Someone shoved a pair of medical scissors in my hand, I cut the cord, and then the baby was laid on Scarlett’s chest. Both of them were crying. I didn’t even realize that I was crying, too, until I sat down in a chair and felt a tear fall against my hand.
Not able to even blink, I stared at the drop for however long, trying to make sense of it. Where the hell did it come from?
“Complimenti, Papà. Una figlia. Una ragazza sana. Otto libbre.”
I had a daughter. We had a daughter. Ours. Healthy. Nine pounds, eleven ounces, twenty-one and a half inches long.
“Mia moglie,” I barely choked out.
“Bellissimo.”
The room spun again and was on fire with hot white light, before total black consumed me.
Chapter Forty
Brando
The blackout seemed to stretch. One minute I was coming to, the next we were at our villa in Tuscany.
One week had passed since the birth of our daughter.
It had been one week of nonstop wailing—all night long.
“She’s missing half of her whole,” Scarlett had said to me accusingly.
My wife’s tone was accusing because I had barely laid eyes on my daughter. I hadn’t held her in my arms or spoken a word to her. I would stand in the doorway of her room, or sit in the rocking chair while she slept, taking brief glances at her shape. Though I had never held her in my arms, when Scarlett put her in her crib, I refused to leave her alone.
The house was afire around me. All of the heat was directed at me. Scarlett had set a firm rule. I had to see the baby first. Which meant that she had anxious grandparents, aunts, and more so than all, uncles, who were close to mutiny to see her.
“Pastini!” Rocco scoffed at me. “What is this? I have never heard such a thing! My niece does not even have a proper name! You have a beautiful wife and now a beautiful daughter. Such blessings. And this is how you repay God? By not taking your blood in your arms to rock! I have a son that you have not even seen yet!”
I refused to meet his son. Massimo Fausti. It didn’t seem fair, since I shied away from my own daughter.
My brothers, Tito, even Mitch all nodded, adding their unwelcome ten fucking cents.
Scarlett also set another rule. I was to give the baby her name. Once I held her. Though she had taken to calling her Pastini before, Scarlett called hermy loveafter she was born, among other tender names, her heart too full of love to give her only one.
“Tua moglie è una santa!” Romeo said to me, giving me a rude hand gesture to go along with this statement.Your wife is a saint!
She was, but she knew me better than anyone. She’d make comments such as,Her hair is so soft, and it seems a lighter color today.She’s such a little piggy. She has a healthy appetite, just like her papà.
However, their scrutiny was too much.
My, my, my.No, she wasmine, as claimed as her mother.
I couldn’t seem to help myself, though.
Eunice turned her nose up at me as I came into the house. Then she did a double take before turning away from me again. She was as scornful as a grandparent.
Evening was fast approaching, and the villa was quiet. Even when the baby slept, Scarlett had a hard time doing the same. She wanted to stare at her. And stare some more.
Counting fingers and toes…watching her breathe…running her fingers through her hair…inhaling her skin.
A flash of cream coming from the nursery made me pause on the steps. The color was dark enough to be almost gold, with a bunch of small red roses imprinted on the soft, flowing fabric. Bare feet padded along on the floor, rushing, but so quiet that no sound came from them—if I would’ve blinked, I would have missed it.
I muttered something to myself about our house having sneaky butterflies flitting around it.
My usually sharp awareness had taken a beating from the prolonged blackout. Being swallowed whole seemed to delay my instincts.
