After the cake and that lazy morning tangled with Alexander in bed, we came to his grandmother’s house for his birthday lunch. And here we are, well into the night.
Alexander wasn’t exaggerating when he warned me his family doesn’t understand the word enough. It’s been hours of good food, wine, and laughter. Stories I only half understand, but they always make me feel part of everything. It’s like they’ve belonged in my life far longer than the short time I’ve known them.
We sang Happy Birthday to him an hour ago, this time with a cake so large it could’ve fed a small village. His grandmother, aunts, and cousins had made it together, and the moment he leaned forward to blow out the candles shaped like the number forty-two...
He reached for me and kissed me like he’d forgotten we weren’t alone. The room exploded in applause and playful whistles, and I laughed into his chest.
“Do you like it like this?” Cella asks in her sweet voice, her English nearly perfect as she kneels beside me on the couch. She holds up the braid she made from a strand of my hair like it’s a treasure.
I touch it gently and smile at her. “It’s beautiful. You did such a great job.”
She throws her arms around my neck and I hug her back.
Of all Alexander’s nieces, she and Bianca—Pietro and Angelo’s daughter—are the ones I’ve spent the most time with. And I know I’ll miss every single one of them when I leave tomorrow. Even the ones whose names I’m only just learning.
Without warning, I feel it…that pull in my chest that always warns me when he’s near. I open my eyes and find Alexander standing by the fireplace, watching us with that smile that makes his eyes glow. I smile back, but before he can come over, his uncle Carlo calls his name and steals his attention.
“I’m going to put a little flower at the end!” Cella announces, sliding off the couch and grabbing my hand to drag me with her. “Vieni, vieni!”
I follow her down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
As we pass her mother, Anna asks with a laugh, “What’s the hurry, bambina?”
Cella replies in rapid Italian. I don’t understand a word beyond my name. Anna falls into step beside us, laughing. “She’s obsessed with braiding hair,” she tells me. “Only I know how much I suffered before she learned to do it properly. She used to tie mine into perfect little knots.”
We share a knowing smile and keep following Cella.
When we step into her bedroom, decorated in shades of pink and green, Cella goes straight to a wooden box on her dresser, its surface carved with delicate details.
Curious, I study it closely. It’s the same wood and shape, almost identical to the one Alexander gave me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Anna says, and I nod. “It’s a tradition in our family.”
That makes my eyes lift from the box to her face. “A tradition?” I repeat, my heart beating fast.
“Yes. No one knows exactly when it began, it was a very long time ago. Every man in the family used to make a box for each of his sons. The idea was that one day, he would pass it on tothe woman he intended to marry. And on it, he would carve something meaningful... something that belonged to their story. Or something that simply reminded him of her.”
My pulse stumbles as Anna goes on, unaware.
“My grandfather changed the tradition when he decided to make boxes for his daughters too. He carved each one himself and told them to pass them on someday to their own daughters.” Her smile softens. “Mine was my mother’s. And this year, it passed to Cella. I’ve always told her how special it was, like a treasure from the princess stories she loves.”
She finishes speaking and smooths her daughter’s hair affectionately. Cella is too busy carefully pinning a rhinestone flower into the end of my braid to notice anything else.
But I can barely breathe. My heart begins to race as memory pulls me backward to a different moment...
‘Actually, that box isn’t made anymore. That model was unique.’
I close my eyes, smiling as I try to remember every detail he carved on mine.Alexander...
When we return to the living room, I go straight to where he’s talking with his cousins and wrap my arms around him, holding on tight.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, searching my face.
“Never been better,” I whisper.
He smiles, kisses my forehead, then turns back to his conversation. The whole time, his arm stays around my waist, keeping me close.
We don’t stay much longer. Sam is asleep at the foot of Nonna’s bed when we leave, so Alexander lets him be.
