We sign the legal documents—Tommaso really went all out for this, acting like it’s a marriage, not a vow renewal. My heart beats for this man and how he wants me to remember everything about our marriage this time.
Then I’m swallowed by Silvio and Marco, who hug me tightly while they grin and ‘welcome me to the family’. Etta, Adolfo, and Jerome are next. They’re family because we’ve never truly had that staff-employer vibe. Plus, they’ve helped me rediscover that I love baking and cooking, and they’re helping me rediscover myself.
Marco holds out his hand and asks me, “May I?”
I glance at Tommaso, who smiles with a nod, then I turn back to Marco and hold out my hand.
He doesn’t take my hand, though, and instead he places a bracelet around my wrist and secures the clasp. “In our family, it's tradition to give a gift of our family’s crest to our brother’s chosen one.” His eyes flick to Tommaso, then he smiles at me. “We weren’t able to do this before at your first wedding, and it’s my honor to do it now.”
Tears mist my eyes as I study the bracelet with a medallion of the Santoro family crest. “Thank you.”
“Let’s celebrate,” Silvio calls out and pops a champagne bottle while Etta gathers glasses.
Tommaso pulls me into his side. “Only a few sips for you.” When I start to protest, he shakes his head. “You’re still recovering from your subdural hematoma.”
I want to roll my eyes at him, but don’t argue because secretly his damn-near-obsessive protectiveness of me is my kryptonite.
Once Silvio has made a rowdy and blush-inducing toast, we all head into the dining room.
It’s a large room, though I don’t know if any room in this beautiful home would be considered small. The wide, long table easily seats twelve and can be expanded to fit more. It was delivered after I told Tommaso I wanted something simple yet beautiful that would fit us, our children, and their future partners. I’m already planning well into the future.
The dark mahogany table gleams under the crystal chandelier, and the room has paintings on the walls and a few sculptures placed around. It’s tastefully and elegantly decorated, though, not in an in-your-face, over-the-top way that tries to scream wealth.
Silvio pours drinks at the sidebar, and Etta, Adolfo, and Jerome enter, carrying platters and bowls of food. As Tommasoand I discussed, he orders them to sit at the table rather than serve us; we’ll all eat together.
They protest as I knew they would, which is why I had Tommaso issue them the order, but they relent, and soon, we’re all around the table, passing the dishes back and forth, with happy chatter and laughter. This is the exact feeling I imagined and longed for. It’s relaxed and close-knit, not something formal and stuffy where I feel like I’m on display.
Flashes of memory push in of me sitting at a dining room table, but in a room that felt gaudy, and where I felt like I was on display, particularly for two men across from me. One is a large, burly, older man who eyes me with a cunning look. The other is smaller with dark hair and the same color eyes as mine. His look is conniving and calculated, and with the vivid memory, that feeling of nausea and throbbing head pain pushes in.
Then more flashes of memory push in of that second man, but when he’s younger. Kinder looking. His eyes don’t have that conniving look, but a loving one, and the feeling of nausea and throbbing pain within me eases.
I’m a small girl, holding his hand while we walk and eat ice cream. I laugh and call himBabbo.
“Gina?”
I jolt out of the flashes of memory, but I’m back in that gaudy room, at that table where the men are watching me closely. Tommaso is there beside me, but he’s not dressed in the same clothes as he wore when we got married.
But I blink, and then he’s before me, wearing the clothes he wore when we married today, and I know I’m no longer looking at the memory version of him.
He’s concerned and worried, and I realize the conversation around the table has stopped.
Tommaso’s hand curls around my nape. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, just a brief flash of memory.” His hand tightens as he stares into my eyes, and I brush my hand over his cheek. “I’m fine. Truly.”
The conversation resumes, and we eat, Tommaso keeping his hand on my thigh while we do. I push my flashes of memory aside. I’ll reflect on them later, but for now, I give all my attention to my husband and our wedding guests.
It’s a leisurely, relaxed meal, and one we draw out with laughter as Marco and Silvio tell me stories of Tommaso’s antics growing up. Even Adolfo, Jerome, and Etta chime in; their affection and loyalty evident, and it makes my love for this man grow.
He’s powerful; that much is clear. But he’s also compassionate and loyal. A strong leader. I glance at the ring he wears with his family crest, catching sight of the lion’s head, and I’m flung back into another flash of memory to where Tommaso and I are in a small coffee and pastry shop, with the older Italian couple I’m in a picture with.
“Are you okay?” I ask Tommaso.
“He is fine,” the older woman says in Italian. “Aren’t you,re leone?”
“Re leone?”I ask. “I guess Lion King fits.” I smirk at him.
“You think I’m a lion?”
