“Read the last part before you go, Leonardo,” Mama says, tapping a bony finger to the page.
Kicking off my shoes, I crawl up onto the bed, lying down beside her. Her fingers ghost over my hair as I snuggle carefully into her side.
Leo clears his throat, his eyes locked on mine for a second before his gaze lowers to the page. His deep, warm, husky voice is like a sensual caress as I close my eyes and listen to him recite the words written by E.M. Forster.
“‘It isn’tpossible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.’”
My eyes fly open,discovering Leo’s gaze locked on mine. His chest heaves, and the urge to fling myself into his arms is almost insurmountable. The words embed deep, and I feel them worm their way into my soul. I have never believed in something as wholly as I believe in that sentiment.
Tension bleeds between us in the emotionally charged space, and the only sound is Mama’s crotchety breathing.
“Read this last one,” Mama says, sitting up and taking the book from Leo’s hand. She flips to one of the pages she has marked, handing it back to him and pointing her finger at an underlined passage. “Go on, Leo,” she prompts when he silently reads the quote without speaking.
His voice isall choked up as he reads. “‘“I taught him,” he quavered, “to trust in love. I said: “when love comes, that is reality.” I said: “Passion does not blind. No. Passion is sanity, and the woman you love, she is the only person you will ever really understand.”’”
Leo stands abruptly,avoiding my gaze. “I need to go.” He places the book on the bed beside me, his eyes briefly meeting mine. The pain in my heart is reflected in his gaze, and I wish I could comfort him. I don’t know what Mama is playing at, but she clearly has an agenda. Leo leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I will see you tomorrow, Mama Rosa.”
“Remember what I said,” Mama tells him, grabbing his face with more strength than she usually possesses. “You’re a good man, Leonardo. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he rasps, tears clouding his vision. “Until tomorrow.” His eyes move to mine as I pull myself upright in the bed. “I will see you in the morning, Natalia.”
I nod, watching him leave with an ache in my chest.
“He loves you,” Mama says after he has closed the door. I turn my head to face her, my eyes popping wide. “And you love him.” She pats my hand, smiling softly. “I know he is the boy you have been talking to me about.”
I gulp over the lump wedged in my throat. I have confided in Mama a few times this past year about my fears for this arranged marriage and the depth of my feelings for another man. I didn’t mention Leo by name for fear she would feel obligated to tell Papa. But I should have known Mama would work it out.
“You can’t tell Papa!” I blurt. “I don’t want him to hurt Leo.”
“Oh, Natalia.Cuore mio.” She pulls my head to her shoulder. “A woman should never keep secrets from her husband, but secrets of the heart, they are different.” She runs her hand through my hair, and it’s wonderfully soothing. “Listen to me.”
I tilt my head up, staring into her face.
“I love your papa. He is a good man. A good husband. He has treated me well and loved me as best as he can. He doesn’t parade his whores in front of me or society, respecting me enough to conceal that truth.”
A shocked gasp rips from my mouth. “Papa has whores?” I’m not completely naïve. I know most made men have affairs and screw around, but Papa has always idolized Mama in a way that is not usual, so I thought he was different.
“Every made man takes whores, Natalia. It is the way of themafioso. Carlo will sleep with other women. You need to go into your marriage with your eyes wide open. My mama didn’t prepare me, and now I have run out of time to adequately prepare you.”
I sit up with my back against the headboard, twisting around so I’m facing my mother.
“You know how to cook and clean, which is a trait that is rare for a woman of your position in our society. You are educated and intelligent, and you have been encouraged to be independent while remaining within the confines of our rules and traditions. The one thing I haven’t taught you about is love, and I wish I had more time, but we don’t.”
Tears prick her eyes. “I was young and beautiful like you at seventeen. I too had a secret love.” She takes the book from my hand, clutching it to her chest. “Like Lucy, in this book, I too went on holiday to Italy and found the love of my life. My own George.”
Mama’s grandparents lived in Italy, and she vacationed there every summer from the time she was thirteen until she was seventeen. When her parents retired to Italy, we spent a few summers there visiting both sets of grandparents. It was usually just Mama, Mateo, and me, as Papa had to work. Mama enjoyed showing us around, pointing out all the places she used to go as a young woman, but she never mentioned anything about a secret love.
“I had already been promised to your father, and our wedding date was set. Angelo scared me. He was older and more experienced than me. Already the underboss and a powerful man with many enemies. I didn’t think I could ever love him, even though he always treated me with profound kindness, because I was so in love with Lorenzo.”
“What happened with Lorenzo?” I’m instantly curious to learn more about this side of Mama’s past I know nothing about.
“He knew who I was and that I was destined for another man. It didn’t stop us from falling in love, but we never acted on it. Me, out of fear of repercussions, and him out of respect for the traditions. He was my best friend, and we spent every moment together while I stayed with my grandparents. Not being able to touch him or kiss him the way I wanted was torture, but being apart from him was worse.”
“You didn’t even kiss?”
Sadness crests over her face as she shakes her head. “No. We came close a lot, but one of us always held back.” She palms my face. “I love your papa, Natalia, and I have had a good life. I have a beautiful home and two amazing children. I have not wanted for anything and I have only one regret.” She pauses to draw a deep breath. “That I never gave in to my passion with Lorenzo. That I never allowed myself to embrace a love that was so pure.”
“Mama,” I gasp, shocked to hear her say such things, because it’s so unexpected. “It would’ve been risky.”
