hand. “Not yet.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for deliberation. I blew out a puff of breath.
His door creaked open and a zest of cool air entered the car; I shivered from the combination of warring chill and heat. Instead of opening my door, he slid his hand behind my back, scooting me toward him, and when my leg was close to the end of the seat, he swept me up.
The air smelled of wood smoke and pine and something unnatural. Fresh paint? The wind felt strong and humid—the thin silk fabric of the gown billowed every time a new surge would rise up and take it.
Being pressed against his chest kept me from bobbing, but I could hear the sound of gravel underneath his shoes as we moved forward. Finally, after a couple of steps, he put me down gently, but he kept his substantial-sized hands firm on my waist.
“Ready, Ballerina Girl?”
“Are you ready?” The sound of his voice sent chills over my skin, but the uneven tone made me feel panicked. He was still unsure of whatever he was about to offer me.
He placed a warm kiss just below my ear, and then, ever so softly, removed the handkerchief from around my head. I kept my eyes closed, even after the blindfold had been removed and my eyes detected a bit of light in the near distance. But I was never one to dally when a surprise was at stake; the decision seemed to make itself.
My eyes narrowed before they melted into stunned shock. The cold air seemed to steal the breath from my lungs. My lips were frozen. My body as well. Brando had stepped in front of me, taking in my reaction, and I hadn’t even noticed. Not until he cleared his throat to capture my attention.
Christmas lights outlined his silhouette in the darkness, hundreds of them, all brightening him and the house behind him—the house that I considered my home, the house on Snow Street. The home we had slept in after he had reentered my life when that guy knocked me down at the party. And my home had proper windows, proper shutters, even a proper door. A fresh coat of paint. The roof had shingles, no gaping holes. Even the stairs leading to the porch had been redone.
Neither of us spoke. His eyes were narrowed, and if tension were a bowstring, he would have gone off like an arrow. He felt unsure, something Brando Fausti had probably never felt before. Therefore, he used anger and rage as a leash to rein in the uncontrolled emotions.
“You’re cold.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s get inside.”
Running my heeled foot against the grain of the muddied driveway, back and forth, all I could do was nod and continue to breathe. My breath came out in cold clouds—irregular, matching the frantic pace of my heart. He hadn’t given me a chance to respond, to even ask questions, but perhaps that was his plan.
He rushed to the Chevy, retrieving our things, his gift too, and then set them by the front door, opening it, before he came back and swept me off my feet. He crossed over the threshold, using his leg to shut the door.
Just inside the house, he stopped on the edge of truly entering. We stared at each other, our gazes locked, a million questions and answers flowing between us.
He set me down, but his eyes never left mine. He took my hands, guiding me forward, as he walked backward. The sounds of our shoes against the floor made light noises from easy steps.
For the first time, I forced my stare from his, just to see the inside of the house.
The only light came from the moon, and it filtered in through the new windows, casting a silver glow. But soon enough, Brando took a match and lit enough candles, and then the fireplace, to ease the strain of eyes attempting to see in the darkness.
The walls had all been redone. Stark white, not yet painted. The old wooden floors had been sanded but not stained. The mantelpiece over the fireplace was chipped and splintered, lined with numerous apparatus used to get the jobs at hand done, including paint cans.
All of the major work had been done, but there were still things left to do. Decisions yet to be made. Personal touches to be added.
I ran my fingertip along the length of the mantle, enjoying the feel of something solid, something tangible and real