“I know,” I said. “But I’d like to cook something for us. A surprise.”
It was like my words were timed to the arrival of Vincenzo. He said something to Rocco in a dialect of Italian or Sicilian I wasn’t familiar with. Guido was right behind Vincenzo. I wasn’t sure what was said, but Rocco placed a kiss on my lips and pulled me to him hard, whispering in my ear, “You are dessert, my wife,” before he headed toward the office.
After he was gone, I stood in the massive kitchen alone, closing my eyes for a second, inhaling his lingering scent and trying to focus.
Right.
Dinner.
Nonna had taught me how to make eggplant parmigiana. Ormelanzane alla parmigiana. A family recipe. Layers of eggplant, tomato gravy (Nonna said no one could convince her to ever call it sauce!), and cheese. I considered making chicken cutlets, but... I was able to find a lady on the island who…well, who offered to get the meat for me. She was willing to sell me the entire chicken, but I’d decided not to. The lady next to me had received a bag that had feathers mixed in with the bloody juices. That was as far as I would allow myself to think about that. It was totally different when I ate in a restaurant or bought meat from the grocery store. There were a few steps between me and the finished product.
Rocco had exploded with laughter when I told him I wasn’t a chicken plucker and decided on eggplant instead.
Before I started to clean and cut and prep, I poured myself a glass of red wine, grabbed a cup full of nuts, and left the kitchen, venturing toward the wall of glass. My bare feet padded across the cool stone floors, and I sighed at how nice it felt against my soles.
The storm still raged.
Even worse than before.
Under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed being holed up in an Italiancastellowith my husband for the night. In our shotgun in New Orleans, I would have, too. But there was something about this storm that brought back shocking replays of the first storm I’d experienced on the island.
Rain beat against the glass, buckets constantly being thrown against it, and when lightning flared across the sky, it gave a terrifying view of just how angry water could get. The sea was seething in every direction, for as far as my eyes could see. An angry woman’s emotions between land and island.
I looked past my flowy dress, the hem landing at my ankles, down at my feet.
Yeah, the ground didn’t feel all that steady.
My eyes ran up the glass and caught sight of the reflection in the glass.
Me.
My hair fell to my lower back, and it waved around my head, plumped by allowing my hair to air dry and the humidity. My skin seemed like soft candlelight ran through my veins instead of blood. My irises reflected the glow. My body was thinner, but it had more definition, like I had been working out. My curves were more pronounced. My breasts looked soft and swollen, even though my bones seemed closer to my surface.
The comfortable dress I wore felt like air flowing around my body, enhancing all that had already been enchanted by finding my true happiness in this world.
Sighing, I went back into the kitchen and got to work. Nonna always said food responded to love, and people responded to food. Add in music’s frisson, and all together, a delicious meal that fed both the body and the soul could be created. I’d never forget how her face reflected perfect harmony when she’d stand over a pot of rolling gravy, her eyes closed, her hands wafting the smell of it underneath her noise as an Italian tenor hit the highest note of his song.
“Right now,” she would say. “Right now is when our food is hitting a high note too!”
God, I missed that woman.
With tears in my eyes, I found the pad that controlled electronics in thecastelloand opened the music app Romeo had downloaded, thankful he had downloaded songs too. It seemed like the power was going to go out at any second. I played a song Nonna had cooked to and got to work, snacking on nuts and cheese as I did. I sang, dancing around, doing my usual lip-syncing routine. I wasn’t sure what I was doing with my arms, but I was almost sure it was called the windshield wiper dance as I moved my body in the opposite direction of my hands to a jazzy Sinatra tune. Tomatoes were an opera tune. Eggplant seemed good with an upbeat tune.
My laughter echoed inside the kitchen when I realized how I must have looked, but it didn’t matter—as the song said, I was in love. And even in the face of this storm, I was going to sing through it. Nonna taught me that. I was going to make her proud, carry on her fighting spirit, her love of cooking, and her verve for life. The fierce love she left with me was all the inheritance I needed.
As I sprinkled salt on the aubergine slices (dark purple skin still intact), preparing to set them aside for about an hour, I felt eyes on me.
One of the soldiers.
He stood at the entrance of the kitchen, staring at me, his mouth open a little. When he realized I was staring back at him, he blinked, like he was bringing me into focus. My eyes went up, in awhat can I say about myself?way, and I grinned at him. He looked almost…transfixed. Maybe because of how I’d been carrying on in the kitchen.
In that moment, he must have realized he had to leave or chance coming face to face with his…boss didn’t seem right, and neither did prince. Rocco was either king or knight. Either way, I could tell he was shocked that he’d stopped in the first place, but even when he went to leave, his body seemed to go ahead of him as his neck craned, eyes lingering until he was forced to move forward completely.
The vision of me in the reflection of the glass came back to me—what he must have thought of me. My hair wild and voluminous, like I’d been electrocuted, and moving around wildly as I laughed to myself, seasoning the food like I’d been sprinkling it with a spell.
Yeah, way to make an impression, Ari.
I blew air out of my mouth, laughing after at the look on his face.
