This is life…this summarization of life seemed to bring new meaning to mine.
Perhaps when life was not going our way, I would think back onProzioTito’s words, and they would bring me peace.This is life, I would say to myself, in the good times and in the bad.This is life, and nothing ever stays the same—in the good times and in the bad, except for the man next to me.
During all seasons, stormy weather or perfect, we had found a home in each other—a home that could not even be taken away by death. Our life together was linked, as Hannah would say, woven into the fabric of our DNA, the blanket that would warm our shoulders.
Mariano led me away from the scene altogether when his mamma set her hand on the tomb and tears streamed down her face. She was crying over her brother, it seemed, perhaps telling him she was glad he and his father had been reunited, but she was also deeply saddened by the loss.
Scarlett Fausti was a complicated woman with many facets. I was not entirely sure what she was feeling, but I knew that my heart broke for her. I tried to find the same sympathy for her sister, who stood next to Pnina, whispering in her mamma’s ear. Pnina was still holding her rose. Her eyes were turned forward. She did not respond to Charlotte, who seemed to be persistent about whatever she was saying to her mamma.
Pnina walked away from her, standing near the coffin, setting a kiss on the rose and then lying it down on the dark wood.
The sky released a tear—one fat raindrop from above, landing on the rose, sliding off onto the wood, where it ran and dropped to the ground, exploding.
On our way to the SUV, I stopped in my tracks. A familiar figure gave me a warm smile, although I could tell it was laced with sadness. Sicilia, from the House of Sicilia, waited by a car of her own. The outline of her parents could be seen inside.
It was no surprise that she would attend. Pnina was a world-famous designer in her own right. She had designed my gownfor the maze. Perhaps the two families were friends, or at the very least, acquaintances. Sicilia and I had worked together on a project between my family and hers involving the Fausti family as our muse. I loved working with her. She was extremely talented and just as stylish.
Fashion was her realm, and she ruled it, as she once told me I ruled the jewelry level. This was why her family had chosen me to design and create the pieces her family would pair with their luxury brand of clothing.
Sicilia pulled me in, and I automatically felt warmed by her. It was as if the island of Sicily during summertime lingered on her skin. She smelled of anise, figs, cinnamon, and…oranges. The scent reminded me of freshly baked…cuccidati. Yes. This was it.Sicilian fig cookies. Her light brown skin was flawless. Her glistening brown eyes were as warm as her hugs. Her smile was bright, made even brighter by the darkness that surrounded us. Her hair was onyx black, which enhanced…all of her.
She looked at my husband after she released me. “I am so sorry about your grandfather.”
He nodded, his hand lightly jingling mine. “My brother will appreciate you being here.”
Translated:Therefore, I appreciate you being here.
She nodded, then rubbed my arm. We held hands for a second before we let go.
A sigh escaped from her lips, and then her eyes brightened. I turned and looked at what had her glowing.
Marciano was making his way toward us with Maestro. Marciano’s eyes lit up when they found her, as if a great fire had come to life somewhere deep inside of him. It was almost a physical representation of the attraction between them—his fire had lit her up.
I almost breathed out,whoa,Nelly, but I kept quiet.
Matteo was standing only a few paces before us, monitoring the situation, and I did not want to give him any reason to think I was being disrespectful. Perhaps if he made a face at me, that awful thing I would do when stress took hold of me would suddenly control me: I would laugh.
Perhaps my husband had sensed this. He nodded at Sicilia, who barely noticed him, as we began to walk off.
“See you later, Sicilia.” I squeezed her hand.
“See you, Sistine,” she barely got out as Marciano drew closer to her.
My husband opened the door to the SUV, helping me inside, before he strode to the other side and slid in the driver’s seat. We drove alone, which was…different.
We usually had men surrounding us. I brought it up to break the tension some. My husband was quieter than usual, almost lost to a reflective nature that had begun on the plane from our tropical paradise honeymoon to the chilled countryside of Toscana.
He cleared his throat before he told me I was safe in his hometown.
This was it.
Conversation over.
I sighed as I gazed out the window, lost to my own thoughts.
“Death is an awakening,” I remembered my grandfather saying once. I did not always take his advice to heart, especially after the way he raised my father to believe he was the end-all of society if he did not get his way, like the way my father raised my sister, but I always listened to him. I had always known Adone to be a wise man with foolish ways.
Meaning, he had experienced life and turned his experiences into life lessons, but he chose not to act on what he had learned if it had to do with my father and his wants.
