I clasped the cross around my neck. “I love the music here,” I whispered. “It’s very peaceful.”
She nodded. “This is exactly what I need when I come here—peace and quiet. It reaches my soul.”
I truly enjoyed spending time with Mari. She was different in her own way, in beauty and personality. I liked that she and Mac were not blood-related to the Fausti family but were as close as if they were. They shared a lot of history with the Faustis. I loved how Mari always tried to make me feel a part of it, like I was always meant to be there.
“I told you that Rocco was one of the first people in the Fausti family I met?” Her voice was barely above a whisper too. “Well…” She looked up. “He was one of the first men I came face to face with and actually had a conversation with.”
I grinned. She was something else. “You did.”
“I had no idea back then what I was getting myself into—or how deep my husband’s connection to them ran. It all turned out okay, better than okay, as you can see, but…the Fausti family can be overwhelming.”
“That they can,” I agreed.
We grew quiet again until she sighed. “Are you ready for all this?” She didn’t gesture to anything, but I knew what she meant.
Was I ready for the life my husband was born into, was deeply a part of?
“Yes,” I whispered without a breath of hesitation. “I knew from the beginning who Rocco is. Who my husband is. I accepted all of him, not just parts.”
She stared off into the distance. “I understand that completely.” She kept her voice at a tender whisper. “After Mac’s Nonno passed, he was struggling. I went to Rocco after the funeral, looking for him. Rocco asked me where I thought Mac was. I knew. He would be at church. Where else would a man go who needed to be seen but hidden at the same time? Rocco took me there—the same church we were married in was the same church we said our goodbyes to Nonno in. Subsequently, the same church all our children were baptized in.” She sighed.
“Rocco took me to church that day. Inside, the stained-glass windows had never made so much sense to me. They reminded me of my husband. Still do. He tells me now that I’m the metal that keeps the pieces of him together. I’ve created a picture of him from the broken pieces I’ve found.”
She became quiet again, her fingers stroking her rosary. “Rocco was broken too, and you’re keeping him together with your arms, Ari. But, when I ask if you’re ready for all of this…I guess what I really mean is, are you ready to become the lead that keeps his pieces together? This life isn’t the nicest. It’s made of sharp pieces and crushing blows.
“You’re about to be introduced to his world. A world that adored Rosaria Caffi.” Mari looked up. “I’m only speaking the truth when I say this, so I’m not speaking ill of the dead, if it’s like I said…the truth. The only reason you have her size of heels to fill is because the world loved her voice. Her life seemed like a fairytale. She had the voice, and she had the man. Rocco is well-loved in Italy, because he took the time to get to know her people. He truly means it when he says he is Italy.
“But…I guess what I’m trying to say is this. You’ll become his hard, I know you will, but I don't want to see your beautiful glass broken in the process. I love you for you, just like Rocco does, and I know the judgment won’t be fair. Not when people will set you next to Rosaria and only see her for her voice, not the complete truth.”
I turned forward, my eyes above, my fingers clutching the cross. “I know,” I whispered. “Why do you think I’m here?” I motioned with my chin to the front of the church.
“I’m going to guess for the same reasons we all find ourselves here.” Her voice was still a whisper. “We long to hide away from a world that sees its own version of the truth in us and places it there, but at the same time, we crave to be seen for who we truly are. And when we are? That’s when we tap into our strength—that’s when nothing else can touch us but our own truth.”
A flood of light entered the church, along with a cold wind that didn’t touch us or the warmth of the candles. My husband took easy steps to get to me, and when he did, I took his offered hand as he whispered, “Time to go, my wife.”
I held him in my arms then, and he held me in his, and together, we became a mosaic scene, the flames of the candles lighting us from behind. To the world, our love made the steel that kept the mosaic together. But the most important take away was this: No matter how the world saw us, the only thing that would ever matter between us was the truth—our love that would one day be written in stone.
Chapter 26
Patron of the Arts
Aria Amora
I’d always felt like second-guessing my choice in clothes meant I didn’t know myself well. Style was extremely personal to me. It was a way to show the world who I was. Give them a hint of the personality within.
It was probably ridiculous to feel that way in this phase of my life. When a woman, me, was fortunate enough to have many styles she loved hanging in her closet, it might be hard to choose between one outfit or another.
I’d never struggled so much between one dress or another—who I was and who I wanted Rocco’s world to perceive me to be.
I’d told Luca once while we sat in the church Rocco and I would be married in that who I was with Rocco was not who I’d be to the world. I meant that with every bone in my body. Who I was with Rocco would be for us, but who I was to his world would be different. I’d become a version of me.
I wouldn’t lie. My love for Rocco would always be front and center. I, however, would hold back, be the refined queen they expected me to be, while also being true to myself—I was a naturally warm person, unless someone I loved was threatened.
So, all that being said, I had no idea why I’d decided on the dress that I did. Nonna had bought it for me in the FrenchQuarter one evening when she was walking home from working for the Poésy family. It had been showcased in the window.
The color was merlot, like a gorgeous wine, she had said, and it was in a halter style, the waist cinching in, ruffles cascading in the front and back, a slit to the thigh making it sexy, but not revealing too much.
Nonna had said that for some reason she was compelled to go into the store tofeelthe material of it. She said the light fabric called to her, and she laughed as she said… “It was just so pretty, Amora! And for reasons I can’t even explain, it reminded me of my sister, a dress she would have worn if she would’ve been born and raised in this time. It reminded me of you! I could see you dancing in it, all the pretty ruffle details moving with your body—causing a scene in the best way. You’ll never guess the name of the dress.”
