, his build, and the lion emblem tattooed on his chest marked him officially as a Fausti. The same tattoo on Rocco’s arm came back to me, and my face suddenly felt hotter than the sun.
Every inch of that man, considered a sexy part of the body or not, could turn me on.
Sighing after the man left, I took a seat on the opposite side of Peppina. She stared at me, and when I turned to face her, she lifted her red eyebrows.
“You remind me of Brando Fausti’s wife,” she said, apropos of nothing. “Not so much in looks, but in spirit.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.
She laughed. “Of course, you would think it is a compliment.”
“It is,” I said, my tone defensive. I liked Scarlett. A lot. She almost felt like a sister to me.
She shrugged, waving a hand. “You are good for business.”
I grabbed a bottled water and guzzled it, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was. The scent of the peppers seemed to linger on my tongue, making it tingle.
“You seemed to be doing okay without me.” I sighed, feeling the cool water mustache over my lips in the hot air .
“True,” she said. “The men on this island like me. They feel I am touched.” She tapped her temple. “But we are different.”
“That we are,” I said.
The implied insult had zinged her. I had gotten one in.
Her eyes narrowed. “A warning? That man you are playing with is fire—or he used to be before Rosaria Caffi flew off the cliffside. They tell me she is dead.” She twisted her face at this. “I do not fully believe it. It would take more than rock to kill that one. I doubt the king believes it as well. Or not fully. She is still haunting him, ah?” She waved her hand dismissively. “This is neither here nor there. Not when it comes to Rocco Fausti. I do not believe there is a female culo in Italy, besides his family and his brother’s wives—though it is rumored he was in love with the touched one—that he has not touched.”
She lifted and pointed to her well-rounded behind. “Mine included. His wife loved it! She constantly invited women into their bed, including me. All this to say, if you have submitted to that delicious mouth—” her eyes danced with light in remembrance “—you have kissed my lips as well.” She puckered them at me, then nodded forward. “Francesco.”
I had to tear my eyes away from her smug face before I turned and found a man waiting with three other men. The one Peppina had motioned to, Francesco, placed the order. He wanted two pounds of the loose peppers. I realized I had to bend over the stall to get to the bottom of the basket to grab them. I was thankful I hadn’t decided to wear a top that gave an easier view of my cleavage, though my boobs still squished and jiggled when I had to scoop them up, but the lion’s heart pendant was still front and center.
Francesco had those “Fausti” eyes, and they didn’t seem to miss a beat. I refused to meet his eyes when I felt him staring at me the entire time. It felt as if the full effect of the sun had melted the awning and was beating down on me.
It was partly because of Francesco’s insistent stare. Mostly, it was because of what the mean pepper picker had said to me. Was Rocco into sharing? Didn’t seem like it. His words were clear enough when I’d asked him about my place in his life—no man but him. And when I’d told him I didn’t share, he seemed relieved, like a weight had been taken from his chest.
I was used to compartmentalizing reality from inside of my mind—my arms and legs still working while my mind wandered off—so after I took Francesco’s money and handed him the bag of peppers, I went back to my thoughts. He wasn’t moving though.
“Something wrong?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun. I’d left my sunglasses at the apartment on the counter.
“No, bella , everything is just right.” He winked.
A lump formed in my throat. I nodded.
He didn’t move.
That Fausti tattoo on his chest, glistening in the sun, took up almost his entire chest all the way to his stomach, which rippled with muscle. Maybe he was around my age. Maybe a little older. But he had no silver in his inky hair. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head, and his brown eyes were lighter than the color of his skin, which made them pop against his darkness.
The mean Pepper Picker came to stand next to me.
“Francesco,” she said, her tone playful. “You do realize she has been claimed by the future king himself?” She nodded toward the pendant, which sent his eyes back to my boobs.
Francesco grinned at this after his eyes roamed back up. “The future king has a revolving door of women.” He looked me up and down in a way that was not meant to be friendly. “ Aria Bella should not be one. She is the woman, not an ordinary woman to be clumped into a group with them.”
“ Uh oh ,” Mean Pepper Picker almost breathed in my ear. She sniffed. “I smell trouble brewing.”
A strong urge to slap at her came over me then, but it was warring with the strong urge to back away from this man, then run away from him. But I sensed it. The thrill of the hunt. Women know this feeling—it happens every day to them. With these men it was different, though. They were used to women sacrificing themselves for their needs. Look how quickly I had submitted to the future king of Italy , who, even when he was married to Rosaria Caffi was a womanizer, or so mean Pepper Picker had claimed. I’d found no lie in her truth.
