mine. Either way, the kid will be related to the both of us. How’s that for genetic security?”
I knew his asinine attempt at humor was to cover up what he really felt.
I put my hand to my chest again. It was heart palpitations this time. If I didn’t move, expel some of the energy, I was either going to find myself locked up with Luca or my heart was going to explode.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Fausti? She’s gone. You need to get going too. Or you’ll never survive this. Listen to me. For once. Stop being a fucking masochist. Or a martyr. Pick one to suit the mood.”
He finally shut up and followed me inside of the shipping store. The cool air clashed with the scent of smoke on his clothes and infiltrated the small space.
The guy behind the counter went to speak but stumbled over his words when he realized it was me. I cut him off.
“I need things to package this,” I said, taking the necklace from inside of the book and setting it back in the box it belonged in. It was custom made for her—the gold chain was delicate, and the key on the end became the pendant. It was the key to the house on Snow, the word, “home” engraved on the back.
The kid hurriedly collected the items and set them in front of me. I took his pen and a piece of paper from the pad on the counter and wrote to her in riddles—it was easier than dealing with pathetic pleas—the key to your roots. Then I added Per Sempre. Nothing else.
No matter if she wanted me to know where she would be or not, I’d know. The man, Neil, the detail her mother hired to keep tabs on her, would be my eyes—if she had a salad for lunch, I’d know what kind and where. Her first stop in Paris was burned into memory. I scribbled the address, addressing it to her. My ballerina girl. It’d be waiting for her when she arrived.
A reminder.
I had also ordered a dozen roses, and on the eleventh of each month, another dozen would be delivered, and on December 11th, more roses than she could count. These would continually be sent, as reliable as time itself.
Yeah, I had sent her off into the world with fucking reminders. But the most important one couldn’t die or be washed clean—her surrender was all mine. She was all mine, in all of the ways that counted and even in those that didn’t.
When the time came to go to her, I’d never have to walk away again. La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue. My word is as good as my blood.
I hope you enjoyed Man of Honor. The Fausti Family Saga continues with Queen of Thorns.
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Sneak Peek
Here’s a sneak peek at Queen of Thorns
Brando
Two and a half Years Later
2001
The wounded never realize the depth of the cut while still on the battlefield. It’s not until afterward that the true extent of the matter reveals itself for what it is—will it be life or death? Now when I think back, I see the snow for what it was. A miracle.
Looking up at the sky, I thought about that night, and not for the first time. It hadn’t snowed in Natchitoches since that winter. The season I connected with her. Snow doesn’t come easy in Louisiana, and I liked to believe the rare occurrence was symbolic for what had begun.
Our story.
On the same day, at around the same time, I returned to the beginning. To the dance studio Scarlett’s parents owned. The place still looked the same. Dancers twirled and giggled, light music played in the background, and the outside window had been decorated to fit the season.
Now there was one glaring difference.
A new portrait had been hung. Next to the antique portrait of famed ballerina Maja Resnik was the new Étoile (star) of the dance world, Scarlett Rose Poésy.
I moved my eyes away from the stars and stared through the window, hoping by some miracle that she’d appear. Instead, a little girl in frilly clothes ran next to the new portrait, pointing at it with a smile filled with crooked teeth.
A woman stood in front of her, ready to take a picture of the star-struck little girl and the dancer who looked like she floated on a cloud next to her.
My Ballerina