Footsteps

by Susan Fanetti

  After a few direct words of greeting, she’d led Sabina into the circle of the Pagano family, where she’d been, for the most part, welcomed warmly but as a curiosity. Their father, however, had ignored her, save a few considering glances in her direction. Shortly after Carmen had brought her over and renewed her introductions, Carlo Sr. had taken a beach chair and gone to sit with his feet in the surf, where he’d stayed until Trey had bounded onto the scene, that Yeti of a dog loping behind him.

  Over the course of the two or so hours she’d been there while Carlo was not, Sabina had been able to turn that air of curiosity into one of comfort. Because she was adept at party chat, because she could read people, she had quickly found the right rhythm to be present in this group. Most of their talk was playful banter. Every now and again, one of the siblings would say something, and a couple of the others would roll their eyes at each other—private communications, in-jokes, and the like. None of it made Sabina feel excluded. Instead, she basked in the vibe of a fractiously loving family. She’d been a part of such a family, long ago. Not quite so large, and she had not had them quite so long. To watch the Paganos made her feel a kind of homesickness she’d thought had died in her ages before.

  As she’d wended her way into their conversation, answering the questions they posed to her with friendly flippancy, when such was called for, and with openness when it was not, she began to feel an affinity for Carmen, whose wit was acerbic and whose smile was slower than the others.

  Sabina thought the brothers were open books. Joey was youthfully bold, John was quiet and sweet, Luca was a rogue. All three were quick to smile and laugh. Carmen, though, seemed world-weary and cynical. Sabina thought they were of an age, or close to it—thirty-five or so—young for world-weariness. But Sabina understood. She did not have the luxury in her life of expressing such feelings, but she understood, and she felt that she might, given the chance, find a friend in Carmen, who could be charming but seemed to prefer not to bother.

  It was Carmen who had been most direct in her questioning, as well. Sabina had been wearing a paisley pareo when she’d come to the group; it was now draped over the back of the Adirondack chair. She’d removed it when she’d decided that she’d like some sun on her legs. Carmen had instantly noticed the scabs on her knees and had just as quickly brought them up.

  She’d asked, “Did he do that? Your husband?,” and Sabina had understood that there were no secrets among these siblings.

  Sabina had answered just as directly, “Yes.”

  “Your wrists, too, then.” Carmen had not asked, simply observed, and Sabina had nodded. After a pause during which Carmen studied her keenly, she’d nodded and dropped the subject. But Sabina felt Carmen soften a little after that.

  The siblings had regaled her with family stories, and Carmen seemed to be watching her closely, checking her reactions. They clearly knew who she was, and Sabina understood that they might be suspicious, or at least cautious, about her interest in their brother, and his in her. She, too, was cautious. They were taking a dangerous route without much preparation for it.

  By the time Trey had come running around corner of the cottage, Sabina had found her place in the group. She could tell because the way they talked to her had changed. They were no longer making a point to address her or to include her. They were all simply talking. That—such easy conversation with no apparent agenda—was yet something else unfamiliar to her.

  And now Carlo and Trey were here. Also Rosa, who had not had the chance yet to get to know her, and who was casting the same almost-hostile glances her way that Carlo Sr. had been, until he’d been distracted by his grandson.

  After some time of easy, aimless talk and laughter among them, Trey, still at the water with Carlo Sr., called to his daddy. Carlo turned to her, and she was touched by the conflict in his eyes. “You go. Play. I’m fine here.”

  “Join us?”

  Unwilling to push herself into that relationship, she shook her head. “I’ll stay here and ask for embarrassing stories about you.”

  He grinned brightly. “There are no embarrassing stories about me. I’m perfect.” As he stood and headed toward his son, he flipped off Luca, Carmen, and Joey, who were all guffawing at his declaration.

  Though she’d teased him about wanting stories, Sabina quickly stopped listening to the family chatter around her. Instead, she watched Carlo and Trey playing in the surf. Carlo Sr. had returned to his chair and seemed to be staring out over the water.

  Though Carlo and Trey were in public, playing surrounded by people, she had the impression she was watching an intimate moment between father and son. He was such a good father. Even in the few moments she’d seen him with his son, she could tell it was true. It was in the ease they shared, in the way Trey looked at him, and the way Carlo looked back. And in the way he talked about his child. It all made Sabina’s heart hurt. She would have loved to have had the chance to be a mother. But James loathed children.

  And because he did, he’d seen to it that Sabina could not have any.

  As that bleak thought brought a heavy cloud over her otherwise bright day, Sabina finished the rest of her beer. The tasty, amber liquid pushed the cloud away, but she squirmed a little. She’d had three beers, courtesy of Luca, and though they’d made her feel content and relaxed, she now had to relieve herself.

