arms over my chest, huffing out a hot breath. Before he made it to his side, though, I did as he instructed me to. Buckled up.
Chapter Ten
Scarlett
Battle seemed like the most appropriate word to describe the ride from school to my parents’ place. A silent war raged between us—him stoic, glaring straight ahead, me in painful flames because words of wrath seemed too easy for him—each of us staring out of the opposite side of the window.
Love is a battlefield, thank you very much, Pat Benatar!
My arms hadn’t uncrossed since he took the driver’s seat. A few times I opened my mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. Nothing I could think of was strong enough to neutralize or defeat him, to prove to him that the female sitting next to him was not his little sister.
And why should I have to prove anything to him?
There were three things in life that I knew for certain: It was fruitless to try and change his perception. I loved him madly. I would forever cling to that love as long as blood flowed through my veins—but what I wouldn’t do, no, refused to do, was accept the fact that he might love me, but in a polar opposite way.
Beastly, stubborn, hardheaded Italian!
I wanted to shout at him, to push his buttons until he admitted something, anything to me. But Brando Fausti had long ago proved to me that he was not a man to be persuaded into anything he didn’t want or wasn’t ready for. All he could give me was “we’ll see.”
Which actually translated to: No. No. No.
The word floated around my head in an angry swirl. To prove how immature his little sister could be, I stuck my tongue at him, and then turned my face toward the window before he could catch me. Lucky for him, I wasn’t in the mood to flick his ear. I used to do that to Elliott all of the time.
A soon as my parents’ house came into sight, I removed my bag from the backseat, and as soon as the tires paused at the curb, I catapulted myself out of the car, taking off for the safe zone of the house.
Slamming the door behind me, I took a moment to catch my breath. Not from running, but from the overwhelming feelings making it hard for me to catch air. Being close to him was more strenuous than any performance or rehearsal I had ever had.
Barely over the drumming of my heart, my parents’ voices carried from the kitchen. Eunice excused herself into their conversation and then asked a question. Before any of them noticed my presence, I took the stairs two by two, just to make it to the confines of my room without interruption.
I threw my bag on the bed and rushed to the window, sliding my finger behind the lace curtain, pushing it aside. Brando waited outside of his car, leaning on the door, just like he had at school. Another sucker twirled in his mouth. Little wonder if he had to brush his teeth three times a day.
Our eyes met and he glared at me before turning and leaving.
My heart restricted and rejoiced.
In a rush, I packed my overnight bag and then searched my closet for something to wear to the party Violet had invited me to. My eyes scanned the clothes, fingers finally settling on a baby blue sweater that fell just above my navel, a plaid skirt to match, black stockings that ended above the knee, and a pair of oxfords with a bit of a heel. A leather choker that would match Brando’s (my) leather jacket felt right.
I took a long shower, then styled my hair and did my makeup. It wasn’t something that I usually did, unless for a performance, but I needed reaction, not “we’ll see.” A bit of cat-eye glamour and the pink lipstick Violet had given me. The color of my nails turned out eggplant, a purple dangerously close to black. It added a bit of melodrama.
After all of the administrations had been completed, I called Violet to pick me up. My parents were in the dining room when I came downstairs to wait for her.
My father looked up from his roast and potatoes but stayed silent. My mother’s eyes assessed my outfit and makeup with shrewd eyes.
My life had been predictable until the time Brando had reentered it. But she was always pushing me to get out and socialize (with