Authors: Rebecca Brandewyne
Or
a butterfly.
For
after he set the wine bottle and glasses down on the rail that
bounded the deck, he reached out to stroke the strands of her hair,
and she trembled a little at his touch, the way a butterfly’s
gossamer wings quivered lightly when it was poised upon a flower. Her
breath came quickly and shallowly as he slowly slid his hands
insidiously down her bare arms, cupped and stroked her breasts
sensuously, so her nipples hardened and strained against his palms,
igniting a fire in him and her both. All around them, her collection
of wind chimes tinkled melodically, fairies frolicking to the music
of the night.
“
I
like this evening ritual of yours, this quiet time of reflection and
introspection,” Renzo whispered against her ear, his teeth
nibbling her lobe, his lips caressing her silky mass of hair—all
a potent promise of what the night held in store—before he
reluctantly drew away for a moment to pour the wine. It splashed in
the glasses, as dark and red and sweet as the heart.
“
That’s
the wine Papa Nick gave you.” She spoke at last as she observed
the antique-looking, private-stock label on the slender, dark green
bottle and recalled what Renzo had told her the day he had brought
the wine home, the dying wish Papa Nick had expressed in its regard.
“
Yeah,
I thought we’d open it and share it tonight. It somehow seemed
appropriate to the occasion.”
“
And
what occasion is that?” Sarah asked, striving to keep her tone
light, despite the fever that burned in her blood, the way her heart
had begun to hammer painfully, with sudden, wild hope, in her breast.
“
Don’t
tease me, Sarah,” Renzo replied softly, roughly. “Please.
I just don’t think I can bear it right now, not after so many
long years without you, not after all that’s happened this
summer. And in your heart, you must know what I’m going to say.
I love you. There’s always been you—only you—for
me. You know that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to
grow old with you, to know you’ll be lying next to me forever
after we’ve gone un-gently into that good night.” He
stared down at her, his dark brown eyes naked, intense, filled with
deep longing and love for her, with pain and regret for all the lost,
bittersweet days of youth that would never come again, for the empty,
wasted years he and she had spent, lonely and apart, each aching for
the other. Tenderly, he smoothed her hair back from her face, then
laid his hand against her cheek. “We’ve never really had
a chance these past several weeks to talk about us... to discuss
where it is we’re going together, you and I. And I don’t
think I ever really asked you properly before, all those years ago,
or even that day in the Jeep, when I told you that from the time I
was twelve years old, I had intended to make you my wife. But I’m
asking you now, with all my heart. Sarah, will you marry me?”
“
Yes,
oh, Renzo, yes. You know I will,” she answered fervently, her
heart in her eyes as she went into his strong arms then, lifting her
face eagerly and trustingly for his kiss.
With
sweet, fierce passion and possession, his mouth claimed hers,
tasting, savoring, drinking deep and long, as though even now, he
feared she wasn’t quite real, wasn’t quite his, but an
illusion that would evanesce into the peaceful, halcyon night if he
didn’t hang on to her tightly, hold her close forever and ever.
But Sarah understood, for the same thought filled her own mind, so
that even when Renzo finally broke the kiss, she didn’t move
away, but remained in his embrace, resting her head against his
chest, listening intently to the steady, reassuring beat of his
heart. This was where she belonged, where she had always belonged,
she reflected, even as he thought,
Now,
at long last, I have well and truly come home.
After
a moment, he reached into his pocket to withdraw the ring he had
bought for her earlier today at Goldberg’s Fine Jewelry—a
ring Bubba had, that afternoon when Mrs. Goldberg had asked Renzo to
give them his opinion, dismissed as not being stylish and elegant
enough for Sarah, as being too old-fashioned. It was a band of dark
old gold, an intricate garland of flowers, a single diamond at its
heart. Wordlessly, Renzo slipped it onto Sarah’s finger, and as
she gazed down at it, tears of joy filled her eyes at how beautiful,
how perfect it was.
“
I’ve
waited twenty-two years for you, Sarah. So I want to have our wedding
ceremony soon—just as soon as we can arrange it,” he
insisted in the summer silence.
“
Yes,
I want that, too.” Her voice was breathless, tremulous. “Not
only because I love you, Renzo, but also because there’s
something I want, that I
need
to
tell you. Something I never got a chance to tell you all those years
ago. I know I can’t make up for that now—” She
broke off abruptly, biting her lower lip, anguished by memories. Then
she went on. “But with all that’s happened this summer,
we never did talk about... we never did do anything about... Well,
what I’m trying to tell you is that... we’re going to
have a baby, Renzo.”
“
Oh,
Sarah...” His dark eyes leaped, flared like embers bursting
into flame, gleamed with pride and happiness and wonder at the sudden
mystery of her, of what they had made together. His indrawn breath
was swift, sharp, serrated with emotion. “Oh, Sarah...”
he breathed again, his hand sweeping down, coming to rest upon her
belly.
Her
own hand slipped down to cover his. Almost—although she knew it
was yet too soon—she imagined the child stirred, as light as a
butterfly, beneath their intertwined fingers.
After
a long while, Renzo finally spoke again, his low voice hoarse with
all the strong, deep feelings that continued to assail him. “I
talked to my parents this evening. I told them I was going to marry
you. They’re going to come back here for the wedding. Pop got
all choked up, and Mom cried. She said she’d done a horrible
thing to us both and wanted to know if you’d ever forgive her.
She also said to tell you she’s bringing you copies of all her
recipes, that she’s going to teach you how to cook for me, that
no daughter of hers is
not
going
to know how to make Italian dishes!”
Even
as a smile curved her lips at that, Sarah felt tears brim in her eyes
again. “We all make mistakes, Renzo. Of course I can forgive
her. I shall be proud to call her my mother-in-law. So she and your
daddy, they’re not upset about us getting married, then?”
“
No...
no, they know now that we’ve stood the test of time, Sarah,
that we love each other—and always will. That you’re the
woman I want, that I’ve always wanted.”
“
And
you’re the man I want, Renzo, that I’ve always wanted,
with my whole heart and every fiber of my being. But then, you know
that. You’ve always known that.” She paused, reflecting
on how well and deeply and intimately he knew her, as though somehow,
that long-ago day in the meadow, the butterfly’s kiss upon her
palms had marked her as his forever, the other half of his soul.
Quietly, she continued. “Did you know your timing was apropos,
too? Since earlier today, Alex asked me if you and I were ever going
to get married.”
“
Indeed?
And what did you say to that?”
“
I
said I hoped so, believed so. Then he asked me what I thought the
chances were that you’d have him as your best man.” Sarah
glanced up earnestly at him, her heart turning over as she saw the
sudden tears that came to his dark eyes, glistened on his thick black
lashes. It was one of the things she had always loved most about him,
that he was a man strong enough not to be afraid to show his
emotions. “I told him he could count on it. I hope that was the
right thing to have said.”
“
You
know it was,” Renzo murmured huskily, his throat once more
choked with feeling. “Oh, Sarah, I
do
love
you so!” His mouth took hers again, the impassioned kiss
speaking for them both all that needed still to be said—and
more. When, at long last, they drew apart, Renzo reached out slowly
to lift the wine-filled glasses from the rail of the deck. He handed
one to her. “To
amore
,”
he declared softly.
“
To
amore
,”
Sarah echoed, touching her own glass gently to his.
They
drank deep in the still of the summer night, while the wind chimes
sang low and sweet, and among the white-blossomed honeysuckle vines
that twined wild and forever at the edge of the old, moon-shadowed
trees, the fireflies danced in the dark.