As we turn the corner, I spot at least ten members of my family gathered near the marble steps.
“I told everyone not to wait out here,” Cesare mutters under his breath. “This isn’t one of those period dramas with servants lined up at the entrance.”
Cecilia hears him anyway, and laughs.
My cousin Anna steps forward with her youngest daughter, Cella, who’s six, at her side. “Go on, sweetheart,” she says in English. “Give her the flowers and tell her your name.”
With short, shy steps, she walks over to Cecilia and says in almost perfect English, “Welcome. My name is Marcella... but you can call me Cella.”
Cecilia kneels until she’s at eye level, smiling as she accepts the bouquet.
It’s small and imperfect. Flowers grown on our land: pale pink antique roses, sprigs of lavender, white jasmine, little blue hydrangeas, and a hint of rosemary, tied together with thin twine. Flowers for luck and protection, chosen with the care only a child can give.
And as I watch her hold them, my heartbeat changes.
“They’re beautiful,” she says softly, lifting them to her nose before adding,“Grazie mille.”[XLVI]
Cella beams, then turns to her mother and says in Italian, “Her hair is like the Little Mermaid’s.”
Anna laughs, and when Cecilia stands again, she greets her with two kisses before translating. “She couldn’t stop staring at your hair. It’s the same color as her favorite character.”
Cecilia laughs warmly in return... and before she can say anything else, Anna takes the bouquet from her, then takes her by the hand and begins introducing her to the rest of the family.
I stay behind them, watching as she’s pulled into hugs from cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. Every greeting warmer than the last, every question about the flight delivered with the same curious affection.
We walk through the house and into the kitchen, where yet another part of the family is waiting. Another round of hugs and smiles comes with more introductions than one person can keep up with.
When Nonna steps forward, the room parts for her. She says nothing at first, just takes Cecilia’s hands in hers and looks straight into her eyes.
She speaks to her in Italian, and I translate, my voice far from controlled, “Eyes don’t lie. And yours are pure. You’re a strong woman. Very strong. I can see you’ve lived a great deal already.”
Nonna lifts her hand and touches Cecilia’s face with the same tenderness she has always given us in our hardest moments.Then, in careful, broken English, she adds, “You will be very happy, Cecilia. Very.”
She turns her eyes to me and smiles.“Molto felice.”[XLVII]
After that, she opens her arms and says simply, “Hug, sì?”
Cecilia smiles and steps into her embrace. And just like that... she’s claimed.
Within seconds, Nonna is leading her back toward the front of the house, but not before barking instructions in Italian to whoever is lingering in the kitchen.
The table is already set by the pool, beneath a white canopy, waiting for us. Lunch unfolds in a blur of laughter, voices layered over one another, and food that tastes like memory.
Cecilia sits between Nonna and me on one of the long benches. Even with her limited English, Nonna somehow keeps a conversation going, calling on me to translate whenever it’s needed. She’s always urging her to eat a little more of this... to try just one more bite of that... asking whether they cook the same dishes where she comes from.
Besides me, Nonna is the only one who calls her Cecilia. It isn’t something I asked anyone else not to do. But I like that it remains something that belongs only to us.
At one point, I notice her rubbing her arms, almost unconsciously. I head straight for the car to get the cardigan she left behind.
I’m halfway back when my uncle Giorgio—Nonna’s youngest and the one who handles our security—steps casually into my path.
“So,” he says with a knowing grin. “That’s the woman you’re going to marry.”
I laugh. “If she wants to, we’ll get married tomorrow at the little chapel,” I reply, half joking... half not at all.
Uncle Giorgio gives my shoulder a clap.
“She really isuna bella donna[XLVIII]. Don’t let her slip away.”
