My other half that made me whole.
The rest of life?
Lagniappe, as people in New Orleans would say when something was given as a bonus.
Rocco slowed then stopped for a flock of sheep to cross the road. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and neither was I as I waved to the man crossing the street with them. He smiled at me and tipped his hat, then he tipped it to Rocco. Rocco acknowledged it with a tip of his own, and when he pulled off, I covered my mouth with my hands, then shouted, “I love it here!”
Rocco’s smile could’ve lit up the darkest depths of the sea, and when another song began to play, this time a male voice whispered, “(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons,” by Nat King Cole, Rocco cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“From this moment forward, themusicawill play without introduction.”
“No voice then?”
“Perhaps only yours, ah?”
“Ah,” I breathed out in agreement, and a grin lit up my face. “Maybe for some of the songs you can announce them?”
He chuckled. “Sì.” He lifted my hand, moving the emerald, diamond, and ruby bracelets he’d bought me to match the band on my right hand, along with a watch encrusted with diamonds, and kissed over my pulse.
Only him and I.
Rocco smoothly turned into a long drive, dust floating behind us, as the (race?) car climbed the steep driveway without a whisper of complaint. It reminded me of a sexy cat that ate up the distance with its dangerous speed. My actual cat, Pisolino,stared out the window as if he were a dog, watching as the scenery passed by.
The turn toward home made my curiosity pique, just as it did Pisolino’s, and my eyes almost devoured the land. The scene almost felt as if it was a dramatic song, and this was the crescendo of it. I felt breathless, almost strangling my husband’s hand.
The land was already getting to my heart, which was beating as fast as it was the first time I found Rocco standing in the window of the seasidecastelloon the island. I hadn’t even seen him yet then, as I hadn’t seen his actual home yet, but I knew without a doubt that anywhere with him would be my home.
On each side of the rising driveway, a line of cypress trees kowtowed to the wind, and for as far as the eye could see, the land spread out in a rolling manner that belonged to the grapes my husband cherished so much. The ones my eyes found first were purple, hidden underneath amber-colored leaves.
The land opened, accommodating an enormous villa hidden by more cypress trees, and ones that I didn’t have a name for. Their leaves were turning the same color as the grape leaves around the home itself.
The villa was made of apricot stone and had black shutters. Three arched windows were on the second level, and above them were what reminded me of lion door knockers, but imprinted in stone. The gardens surrounding the villa reminded me of a labyrinth, ancient statues included.
This was no mere villa—it was a luxury estate with a winery.
My husband came to a complete stop, as smooth as if the car had been in park, as dust clouded before it settled around us. I leaned forward a little, my eyes trying to take in the humungous property.
Rocco studied me.
After a few moments, he opened his door, fixed his suit, and walked around to my side. He opened my door, offering me his hand to take. I did without hesitation, even if his…homewas a bit overwhelming. I wasn’t sure if I was going to get lost inside of it. I’d never lived in a…place of that size before.
He untied the belt of my coat, sliding his massive warm hands against the pale plum sweater dress I wore. His hands slipped even further down, against my waist, before they landed on my hips. He pulled me in, and I gasped.
“Share with me all that you are thinking and feeling, my wife, about your new home.”
“Our home,” I whispered.
“You melt my heart,” he whispered in Italian.
My eyes locked on the villa. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, Rocco.” And I wasn’t understating it. I just…I saw him in something different. I knew it fit his role in the family, but I was thinking of him. He was passionate about his grapes and wine making, something he seemed to enjoy doing in the time he had to himself, but the estate…it was gorgeous, of course it was, and more than any “normal” person could even dream of, but again, it seemed almost…lonely.
Not as cold as the villa on the sea on Aria Island, not as burning hot as the mansion in Maranello, but…just there. It almost reminded me of a tourist attraction, and when I looked into my husband’s eyes, my heart broke for the umpteenth time.
He was exactly that his entire life.
A mere attraction to women.
A mere solider for the family.
