She did look like a doll. The most beautiful doll ever created. Not just because she was mine, either. She was so chubby that she lacked nothing, as filled out as she was. Her arms had rolls, and so did her legs. Her lashes were dark and long; her lips were a tender pink with a natural pout.
No, she reminded me of a cherub.
Staring at her, hypnotized, it seemed like my brothers were all seeing the light for the first time. Scarlett had dressed Mia in a soft, cream-colored outfit with a crocheted hat (that was taken off to see her hair as soon as possible) and matching sweater.
She was being swapped from hand to hand, everyone eager to hold her.
“She is beautiful,Bella,” Rocco said, all choked up, continuing to kiss her chubby cheeks. When she made one of those sweet noises, he smiled and cried harder. “An angel.”
“Mia Bellarosa Fausti.” Dario wiped his eyes. “She is perfect.”
“You did a fine job, Sissy.” Romeo sniffed. “She has my hair.” Then he really started to cry.
Scarlett elbowed me when I growled low in my throat. She hadmyhair with hermamma’sswirl.
The light in Maggie Beautiful’s eyes seemed to come on when she held her. A light that I thought we might never see again. Aberto’s murder hit her hard—even harder, being forced to listen while his heart was being ripped out.
I hoped that Mia would ease her ache. She had eased mine the moment I saw her.
Scarlett’s mother whispered to her in Slovenian, her father memorizing every one of her lines, seemingly committing them to memory.
Eunice fussed over her hair.
Violet and Mitch studied her, comparing her features to ours. Mary was disappointed that she wasn’t really a bagel but a doll. Peter and Paul stared at Mia as my brothers had.
Donato and Guido went on and on about how beautiful she was. All of the men came to meet her, too, finally matching the wail to the face.
I didn’t think there was enough of her to go around. If it wasn’t her, it was Massimo, our new nephew. The Fausti blood was just as strong in him—a big boy with wide shoulders, long legs, dark eyes, but only a few strands of hair.
After a few hours had passed, thefamigliagathering around tomangiarefor most of that time, I was ready to be alone with my family.
Scarlett and I readied Mia for bed together. We sponged her off, which she seemed to like, and then slathered her in lavender-scented cream before dressing her. I refused to put another one of those all-in-one outfits on her again. Too restricting.
She needed free range to kick. I needed to be able to kiss her toes and feet.
Looking up, I found Scarlett staring at me, her camera around her neck. She had been taking pictures all day.
I narrowed my eyes, urging her to speak her piece.
“You’ve made every one of my dreams come true, Fausti.”
I forced down the lump of emotions stuck in my throat and nodded once. “It has been my honor,” I said in Italian.
She stared at me for a long moment. “I love you, Brando. If that’s even—what this is, between us. It feels like more.”
“There’s not a word known to man that defines how I feel for you. And her.”
“Always?” she said.
“Always is not good enough anymore,” I said. “Whatever the word is, it’s a secret. I know it, somewhere deep down, even if I can’t speak it.”
“I can’t speak it either,” she said. “It just exists.”
The three of us huddled close in our bed. Scarlett fed Mia. I watched. We smiled at the noises she made, her hand curled against hermamma’sbreast. Which had tripled in size.
I really laughed when Scarlett’s nipple popped from her mouth and a drunk look came to her face, right before she belched. They both fell asleep not long after; my wife in my arms and my daughter on her mother’s chest.
My entire world—each claiming a half of my whole.
