It was always a bit looser, too, during vacations (I’d learned this on Aria Island) and when Luca was spending time with his Wildflower. I noticed his sons and their families were more relaxed. It seemed like Scarlett and Brando were the cause of that.
Rocco squeezed my neck when he noticed Massimo was sticking around. All the usual greetings were made when we entered the room, and then the entire group of us walked to the ski resort where all the men, only a few of the women, were going skiing.
After, we had plans to have an early dinner, which was rare for Italians, at a restaurant that was slightly higher than our chalet—Scarlett mentioned it was at 2000metresaltitude, which meant it was almost sky high, and the oxygen would be thinner, just as with our chalet.
Rocco had been worried about that before we even arrived. He contacted a local doctor in Switzerland, who was friends with the Fausti family, but more importantly, Uncle Tito. The family was a group of doctors who came from a long lineage of doctors, scientists, and research professionals.
Rocco was close with the head doctor, but health wise, the head doctor wasn’t doing well. He’d always had some kind of blood disease, and he wasn’t feeling his best. His daughter was a doctor and making a name for herself in the field. When Uncle Tito approached her about becoming the head doctor of the Fausti family, she had politely declined, claiming she was being called to help people in need.
Rocco’s eyebrows had pinched at this. “All sick are in need,” he had said to me. “She just does not care for our family.”
“For the best, then,” I’d said.
Who wanted a doctor who couldn’t stand the principles of the family?
But she had agreed to put up shop in Zermatt, replacing the other female doctor, while we were staying, since the situation with Uncle Tito called to her heart, she’d said. She loved Aunt Lola and would do this for him at this time of his life.
The doctor knew how much the family meant to Uncle Tito, and for the most part, she respected Rocco. Since I was his wife, and he was asking, she’d said yes. I hadn’t met her yet. She was keeping to herself unless ultimately needed.
All this to say, though, that Rocco had spoken to her about the elevation and me being in the early stages of pregnancy. Since I was healthy, she said as long as I took my time, didn’t overdo it, and didn’t go above a certain altitude, or was above altitude for an extended period of time, meaning, we lived in our chalet the entire pregnancy, my body would work to provide the baby the oxygen he or she needed.
Still, Rocco was being overprotective and insisted she come along with us on the trip, since this would be my first time being above the chalet’s altitude.
Dr. Alessandra Ponte was the doctor’s name, and I put her at around Massimo’s age, or even a tad bit older. She reminded me of honey for some reason, maybe because it has healingproperties. Long, golden blonde hair, tan skin, and a gorgeous set of dark blue eyes that shimmered like sapphires when the wintry sun hit them. Her features were sharp, and I was almost willing to bet, without the warmth about her, she would’ve been as cold as the wind hitting me like a frozen wall.
It was so apparent, as she led her small team of two female nurses, that she didn’t truly want to be around the family. She was cordial, of course, but extremely quiet. Silent until spoken to, or when she had to speak to her team. She could speak four languages that I knew of. Italian, French, German, and Romansh. Her family was from Ticino, on the border of Italy and Switzerland, and they lived in Como.
Her sharp eyes would cut to some of the men, at times, before she covered them in mirrored sunglasses, and I could’ve sworn in her head, she was rolling her eyes. Maybe because she was stunning and all the unattached men had noticed.
Rocco took Ermanno by the shoulders and kept him from falling over a rock when she’d bent over to pick up the cellphone she’d dropped. His pointed nose raised in the air like a hound when another one of the cold, punching winds hit us and swirled her sweet scent in the air. His nostrils flared, and he set a hand to his heart, shaking his head in a dramatic way.
Scarlett and I looked at each other and laughed. She went on about the restaurant we were going to dine at after a day on the slopes, and after we reached the Matterhorn, Rocco set his hands on my shoulders and pointed to an area for us to take a break. He made me stop every few minutes, and he watched my breathing as though he was counting my breaths. Maybe he was. But he did it to make sure I wasn’t overdoing it.
“This is where Switzerland meets Italia.MonteCervino.” He went on to tell me that it is also called “Gran Bècca” in the Valdôtains dialect. “Arpitan is spoken in the Aosta Valley in Italy.”
I felt like in addition to my Italian “lessons,” I also needed history lessons. I asked my husband to become my teacher, and he nodded seriously, and said, “Sì.” I squeezed his arm in thanks, but it was also to keep me from laughing. He could be entirely serious at times, times when the mood was light and no one was being formal.
A peaceful sigh escaped my lips.
Since the time when we’d first met (in real time), he was becoming more relaxed. Not when he had business to attend to, but when it was just us, or with his family. I was so thankful for that. That he could loosen the tie and suit, set down the sword he carried, and just be…Rocco Fausti.
He must’ve sensed where my thoughts were at, and he stopped and kissed me. He kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. Maybe I was losing some oxygen—I was climbingMonteRocco, anticipating getting to the top.
The top of him.
The night before, when he’d set me on top of him, and my thighs were not the only body part spurring me to move…
I repeated the thoughts in my head to Rocco, and he laughed when I said I was climbing him, and so did I. We kept kissing and laughing.
When we pulled away, we gazed at each other, getting lost, until it seemed like the wind whistled and slipped through our own little world, breaking the spell—for the moment.
The sounds and scents around us invaded, and after I set my hand against my husband’s chest, I looked away and found the group staring at us.
It still took me by surprise that Rocco’s family was still adjusting to the way we loved each other.
For so long, he was on the outside looking in.
As Mari once told me, “Rocco was like me—always looking in restaurant windows, starving for something he’d never had.What everyone should have by human right, food—and I don’t just mean something you pick up and put in your mouth.”
