After pushing the plate closer to him, I nodded, wanting him to take it. He did, but hesitated a moment, before he rose from his seat and set the piece on my plate.
“Grazie, Papà,” he whispered before he took his seat again.
“Grazie, mio figlio,” I said, lifting the piece.
Our eyes connected for a moment before he grinned, and I smiled. His grin grew into a full smile, though his eyes had turned to his plate. Scarlett made a whimpering sound next to me, covering her face with her napkin.
I tore the piece of bacon into five small pieces, handing them out. “La nostra famiglia,” I said, putting the piece in my mouth.“La mia linfa vitale.”
Matteo thought this over, then mouthed to himself the same words.Our family.My lifeblood.
11
Brando
Permanent change takes time. It doesn't happen overnight.
Real change, the kind that sticks, takes blood, sweat, and tears. It takes seconds, hours, days, even months. It takes determination.
Or so I kept telling myself.
Autumn had faded into winter, December, to be exact, and the incoming calls from Italy, more so than usual, seemed to be holding my first-born son back. His grandfather had called and invited us to Zermatt, where he’d decided to take the family on the usual winter vacation.
Matteo loved to ski, to snowboard, and out of all the kids, he was one of the best. Serious competition between him and Rocco’s second-born son, Amadeo, took place. Even the older Fausti children had nothing on him. He took it seriously, and each year looked forward to the snow.
Scarlett and I had decided, though, that for the time being, we would abstain from Fausti family vacations, given that our kids were having a tough time adjusting to life in Louisiana already.
Once we were more established here, we’d rejoin. That was if Luca would even have me. My wife and children? Of course. But his son? No. Not unless I changed my ways and came crawling back home. My wife and children went nowhere without me. Therefore, we were at an impasse.
I couldn’t in good conscience stop Matteo from speaking to his grandfather. Though there were a few times the thought almost became a rule. After their conversations, he sulked, not meeting my eye, being extra moody with Mariano. This in turn made Mariano sulk—he missed these vacations too. We could hear them in their room, cursing this place with no snow.
“There arenomountains here!” Matteo complained dramatically.
The blues had started to turn Mia as well, my most resilient child when it came to mood swings. Scarlett said the roles would most likely switch the older the kids became, but I wasn’t ready for her to start—ever.
She outwardly complained, not bothering to hold back her opinions. “What about New York? I would have more opportunities there! I am seeing that there is nothing here, nothing but the studio.”
“All you need is right there.” I had nodded to her mamma, who put down her book to assess the situation. “She’s New York, Rome, Milan, Paris, London, even Russia, all in one. She’s all you need.”
“Ahgruuu!” Mia made an incomprehensible noise, then stormed off, arms crossed, refusing to look me in the eye the rest of the evening.
I’d sighed, a long and heavy breath that did nothing to alleviate the tightness in my chest.
“She’s been having some trouble at school, Brando,” Scarlett had whispered, staring down the empty hall. “After Jane left her kids here, Mia did something that she regrets.”
“Tell me,” I said, not liking the hesitation in her voice.
“She…she felt something. Then she commented on it. She asked the sheriff’s daughter why she was so sad. Was it because her mother was?”
I stared at her, not comprehending.
“Brando…” She set the book down, opening her hands in a helpless gesture before she turned them inward, toward her heart. “She’s like me. Peculiar, I mean. And she must’ve asked just as Nikki felt it. It’s not something people are used to. To have someone be so in tune to your private feelings is not always welcomed. I should know.”
“Who’s Nikki?”
“The sheriff’s daughter, Brando.”
“This Nikki has been being mean to Mia?”
