“You can have a hundred tall lamps, if you want,” I whispered. “To light up the darkness.”
He turned around, looking up at the ceiling again. “I don’t need lamps,” he barely got out. “Not when I have my girls.”
Luci and I locked hands, grabbing Minnie along the way, and we all hugged him. He was stiff, but we all knew it was because he refused to cry. Maybe he felt like if he did, he would never be able to stop. He was still healing. We all were.
Once we all let go, he went to his bag and dug out five boxes, two of different sizes. He handed one to Luci, one to me, and one to Minnie. The two different sized boxes went to Nazzareno and Lilo.
I wiped a tear from my cheek when I opened mine. A beautiful snow globe, and inside of it, New York underneath snow.
Luci and Minnie had similar ones.
With the new ones, the cracks were all healed, none of us still bleeding out.
Nazzareno and Lilo got socks and soaps on ropes.
I couldn’t even describe what happened after that, but it felt so good. Soft Italian music played in the background, something Nazzareno had put on, but the house was loud with laughter and chatter. It even smelled beautiful from the delicious aromas in the air.
More guests started to arrive.
Neil and Andrea.
Beni and his new girlfriend.
Edna and Great Uncle Francesco.
Lilo’s father, Michele, and his uncle, Aren. He wasn’t too happy about me being married to a Fausti, after what had had happened to Tigran, but he accepted it for Lilo’s sake, since we were all living so close.
Aristide and his date arrived last.
We were just setting the table when another knock came at the door. I answered it and froze in my spot.
Lothario and Belaflore stood on the other side—dressed as if they were going to a party at the Ritz. We had sent them an invitation out of respect but didn’t expect them to show up.
Nazzareno squeezed my shoulder. He spoke in Italian, then translated. “Father. Mother. This is my wife, Ava. Ava, these are my parents, Lothario and Belaflore.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I curtseyed and then felt like a total ass, but this was the kind of thing I’d tell my dad about, and he’d laugh.
Belafore seemed to like that I did, though. She nodded and handed me a beautiful basket. It smelled like garlic, and I remembered what Scarlett had told me about her. Bela was safe from vampires because she could kill one with her cooking. She had a heavy hand with it when she cooked.
I thanked her, and then we welcomed them inside. We gave yet another tour, but his parents were quiet, and I knew they were silently judging. It didn’t matter, though; our home was our home.
Bela joined the women in the kitchen, and Lothario went straight to Great Uncle Francesco to talk.
It wasn’t perfect, maybe it would never be—too much family politics at play—but…it was working, and the night was moving along pleasantly.
Dinner done, Lothario and Bela left, and it seemed like a little more air was added to the villa. Everyone seemed to relax, except for Great Uncle Francesco, who had been relaxed the entire time. He wasn’t intimated by Lothario and was feeling no pain after his umpteenth glass of wine.
It seemed like we were all glowing from the haze of the fireplace and burning candles, and as Edna and Great Uncle Francesco danced around the villa to Glenn Miller, my husband removed my heels, and I rested my head on his shoulder, absorbing our life like a sponge—so thankful in that moment that my wish to become a jellyfish without a heart had never come true.
* * *
Later that night, as I lay next to Nazzareno in bed, I reflected on my life.
In the quiet, something I’d read once, something Sigmund Freud supposedly had said, came back to me. I wasn’t Freud’s biggest fan, but if the words were his, they had resonated with me. Just like these had when I’d read them: “We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.”
I sat up in bed, but before I could even stand on my feet, Nazzareno hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me back in. I kissed his arm. “I’m not going far. To the bathroom, and then I need to write something really quick.”
“Your phone.” His voice was deep, gruff, and as sexual as midnight when there’s moonlight.