“Shall I walk you home, Aria Bella?” Francesco wasn’t being quiet, and I wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or not.
One second, Francesco was standing in front of me, and the next, a body collided with his and flung him to the ground. Francesco had tried to right himself, and the leftover peppers in the baskets were caught in the crossfire. They scattered along the street, glistening like spicy blood clots. The mean Pepper Picker flew out of the stall, attempting to save them.
My attention, though, was stuck on the two men in the street, standing nose to nose, breathing fire at each other. Rocco had almost knocked him into next year with that hit. Francesco stood tall, but I could tell he was hurting.
Suddenly, Scarlett and Mia were next to me, guiding me out of the stall. We stood back, but Brando, Dario, and Romeo were standing close to Rocco. The men who had accompanied Francesco stood close to him. My heart was pounding too loudly in my ears to hear the conversation. I braced for the next hit, but I wasn’t sure if it would come.
It seemed like a dare was set between them.
Rocco said something to Francesco.
Francesco listened intently.
Their eyes were hard on each other’s.
Then Francesco lowered his eyes and took a step back in answer. It was like he was taking a step out of the ring, denying whatever challenge Rocco had laid at his feet.
“That guy, Francesco,” Mia whispered in my ear. “He’s my great-grandfather Marzio’s great-great nephew. Francesco, the original, was my great-grandfather’s brother. Their line has always been eager to take over the family. They’ve tried but failed. This Francesco, under his father’s guidance, is going to push the issue and, later, present a challenge to Padrino … ”
I glanced at Mia, and it seemed like she wanted to say more but had decided not to.
What was going on?
At lunch on Sunday, after church, I’d pieced together that Luca Fausti ruled the family, and in the future, Rocco would. That made him the future King of Italy, but what was all this challenge business about? Did something happen to make the family doubt that Rocco could rule? Was that what this was all about?
Francesco went to walk off, but then stopped. I heard his voice loud and clear.
“A million dollars for a night with Aria Bella.” He nodded toward me.
I glanced at Scarlett this time, and her eyes were in the distance, like she was in a completely different time and place, seeing something none of us were. My eyes flew forward when another crash seemed to shake the earth underneath my feet. Rocco had hit him again, but this time, he slammed him against a stone wall. Francesco took the hit, his eyes serious on Rocco’s.
I’d be shitting my pants if I were Francesco. I wasn’t even sure if their ages matched, if Francesco could ever match all that Rocco was.
Rocco was, quite honestly, in this setting, terrifying. His grin appeared in my memories from earlier, and I shivered. Then I gasped when Rocco pulled a knife out and pushed it against Francesco’s throat. Blood welled as soon as the sharp iron touched his skin. I went to move, to stop this effing madness, but Mia grabbed my arm.
“This is our way,” she said. “What will be done, will be done.”
In agreement with this, it seemed, Scarlett snatched my hand and squeezed.
After Rocco had cut him deep enough, he released him, stepping back, sticking the knife back where it had come from, and then fixed his suit. Francesco left first. Rocco walked over to me after and took me by the arm, and we marched toward the castello above the sea.
By the time we arrived, I was sweating, and not just from the climb. The last couple of hours beat down on me, replaying in my head over and over.
The mean pepper picker.
Her words.
Jealousy ate at me, its sharp teeth gnawing at my nerves. I had never been a super jealous woman before, but I’d turned into one. And the oddest thing of all—visions of my mom crying over my dad after he had left her for another woman, not even the one he married—swam in my vision like her tears, reminding me of her heartbreak.
Scarlett kept glancing at me, but I wasn’t sure what she was telling me, or if she was even trying to tell me anything at all. I’d realized after being around her and Eva that I might have been “touched,” but not as touched as those two. I didn’t always know what the eff was going on, like they seemed to. My brain wandered too much to be that fast at translating feelings.
It was as if we were all traveling at manic speed. When we stepped into the castello , I flung my arm out of Rocco’s hold. I told myself I couldn’t hold him accountable for anything he did before me, and this was all so new, but…the pepper picker’s words were as acidic as her raunchy peppers.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t the peppers’ faults, but still. She had come at me first.
He looked at my arm and then at me. I crossed my arms.
