felt compelled to be close to every part of him. Iron being drawn to blood.
Without so much as a second thought, my eyes opened.
Brando Piero Fausti.
His entrance parted the sea of guests, all of them watching him. The women watched him in appreciation. The men watched in trepidation.
I inhaled, needing air, but as soon as I did, I could’ve sworn I smelled him in it, the melody of his scent spurring on the frantic butterflies.
The amount of beauty that existed in the world had never escaped me. My mother was a fashion designer. I had seen plenty of men and women with the most gorgeous faces and bodies since the beginning of my time on this earth.
I had never seen anyone as—“beautiful” felt wrong, lacking, but there it was—beautiful as Brando Piero Fausti. His black hair had been slicked back in its usual undercut style, which put all of his prominent features on display: angular face, strong black brows, intense eyes, long lashes, sculpted cheek bones, sharp nose, and plump lips.
The white of his button-down highlighted the darkness, brought light to his shadows; and the midnight color of his tuxedo enhanced his God-given mysteriousness.
He wore that suit, not the other way around.
The combination felt heady and dangerous. The butterflies seemed to…pull instead of flutter. A severe tightness in my lower belly flashed hot before it tempered and became a summery sensation that refused to cool. I barely registered Violet’s voice in my ear, going on about how handsome he looked. Striking.
Oh, yes. Striking.
His eyes found mine in that moment. He stood amongst the crowd, not even noticing their looks and stares, and if he did, he didn’t outwardly show it. The connection between us seemed to electrify the air. The humming turned into a crackling, and I felt overheated and faint.
“Scarlett?” Violet struggled to say my name. “Scarlett! I can’t hold you up. I’m a damsel too. I have heels on. We’re on narrow steps!”
Brando stared at me for a moment before he nodded once and set his hand over his chest, mimicking the beat of his heart—fast.
A rush of blood went straight to my cheeks, but a triumphant smile spread on my face, and I was able to stand on my own two feet. Before I could truly claim the feeling as mine, though, Charlotte slipped her arm through Brando’s, taking him off guard.
She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Her mouth moved and whatever she said to him made her laugh.
Figures. Only narcissists laugh at their own jokes.
Charlotte could easily be described as a gorgeous creature. She was built like my mother, looked more like her too. Her features were soft and perfect, and so was the shape of her body. In certain clothes, her curves almost seemed indecent. Her golden hair seemed almost platinum in the glow of her lace dress. The irony: it was stained the true color of my name. Scarlet.
Charlotte kept her grip on his arm strong, using her chin to gesture to my parents, who were greeting guests as they arrived.
“Charlotte is playing the payback game.”
“What?” The word came out as more of a rasp. My mouth felt dry.
“You have something she wants and can never have. She wants you to feel the same.”
Violet’s assessment was spot on, which made my blood boil. Charlotte had always played this game with me. She had even told my parents that Brando was my date tonight. I was no coward and had planned on telling them myself. Tonight, taking his arm and walking up to them together would’ve made a point.
Brando shook his head in answer to whatever she had said to him before he extracted himself from her hold. He seemed to be experienced in that arena—knowing how to sidestep a woman when she had her claws in too deep. My sister watched him turn to me and open his arms with hate in her eyes. She’d never forget this.
Neither would I.
I took my time walking down the steps, my eyes on his the entire time. He waited at the bottom of the staircase, and when close enough, held out his arm.
“Scarlett Rose,” he whispered.
“Fausti,” I whispered back.
“Let’s meet the parents.”
I smiled.
My father was pleased to see Brando, which surprised me. His usually subdued laugh became boisterous, and he pulled Brando in for a man hug—“surprise” turned into “you could have knocked me over with a feather.” Then he inquired about Mitch and Mick. It had been a while since he