Luca’s hand came down on the Bible as I started to flip the pages. I looked up at him, so absorbed that I hadn’t even realized he stood over me.
“My Mamma’s belongings. Passed down to me after she had passed. I did not want to give them to Bonfilia. She would have set them on fire out of spite. Margherita was too childish to take good care of them at the time, and she does not cook even now. My oldest is blessed to have survived his first years, ah?” He smiled, but it was a bit rueful. “You are the only woman I can entrust these treasures to. I ask one thing of you, Rose. Pass them down to our Mia when she is capable of treasuring them as well.”
I thrummed through the Bible. Brando’s grandmother’s handwriting was etched into the worn-down pages. The Bible was a wedding gift from her mother. Grazia had made notes in the margins and underlined her favorite passages.
May your fountain be blessed, and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer—may her breasts satisfy you always, may you ever be intoxicated with her love.
This scripture was written on a page of notes, but the scrawl was different—much smaller and tidier. Marzio?
Luca touched the penmanship, running his finger over it with reverence. “My father,” he said.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, the words blurring with my tears, I scrolled through a few pages of recipes, my heart and soul rejoicing at these priceless gifts. I could have sworn I smelled her essence, the flavors of all the food she infused with her unyielding love.
I moved to accommodate his arm, and Luca’s hand cradled the cross pendant that hung around my neck. It had belonged to his mother as well. I had found it while cleaning out the villa she and her family had owned before Brando and I had purchased it.
“My Mamma’s things have found their way to a deserving soul. A soul that recognizes another.” Luca stared at the simple gold, lost in what it had meant to his mamma, and perhaps remembering it around her neck. “As a small child, when I was sick, she would hold me to her. I would hold on to the faith around her neck, knowing there was nothing in this world that could touch me because she had given all her children to God to protect. My Mamma was a woman of faith. Just as you are, Rose.”
My hand automatically went over his. Through Luca and his story, I could feel Mia’s touch as if she were in the room with me, holding on, her little hands so soft and warm against my skin, like the fluttering of gossamer wings.
“You loved her very much,” I said. “You love her very much. Still.”
“Sì. She was my first love. I knew then how dangerous a creature a woman is. I could see the feral in my father’s eyes when he looked at her. He would kill the entire world to save her life. Her eyes were just as fierce when she looked at him.” He took a deep breath, then released it in a slow stream. “In many ways, I see her in you. Even smell her essence when you pass. You have given me a granddaughter who resembles her. It is as though a part of her has been passed through you to remind me that she still lives on in the smile of Mia.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this, so I sat as still as I could, giving him time. He took as much as he wanted as we sat in silence.
But more than the two of us seemed present in the room. His mother, Grazia, seemed to hover around him in a loving embrace, still reaching out past the grave.
Perhaps he had pushed her memory away for as long as possible, not wanting to take her with him to the dark places he’d been. She felt like a safe, loving presence that put me at ease. Her two most important books were shielding the son of her grandson.
A sob broke free from my throat that I couldn’t control.
Luca released the chain, letting it down so softly that the metal caressed my throat in a cool kiss. He sat on the edge of the desk, reaching over to remove a tissue from the gilded box they were housed in.
He seemed to understand that his gifts had meant a great deal to me. His mother had gone through similar trials and tribulations with her own husband, Marzio, and it gave me immeasurable peace to know that I wasn’t alone in this life. I had her notes in the margins. Her pastina recipe for the flu.
This gift couldn’t have come at a better time and was worth more than diamonds and rubies.
Luca had given me the gifts in secrecy so that they would not come at a price—Rosaria’s jealousy. Nothing would stand in the way of what he wanted, but he seemed to choose his battles carefully.
Luca looked away toward the door, giving me a moment. After the door opened, though, I knew it wasn’t for privacy at all. It was in anticipation of his son’s arrival.
“Scarlett.”
I waved the tissue like a white flag. “F-fine,” I barely got out.
Brando took a knee next to me, using his fingertips to sop up my tears. His hands trembled with suppressed anxiety. It had cost him a lot to give us this time alone.
“Your f-father.” I sniffed. “He gave me these gifts.”
I held out the books, and he stared at them for a moment, his face impassive, before he reluctantly took them. He scrolled through the cookbook, the reflection of the large, cursive, almost whimsical, words reflected in the depths of his eyes. Once satisfied, he handed me the cookbook, going through the Bible.
He cleared his throat. “Tell me who these belonged to.”
“Your grandmother—NonnaGrazia.”
Looking up, he reached for the cross, his touch indiscernibly like his father’s. However, there was a difference I could distinguish with eyes closed and covered. My blood didn’t dance in my veins when Luca touched me. For Brando, it moved as though my blood was made of magnetic putty, and he was the magnet summoning its flow.
Releasing the chain as tenderly as his father had, he rose, setting one hand on my shoulder. He looked his father in the eye. “Grazie,Papà,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He continued in Italian, expressing his immense gratitude for giving his wife gifts she would treasure.
