His is a quiet, contained life. His heart is a fractured, sheltered thing.
Confidence, like Rome, isn’t built overnight.
He continues reading:
Being a Cotogna also means you have access and assets at your fingertips. Access and assets other people will want to get their hands on. I know you know this because you’ve learned the lesson the hard way.
But learning a hard lesson does not mean you must harden your heart.
In truth, there was a time when I thought to wall off my heart as well.
Before your grandma—which was about as arranged as a marriage got in those days—I fell in love with one of the young girls who worked in my parents’ factory. Her name was Giulia. She had auburn hair, bright green eyes, and a smattering of charming freckles that showed clearest in the summer.
She had not a penny to her name, yet we had so much in common. We both enjoyed pistachio gelato and the films of Fellini. We preferred the country to the city, and bike rides over car rides. She kissed me like she could breathe fresh life into me.
When I told my parents I had met the girl I was going to marry, they were aghast. They remained dead set against it. They said they would disinherit me if I went through with it. But like any teenage boy with too much money to burn and too much confidence to spare, I took what little I had of my own and Giulia by the hand with our sights set on Capri.
It wasn’t until I made a stop off at the city hall that the haze of our love lifted.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked.
“To legally marry,” I said, smiling from ear to ear.
She looked confused. “I thought we were to marry in Capri. You said you’d tell your family. I thought we were going to choose a location to wed.”
I shook my head. “I wanted to wait until we got to Capri so as to not spoil our trip. My parents do not want any part of our marriage. They say that if we wed, they’ll disinherit me. I say, I’m too in love to care.” I reached in to hold her. She shirked my advance. “Giulia, what’s wrong?”
She grew cold, arms folded. “Take me home.”
“What? Why?”
There were tears in her eyes. At first, I thought they were tears of sadness over my parents’ disapproval. But then I looked closer at her wild, downturned eyebrows and realized she was upset at me. “I want to go home,” she said again.
“You loved me not even an hour ago. What changed?” I asked, still young and foolish. Still imagining us as the innamorati in the commedia dell’arte, but then she spoke again, and I realized that I was Arlecchino all along.
“An hour ago, you were Cosimo Cotogna, heir to Amorina Chocolates. You could give me a real life, master of the world. Now you are, who? Cosimo Cotogna, heir to nothing, master of none. What can you give me now?” she asked. Her words were daggers, and I was strapped to a wooden, spinning wheel as she flung them at me.
My hands shook as they reached out to her. “I can give you my love.”
She well and truly turned up her nose. “Take me home.”
I drove her back to Perugia, and I never heard from her again.
As I write this, the tears come again, not because I think Giulia is the one that got away, but because I wish I had shared this story with you sooner. I wish I had told it to your mother.
When your father brought home April—a poor opera singer getting by on a per diem—I warned him against pursuing her. I told him he would regret it. I threatened to disinherit him. My, how we all become our fathers one day!
Your father was older and wiser, though. He knew what he wanted, and he found a life partner in April. That union gave us all many happy years and added two fine young men to our family. April proved me wrong, changed my tune, and exposed my heart again.
My words must not be mistaken. I loved your nonna dearly. Ours was a love that started small and grew over time. Time is what it took for me to let her in. A long time. Too long a time, considering it now.
I held my feelings close. I barely let her know me. I spoke in riddles and changed my mind a million times about whether we should marry. I think I drove her wild. I drove everyone wild. Perhaps if I hadn’t spent so many years steeling my heart, I wouldn’t have had such a hellish time letting down my guard.
Remember there is more bravery in shedding your armor than there is in drawing your weapon.
Con affetto,
Nonno
