My heart grew a serious pair of wings.
“Fratellosmiles!” Mia exclaimed, making funny faces at him.
He gave her a half smile, half of his cheek rising, and she and I both seemed to sigh and laugh at the same time. Brando grinned, watching him too.
Matteo was just starting to react to us. It was like the heavens had opened after a terrible storm to reveal the sun. It had been the same with Mia. The wonder of it all hadn’t worn off.
Hunger prevailed over fun, though, and he started to fuss again. He latched on with force. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to relax, but the night before rushed in, and every single cell I possessed ached.
I wondered if I had three muscles that were never discovered by modern medicine, because those seemed to hurt too. One calledSon. The other calledOf A. And the third.Bitch.
Brando leaned over, squishing Mia, and she giggled, trying to push him off. “Tell me how you’re feeling this morning, Mrs. Fausti.” His eyes danced with humor.
“Like you would expect.”
“Told you.”
I pushed his head away, but not before he stole a kiss. He moved out of bedeasily—his muscles rippling in smooth motions. Then he turned around, whisking Mia up, making her screech with laughter.
“How about we cook breakfast for Mamma and Granny Eunice?”
“YEAH!”
“Bene.” He tickled her, making her double over. “Are you ready for this?” He stopped messing around with Mia, situating her in a flying position, her arms out, and his face turned serious, settling on mine.
“Yes,” I said, looking down at Matteo, stroking his hair. “I am. Are you?” I fixed him with an iron-clad stare.
“I’m ready for anything, as long as you’re by my side, baby.”
“Babeeee!” Mia mimicked him.
“We’re all set then,” I said.
After breakfast, we packed our bags, and headed to Venice—also known as The City of Masks.
45
Brando
A private vaporetto (water taxi) picked us up in Venice.
Scarlett had dressed Mia and Matteo in warm clothes for the ride. November in Venice was like most places, chilly, and it could be wet.
Mia stood between me and Scarlett, and I kept a hand on her at all times. She was too curious about the water, constantly attempting to peek over the side, or asking if she could “go swim.”
Mia’s extreme curiosity, which she had inherited from her mamma, no doubt made Scarlett uneasy.
Both of us convinced Mia, as much as you could convince a two-year-old, that the water was too cold and too dangerous, though we used language she could understand.
Still, she didn’t seem fazed or afraid, and she looked at the water with longing. Every time I’d pull her closer, she’d attempt to inch back to the water, her neck straining. When I’d say her full name, she’d look up at me, eyes so innocent, and smile so hard that her nose scrunched up.
Matteo, in his mamma’s arms, watched us with fascination. Sometimes Mia would make a face at him and he’d smile, but only half of his mouth would quirk up. His smile was going to be crooked, and all of the women around him gushed over it.
“Oh yeah,” Scarlett had said, watching the women fawn over Matteo when he’d smiled at them earlier. “He’s definitelyyourson.”
I didn’t have a crooked smile, but even if the boy didn’t look like me, which he did, he was still definitely my son. If not, the alternative—
The thought made me narrow my eyes at my wife, who shook her head at me, reading my thoughts, thinking I was being ridiculous.
