“No one’s ever… This is the most meaningful… I don’t know how to…” Gio breathes out a laugh, not finding the right words.
He doesn’t need them. I understand entirely.
Gio pulls me into a long hug, resting his forehead against mine.
“Sei tutto per me,” he replies, his voice gruff with emotion.
“…everything?” I question, not getting all of the words.
“Yes.” A tear falls from his eye. “You areeverythingto me.”
Epilogue
TESSA
TWO YEARS LATER
I figured you could wrap this around your bouquet.
Something borrowed, something used.
Sei tutto per me, Cara. See you soon.
Gio
The ivory silk ribbon feels smooth in my hand as I read his incorrect turn of phrase. I can’t help but laugh, brushing my thumbs over the miniature, delicate figs Gio stitched alongside the edges of the fabric.
Letting out a watery breath, I reread the note. The sunlight filters in through Roberto and Maria’s bedroom window, casting a rainbow prism onto the paper. My eyes snag on the framed photo of Gio and me on the dresser, my favorite from our gelatophotoshoot. I’m sporting the biggest smile my face has ever seen, while Gio stands behind me, whispering that silly visual of Lamont riding horseback in my ear.
God, I miss Gio. Why did I think being apart the night before our wedding was a good idea? He was right to be so grouchy about it. Hanging out with the girls at the inn nearby was fun, but sleeping without Gio felt lonely.
That’s a ridiculous rule. An American probably came up with it, my fiancé said as he glued me to his lap yesterday evening. But after spending the whole night apart from him, I wish I’d clung onto our last hug a moment longer.
I just want to marry you, Tessa. Why don’t we do that today?
He’s impatiently asked me to marry him every day for the six months we’ve been engaged. Sometimes he whispers it in my ear to wake me up in the morning:Buongiorno, Cara. Marry me today?Other times he asks me the question as he talks me to sleep at night:Before you fall asleep, what do you think about marrying me tomorrow?
Over the past two weeks, he’s even tacked a threat of biking the hills onto the proposals.
I smirk at the thought of my constant response.Tack on an orgasm instead, and I’ll consider it.
Gio’s “tacked on” many an orgasm since, but I still wanted a real wedding. One with our loved ones. One with the dress, the flowers, the cake. One in the place where we fell in love.
Among the fig trees.
I compromised on intimate wedding vows, just between us, which we read to each other aloud in the living room last week.
I promise to always go out of my way for you.
You are the love of my life.
For as long as we live.
After our vows were complete, Gio finally translated the poem he recited to his parents that day in Brescia two years ago.
Finer than the finest gown, and stronger than the strongest seam.
She wraps in beauty all that she touches. I am sewn to her.
