With that, everyone left the hunting area, Paolobeing helped by his sons, more thancinghialeas supper on our minds.
Chapter 19
The Vines Bear Witness to Everything
Aria Amora
“You see what is happening here, Luca! I demand a meeting at once!”
The words kept repeating in my head, and I couldn’t seem to get a good grip on them to set them to the side. The effing nerve of that ridiculous man! Paolo! How could he even be serious?
What is happening here?
I’ll tell you, Mr. Bean, you’re entitled, that’s what!
Hedemandsa meeting?
Afterhisson attempted to shootmyhusband?
The rules of this family sometimes boggled my mind. Scarlett said that was because we, as women, were translating them into situations that were, most of the time, uncalled for. Then again, she said, if the rules didn’t exist, the Fausti family wouldn’t be the Fausti family. I conceded her point, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating! Scarlett seemed to understand this too. She sighed, hugged me, and afterwards, she and her husband went to visit a farmhouse not far from us that they were considering buying.
It warmed my heart that Brando and Scarlett, along with Dario and Carmen, and Romeo and Juliette, had made the decision to buy close to us. It meant a great deal to Rocco, even ifhe hadn’t outward said it, and that meant it meant a great deal to me. Mac and Mari were not far, but I knew a big part of that was because Mac would be directly under my husband when it came time for him to claim the Fausti throne.
Besides, it was nice having the women who understood around. As close as we were to our husbands, in this family, the men walked by a different set of rules. I could tell the women did too. I didn’t need help navigating this life I was living with my husband, but it was nice to know I had support in a way only the women could understand.
For example, this exact situation, years ago, occurred, where a claim was made and it was never truly settled, only because the woman who was at the center of it all was killed.
A sadness crept inside of me at the thought. My great-aunt didn’t deserve the heartbreak she endured before her death. She was so young. So young, and so in love. She didn’t deserve the ending she got. She didn’t deserve to die. Period.
A crisp wind wrapped me up in a chilled flurry, sending my curtain bangs up and running its crazed fingers through my hair. I wrapped my cardigan around me tighter to help keep the warmth in, then tamed my bangs down with my fingers. Taking in a deep breath, I slowly released it.
Whenever I thought of my great-aunt, I felt chilled instead of the warmth I felt when I thought of my grandmother’s life and how amazing it turned out to be. My grandmother lived a full life, even if her ending wasn’t as peaceful as I’d hoped it would be. Even though my grandmother went with grace, it was still painful and awful to have to watch.
I refused to linger on those memories, though. Instead, I did as I promised her I would: always reflect on the sunny and warm times. She told me to never forget the hard times, those built character, but the end times were not reflective of her life.She said dwelling on the past was a waste of breath. The most important part of the past was how it helped build the future.
“Each decision we make is a steppingstone,” she used to say. “Each step is bringing us to the future, and our futures should always look brighter than our pasts if we learn from our mistakes.”
“Say for example…sticking a metal fork in an electrical socket,” I’d said.
She’d bopped me on the head with her bag, cracking up laughing. “The only bright thing about that situation is the electric that’s going to be a real shocker, pun intended. But you have jokes. Not everything in life is funny, Ari. You need to take my wisdom seriously. Ah, maybe one day.”
I smiled at the memory, my smile turning to Ermanno as he waited with me outside ofNel Cielo.
My smile faded when I thought back to the day my husband was “accidentally” hit with a bullet. My fists balled at my sides. The cool wind against my cheeks burned. My temperature was rising with my temper. I would’ve kicked out, just to release some pent-up aggression, but the fog was dense on the ground, and I would’ve looked ridiculous kicking at air.
Ermanno was giving me a curious look, and I realized…the reason I thought of my husband being hit with a bullet was because Ermanno had been standing next to him holding a gun. It didn’t occur to me at the time to think of why. Ever since that day, Ermanno had been hanging around with the men. Even though it had only been a short time, he’d grown in maturity. When I’d brought it up to Rocco, thinking he was growing up too fast, he’d waved it off.
“He is a Fausti,” he’d said, using a towel to dry his hair. Another towel was tied around his waist, and I had to admit, my focus was going in and out of the conversation.
Rocco Fausti was art. Better than a Roman statue come to life. Because his warm sea green eyes were on me and his gorgeous lips had begun to move.
He told me that Ermanno’s mamma had died when Ermanno was younger, younger than he was then, and Rocco thought it would be a good idea if he hung around me. Ermanno had run to me for help with the fire—something a son would do to his mamma. I wasn’t sure if Ermanno saw me as a mamma figure. A few times, I caught him checking out my cleavage, and then he hurriedly moved his eyes and slapped himself on the back of the head.
I had to admit, though, I liked having him around. He was fun in a young man heading toward adulthood sort of way. He was filled with wonder, and he was adventurous. Which was why he, along with a bunch of Fausti soldiers, Guido included, was following me and Aunt Lola on the walk we were about to have.
After the celebration, she and Uncle Tito wanted to stick around a little longer. Romeo and Juliette were going to drive them back to their place in Tuscany a day before the scheduled meeting in Lucca, at Luca’s walled city there. I’d never been and had been trying to imagine it in my head.
When I’d mentioned this to the women when we were cooking in the kitchen one evening, Juliette had grinned at me and shook her head. “You have to see it to believe it. Maybe because you’re an author, your head can do it justice, but my imagination couldn’t.”