We glared at each other, but I felt something from him, something that was making me feel hotter—he was putting up an ice wall between us right as Rosaria Caffi’s voice played through the spacious castello .
It was as if I were fighting a ghost’s hold on him, and I charged through the place, looking for the music’s source. One of the soldiers sat at the kitchen table, eating some kind of pasta with veggies in it. I snatched a chair from the table, dragged it to the corner, stepped up on it, and ripped the speaker from the wall.
Rocco watched me like he had no idea what to do with me. I had gone rogue in his castle full of family expectations and laws.
Maybe he understood. Maybe he didn’t.
I was battling a ghost who refused to unstick her claws from his chest, constantly tearing him apart, pulling him toward a deep, cold grave. It might have been a little soon to move on—and I had accepted that she would always have a place in his life—but I understood. It had been over a long time for them, and she was haunting him. Not out of love but some effing claim. Time was of the essence though. I had to keep him close to me while not tearing him apart like she had. I refused to do that to him. I…loved him too much to rip him in two.
The wind whipped against me as I carried the speaker outside and flung it over the cliffside with all the strength I possessed. The scream that tore out of my chest burned and made a lasting mark that no one could see, but I would always feel.
Rocco was right behind me, making sure the gusts of wind didn’t take me off the cliff. Maybe he was thinking Rosaria had sent them for me, and we would share the same fate. He picked me up, my feet dangling ridiculously, and brought me back inside. He set me on my feet, and we faced off.
Neither of us said anything.
I was too emotional to even talk.
The wall of ice keeping him from me was quaking, but it was still there.
Then, out of the blue, Scarlett came to stand beside him. She used her fingertips to caress his shoulder.
What the hell?
Where was her husband?
He was standing on the other side of the room, fists balled.
What did the mean pepper picker say? Wasn’t it rumored that Rocco was in love with Scarlett? Did he fuck her too? I looked at her husband. Yeah. No. I didn’t feel that would fly with him. I wasn’t sure if I was safe even thinking the thought. It was like he was on to me and would throw me through the glass, straight to the sea, for even giving the thought any kind of life.
“You okay, Rocco?” Scarlett whispered, giving me a mean look.
He glanced at her, a confused look on his face.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to?—”
Before she could finish, I rammed my body into hers, and we both went to the floor in a heap. She was so slight, the thought came to me that I might hurt her, but that was the point, wasn’t it? She was trying to come between my heart and me, just like the mean pepper picker! Just like a ghost who had his past on lock.
His now and future were mine .
I was going to hit her, but then she lifted her hands in surrender. Our eyes met, and since the fog in mine was moving past, and she must have sensed it, she whispered, “Sorry, I had to . ”
My eyes flew to Rocco’s, and he was looking at me like he’d never seen me before. But that didn’t stop him from coming to me at the same time Brando went to his wife. Rocco lifted me up, and Brando lifted Scarlett up. Rocco still had a I’ve seen the light! look on his face, while Brando looked like he wanted to wash his wife’s hands to get the scent of another male off her like yesterday.
It took me a moment to fully realize.
Scarlett had done that on purpose to prove a point to Rocco, to help me snap him out of the frozen state he was in. I wasn’t fucking around when it came to him. He was mine . And the same way he would fight to the death for me, knowing me only this short time, I would fight to the death for him—no matter in what capacity.
He’d given me his heart to protect, and I’d forever take that as seriously as my next breath.
His hand came underneath my hair and squeezed my neck. I relaxed into his touch, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I opened them, my eyes found Scarlett’s, and I mouthed, thank you .
She nodded. “Let it be known, here and now, I am the sister of Rocco Piero Fausti, always have been. It wasn’t me he was attracted to. It was the love I share with my husband, his brother. Rocco followed it. Followed his heart. And all paths led to you, Ari. The gift we share was inside of me all along. He recognized in it his future.” She hugged me, giving Rocco a smile, before Brando put his hand on her lower back and they left.
That part of the scene was for me. She was letting me know that, no matter what anyone said or claimed, Rocco had never been in love with her. He was drawn to the love she shared with Brando, and the part of her that was like me, he had been attracted to.
A throat cleared, and Rocco and I both turned toward it. The soldier who had been eating the pasta dish with veggies. He stood tall, but it was clear to see he was uncertain about what he was about to say next. “The music, Signore Fausti ,” he said. “Shall I retrieve it?”
Rocco looked at me and shook his head. “Allow it to rest,” he said, then he picked me up and carried me to the apartment.