And three days later, at Morgan’s funeral, I was glad to see many faces outside of our WIB student association. Morgan may not have had much family, but at least she had friends who cared and would feel the loss of her. If anyone asked, the story we weregoing with was that Morgan died during a car crash and that was why her funeral was closed-casket. No one would know that I footed the bill for the funeral, that Tom killed her, or that I was lying next to her in the Prescott mausoleum, where her body was retrieved from.
To the public, I was simply a peer here to pay my respects.
Hand in hand, Hunter and I walked to her casket and I gingerly laid my bouquet of blue hyacinths and white carnations on top. The florist said they symbolized heavy regret and that you wouldn’t forget the person. My last message to Morgan. I prayed she found peace in the afterlife.
“Rest easy, Morgan,” I whispered under my breath.
Hunter squeezed my hand.
Once everything wrapped up, we headed out of the cemetery, but I paused when I saw a familiar figure standing by a small tombstone.
Franco, with a bouquet of white roses in his hand.
His mother’s favourites.
My eyes closed briefly, realizing Mrs. Morelli—the reason why he begged my papà to return to the city—had passed away.
As if sensing my presence, his head lifted. Our eyes connected for mere seconds. Blotchy-faced and red eyes, he appeared miserable. I gave him a meaningful look to wordlessly express my condolences. His reply came in the form of blowing out a long breath and an imperceptible nod.
I hoped I never had to see him again. Even though he hurt me in many ways, I didn’t wish him ill. Only healing and peace from here on out.
Jaw clenched, Hunter pinned Franco with a frosty stare before continuing to direct me towards his car.
My current read, which was an alien romance courtesy of Nonna’s recommendations, sat on the dashboard. I removed mynestled bookmark—the same one Hunter gifted me on our first unofficial date—and picked up where I left off while he drove.
I thought we were going home but was pleasantly surprised when he steered in Le Petit Moulin’s direction. I could go for a mocha and a box of chocolate donuts. Elsie, the owner of the café, recognized us when we entered, offering a warm smile and throwing an extra slice of a raspberry-chocolate cake into our order. On the house, she said, which was very kind. I made a mental note to leave her a five-star review. The café was relatively busy at this hour, but we managed to seat ourselves in the same spot as the first time we came here.
Hunter sipped a black coffee and picked at the complimentary cake, watching me.
“What is it?” I asked after scarfing down half of my donuts like a hungry beast.
Hunter smiled. “Nothing. It’s just good to see you regain your appetite and strength.”
I smiled too, inching forward the two donuts I saved for him. “I couldn’t have done it without the help of my personal butler, chef, bodyguard, chauffeur, and everything in between.”
He chuckled when I quoted him. Licking his bottom lip, he rasped, “Will you take a walk with me today?”
It was an exceptionally sunny fall afternoon and we should definitely take advantage. Taking a walk was another way to infuse more normalcy into our lives again and we absolutely needed to resume our usual routine.
“I would love nothing more, Hunt.”
The semester was nearing its end, with less than a handful of weeks left, and I still had many assignments and exams due. My professors, however, were very accommodating when I sent them an email with a doctor’s note about my condition. Most said they wouldn’t dock marks for participation and that I was welcome to finish my semester from the comfort of myhome. Others offered me any necessary extensions. That way, I wouldn’t fall behind and could finish this term with all my good grades intact.
A few days after Morgan’s funeral, I was seated at the dining table with Mamma and Nonna. We were wedding planning over coffee and tiramisu, despite Mamma’s earlier protests. They initially wanted a small, December wedding but considered pushing the date forward, given my situation. I promised them that I would be fully recovered by the time the wedding rolled around. I didn’t want them to delay any more. They waited long enough to get back together and I didn’t want to risk either of them getting cold feet. Plus, they’d started couple’s therapy and things were progressing well. If anything, I was really excited for them to tie the knot again.
“It’s decided,” Nonna said, stroking Luna’s back while shoving her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose, reading her notes. “We’re going with pink for your theme.”
Nonna was internally fist punching the air over not having to wear canary yellow again.
“Sounds good. I want an arrangement of hydrangeas on every table as the centerpiece.” Mamma folded her fingers underneath her chin like a bench and dreamily gazed at the ceiling. “You think Enzo will agree to wear a pink tie?”
I jotted downpink hydrangeasunder thetable centerpiece ideasrow in my notebook, suppressing my smile.
“I think that besotted fool would agree to pluck the moon from the sky and bring it to you if your heart so much as desired,” Nonna supplied. “Really, Lucia, do you not know anything about the man you’re marrying? My son would do anything for you. Wearing a pink tie included.”
Said besotted fool chose that exact moment to poke his head through the dining room entrance, his expression instantly softening when it landed on Mamma. For a few seconds, theylocked eyes and gave each other that secret smile of theirs. “There you are, Lucia. Feels like I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
“I’m here. We’re wedding planning.” Mamma blushed. “Enzo, how do you feel about pink?”