  She turned to Carmen and found Carlo’s sister watching her, a crease between her brows. “Okay?”

  “Yes, thank you. I only—may I use your facilities?”

  “Sure—in the house, at the back, just off the kitchen. Take your shoes off before you go in. Please.”

  Sabina smiled at the way the word ‘please’ had seemed to cling to Carmen’s tongue. There was a word in English for the kind of woman Carmen was, she thought. She couldn’t remember it right now, but there was a word that suited her. It started with a B—but not that word. Racking her brain for it, she stood. When she did, the sand—no, the whole beach—pitched wildly under her feet, and she took an awkward step forward, toward the fire pit, into which Luca was arranging wood for what she supposed would be a forthcoming fire.

  As she flailed a little to regain her balance, he jumped up and caught her, one hand on her arm, the other on her waist. “Whoa, gorgeous. You okay? Three beer limit, huh? Maybe two.”

  She pushed him off. “I’m fine. The sand, it shifts.”

  “Uh-huh. You need an escort?”

  “No, thank you.” She walked toward the house, surprised by her need to focus on her legs. But she got there, and she toed off her Keds on the porch, only bobbling a little, and went into Carmen’s cottage.

  Oh—oh. It was lovely. So lovely. Her own beach house, like the city house, was beautiful, decorated professionally and tastefully, everything in its place, as James wanted. This, though, this house was a riot of color and chaos. No piece of furniture matched any other. The walls were covered with paintings and fabric hangings in wild colors and patterns. The chairs around the dining table were each unique from the others in style and color. The small kitchen, tucked in at the back of the main space, was likewise vibrant. The cabinet bases were painted bright blue, and all the doors were different, contrasting colors. It was like a giant box of Crayolas had exploded.

  Sabina’s eyes filled with tears. It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. The riot of it literally excited her, made her heart race. By force of will alone, she resisted the urge to comb through Carmen’s private space and touch all the beautiful things. Instead, her bladder reminded her that she was on a mission, and she crossed to the back and found the bathroom, which was small and just as chaotically perfect as everything else in the house.

  After she washed her hands, she checked the mirror to make sure she was presentable. It was harder to focus than she’d expected, and twice she wiped the glass to clear it before she understood that her reflection was blurry because she was drunk. This weekend was proving to be quite full of new experiences.

  When she c
ame out of the bathroom, Carlo was there, leaning against the kitchen counter. His smile was gentle. “Are you all right?”

  He was so beautiful.

  James was beautiful, too. Those looks had turned her head when she was young, but even now, through her hatred, she could still appreciate his physical assets. But he was beautiful in a barely real way—fair, nearly hairless, precisely sculpted, perfectly groomed—more like a marble statue than a flesh-and-blood man. His heart was marble, as well.

  Carlo was dark and wild and so very real. He was a little flushed now, probably from his play with his son, and his chest still heaved slightly from his exertions. The fire of his heart illuminated his eyes.

  “Bina?” He stepped forward, and she realized that she hadn’t answered him.

  “You are beautiful.” It wasn’t an answer to his question, but it was the thing she’d needed to say. She closed the distance between them and put her hands on his bare chest, sliding her fingers into the light cover of dark hair over his heart.

  “Bina.” Her name was a raspy groan that she felt under her fingers, and he lifted his big hands and closed hers in them. “Luca tells me he got you drunk.”

  That was true, but she was glad. It felt good. She felt an ease with which she was unfamiliar. Lifting her eyes from his chest, she met his gaze and gasped. His eyes were hooded, the heat in them almost literal. She smiled. “He did, maybe. Maybe, though, I like it.”

  She twisted her hands free of his tender hold and pushed them up, over his shoulders, then around his neck. He was so tall, much taller than her own five feet, seven inches. Even on her tiptoes—her foot should have hurt, but it didn’t—she couldn’t reach his mouth. So she laced her hands on the back of his neck and pulled him down.

  Again he said her name—whispered, like a prayer—but he didn’t resist the pressure of her hands. Instead, his arms went around her waist. His strong arms left a path of fire on her bare skin, and when their mouths came together, he crushed her body to his. They were nearly nude, only in swim clothes, and she felt the rough caress of his whole body—his muscled torso, his long, powerful arms crossed around her waist and his hands clutching her sides, his beard against her face, his tongue in her mouth.

  He’d surrounded her, encompassed her, and her blood felt like lava moving through her body, heating her sinews to liquid. Her core ached with a need so strong it was pain. She moaned, and the sound disappeared into his mouth and seemed to fuel his own need. His grip on her tightened, and his mouth and tongue searched more deeply. Sabina was having trouble keeping up.

