He holds the knife out to her. Not the blade. The handle.
“You faced the bear,” he continues. “You were braver than I ever was at your age. Braver than I am now most days. This is yours.”
Ben takes the knife carefully. Reverently. Like she understands the weight of what he’s giving her.
Then she launches herself at him. Arms around his neck. Clinging tight. She’s crying now.
“I love you, Daddy. So much.”
“I love you too,piccola.” Marco is openly tearing up.
Damn it.
I have to look away because if I don’t I’m going to start crying, too, and ruin my non-existentmascara.
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. I glance at the screen.
Text from Amara:Having some billionaire issues over here. Figured I’d have a chat with the expert. You busy?
I smirk. Type back:Getting ready for Ben’s birthday party. Call you later?
The reply bubbles appear. Then stop. Then appear again. Then stop.
Amara never hesitates like that. Which means whatever “billionaire issues” she’s having are probably pretty spectacular.
I pocket the phone. While the curiosity is killing me, that’s a problem for later. Right now I have a six-year-old’s birthday party to get through without having an anxiety attack.
Should be fine.
There are no woods involved, after all.
The partythat evening is at the FHG event space. The same place where we do Family Meal Mondays and Parent Lounge hours and all the programming that makes me feel like maybe I’m doing something that matters.
As usual, André manages the floor with the kind of precision you only see during a flawless dinner service when every plate hits the table at exactly the right temperature.
Wait. Did I just think in chef metaphors?! Marco...!
Next thing I know I’ll be calling emotional breakdowns “being in the weeds.”
Which is, for the uninitiated, a chef term meaning you’ve got so many orders piling in you’ll never catch up!
I can’t help but smile.
Standing at the edge of the room, I watch the people filter in. Staff families. Ben’s school friends. Marco’s in-laws.
The latter couldn’t make the wedding. The excuse was, they were out of town on some cruise ship in the tropics.
Enzo Caldarelli spots me first. He crosses the room with that warm energy that’s been present from day one. Flour is still somehow in his hair even though we’re at a party.
“Jessie!” He pulls me into a hug that smells like bread and espresso. “Look at you. Married to our Marco. Taking such good care of our Benedetta.”
I hug him back and try not to get emotional. “Always.”
He pats my cheek. “You’re family now. Official and everything.”
He wanders off to find Ben.
Livia Caldarelli stays behind. Her eyes are wet but her voice is steady. “You know, she calls you Jess-mama sometimes. When she thinks we can’t hear.”
