God, what would I have said to the woman who wore this dress then? I decided in that moment that the only advice I’d give her—live and enjoy it, because you can’t get it back.
We were where we were meant to be.
“Mamma?”
“Hmm?” I turned toward Mia, finding her watching me. My hand drifted from my face, coming to rest on the fluff of the dress.
“You look beautiful.”
I smiled at her, touched her chin, then kissed her forehead, setting her hand against my heart.“I’ve lived a happy life, my daughter,” I spoke in Slovenian. “Real beauty comes from a place of contentment. Being happy does not mean we get all that we want. It means that we are thankful for what we have, hm?”
She nodded. “I like that.”
“Bene,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Should we go now?”
“Yes!”
We walked out of the room hand in hand. Saverio narrowed his eyes at me before they softened.
That’s good, I thought.Heishuman.
“SignoraFausti,” he said and nodded at me. “You are beautiful.”
Mia’s cheeks flushed. I laughed.
“Grazie,Saverio.”
His mamma andpapàhad taught him well.
“Shall I?” He offered me his arm, but Brando cleared his throat from the doorway.
My breath caught in my throat. He had on the same tuxedo he had worn at our wedding. Italian, bespoke,fatto su misura, and jet black, except for the white of the dress shirt underneath. I doubted there was anything more handsome in this world.
His eyes, which had been stone cold and hard on Saverio, softened completely when they fell on me.
“My wife,” he said, making a frantic gesture over his heart—but in a way that was all too controlled. Mimicking his heartbeat, himself. “Perhaps I loved you then.” He took a moment to take a breath. “There is no word for it now—I’m certain of it.”
My face rushed with blood, and I gave him my hand. He kissed my wedding band and pulled me closer to him.
The boys had been waiting in the kitchen. They stared at me, their mouths hanging open some.
“Mamma is the princess,” Marciano said, attempting to slap at the fluff on my dress. “She bootiful, like Bella, ah?”
“Belle,” Mia corrected him.
“Mamma isn’t the princess,” Brando said, giving him the eye when he went to slap at the fluff again. “She’s the queen. Mia is our princess.”
“What dat make me?”
“A prince,” Mariano said. “Prince Marciano Leone Fausti. We are royalty in Italy, ah?”
I stopped walking after we made it outside of the door. The sky was burning with stars, and the only competition for their light was the thousands of twinkling lights strung up in the yard. Hundreds of candles were lit, barely moving with the lack of wind.
Roses, an uncountable amount, filled the rest of the space.
A section of the ground had been covered in a gorgeous wooden floor, the kind set outside for dancing, and in its center, a screen that towered over me. A bunch of plush-looking seats were laid out in front for seating.
“What’s this?” I whispered.