  She was not an experienced kisser. Beyond the publicly expected pecks, James did not kiss on the mouth. He’d kissed her sometimes during the whirlwind months of their courtship, but not since. Their sex had not ever been an act of intimacy. She’d been a virgin when they’d married, and thus she did not know any other kind. As a whole, her experiences with sex were outside the bounds, she was sure, of normalcy. She could recognize and name a whole host of different kinds of ‘toys’—few of which she’d ever found playful—but she was not sure of the steps for the dance she was doing now with Carlo. She was, then, following her instincts, the same instincts that helped her navigate social conversations. Her instincts and, a little, his lead.

  But her instincts were taking the lead here in Carmen’s pretty kitchen. She’d touched him because she wanted to, without thinking more about it. She’d kissed him for the same reason, because she wanted it, and he was there, and she knew he wanted it, too.

  What she knew for an absolute certainty was that this wild embrace was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She could feel her body moving without need of her will, rocking against him, using his body to soothe the ache between her legs. She was too short to reach the thick, hard shaft that pressed against her belly, so she hooked her arms around his neck and climbed him. When her core found that hardness, she moaned again and clutched him as tightly as she could, wrapping her legs around him.

  All of this was new, none of this was anything she’d ever done, but it felt right, natural. Divine.

  He grunted his surprise and caught her ass in his hands as if by reflex, then broke free of their kiss. Mourning the loss of him immediately, she whimpered and, with her eyes still closed, sought his mouth again.

  He pulled away, his breath labored and hot on her face. “Bina. Look at me.”

  She did. His expression was raw and feral, but also deeply conflicted. He was going to stop, to set her down and back away. She could feel it. He was too much, she thought, a gentleman. At this moment, he was.

  “Carlo, no. Please. Never have I felt like this. I don’t want it to stop. I want to feel this. You.” Following instinct and her own need, she flexed in his arms, drawing her core along his erection, only her bathing suit and his shorts between them. His eyes closed, and he pulled in a deep, audible breath.

  “Bina, we can’t. Not yet.”

  She leaned forward and put her mouth on the taut skin of his throat. He tasted salty and warm, and she suckled his skin, feeling his pulse beating erratically against her tongue. When he groaned, the sound vibrated in her mouth and gave her gooseflesh everywhere.

  “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” He turned his head and pushed her back so he could claim her mouth again, and she felt him then walking. She hoped he was headed toward a bed. Oh, Lord, how she hoped.

  A throat cleared near the front door, the sound deeply masculine, and they froze exactly as they were.

  “Sorry, brother. Pop’s wondering where you are. Figured you’d want a heads-up. Looks like I was right.”

  Luca.

  Carlo released her mouth and turned his head toward his brother. His chest swelled, pushing against her breasts, with every heaving breath. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Luca nodded. “I’ll head him off.” He turned and left the cottage.

  When Carlo tried to set her down, Sabina resisted, whining. She didn’t want to lose this. There was a part of her brain that was appalled, at all of it—at her wantonness, her recklessness, the way that even now her body would not let his go—but that part, she supposed it was the sober part, was not as strong as the part that had loved every feeling she’d had since she’d come out of the bathroom. She was afraid that if she let him go, she’d lose it all forever.

  “Bina, come on.” He kissed her lips gently and pried himself free of her.

  When her feet hit the ground—and now there was a little bit of pain in her sore foot—Sabina felt shame. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t…I don’t know…”

  He caught her chin in his hand and made her face him. “Don’t be sorry. That was beautiful. I would have loved nothing better than to have taken you to bed.” He laughed. “I was going to. But we can’t. My uncles will help us. They’ll help you. But they won’t help an adulterer. Do you understand? What we did here was amazing. You are amazing, and feeling you in my hands is… But we need to get you free of him before we do more.” He bent down and brushed his lips over hers. “Besides, I want you to be sober.”

  That made her smile. “I am drunk. A little bit, I think.”

  “More than that, maybe.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never before been.”

  He lifted his brows at her. “No?”

  “No. For me, this is a weekend of new things.”

  “For me, too.” He pulled her into an embrace.

  ~oOo~

  She stayed with the Pagano family for a few hours longer; Carlo did not want her to leave until she was sober again, and she thought that was a wise idea. They gave her lots of water. After dark, when a fire was blazing in the middle of the ring of Adirondacks, Carmen brought out blankets, and Sabina curled in a chair and chatted with the family. At some point, there were hot dogs on sticks, to roast over the fire—actually not a new experience for her, but one she hadn’t had in so long it might as well have been. Carlo sat with Trey in the chair next to her, bundled up in their own blanket. Sabina found hersel
f entranced, watching Trey drop slowly off to sleep, his eyes on the fire, his blond head nestled under his father’s dark chin.