Page 88 of A Capo’s Love: Featuring A Don’s Love

I looked back at Luca and could feel myself melting. He kissed his fingertips before tossing them my way. The crowd disappeared for a second and I tapped into the zone of just Luca and I like we were the only two inside of this huge space together. His eyes left mine and I followed where they had landed.

My knees almost buckled, the podium became the only reason I stayed upright. My aunt and uncle stood three rows from the front. My chest hollowed out instantly as guilt and hurt hit me at once. I hadn’t seen them since my parents died. I spent years wondering about and grieving the people I kept at a distance, even though I did it to protect them. I didn’t want Lennox nor Kentrell to know that I still had family that I loved and cared deeply for. My aunt had my mother’s entire face. She looked older now with gray around her temples. Her doe-shaped eyes were weighed down with tears and so were my uncles eyes. The room blurred completely, and I found it hard to breathe for a second.

The little girl inside me started painfully sobbing. I never stopped missing family or yearning to have a piece of my parents in the flesh. I spent countless of hours wondering if they’d ever gone searching for me. Then I thought about how my parent’s funeral went. I never was able to attend and wasn’t so sure if they even had a proper burial.

The microphone crackled softly, bringing me back to my current reality. I took my eyes off my aunt and uncle then gazed into the crowd. Curious concerned faces stared back at me patiently.

I swallowed hard. Then took another deep breath before clearing my throat.

“Hi everybody.” I spoke loud enough for the microphone to carry my voice.

Tears slid down my chubby cheeks as the room erupted into cheers. I laughed through my tears because each time I tried to talk the audience seemed to get louder. Seconds later, they quieted down and my rehearsed speech went out the window. I spoke from my soul instead.

“The first time I ever remember feeling peace…” My voice lowered as I tried to look everyone in the eyes. “Real peace… I was just a little girl sitting at a table with a coloring book spread open in front of me.” A small smile touched my lips through the emotion.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything except staying inside the lines.” I chuckled and so did the crowd. “I remember how focused I was. How determined I was to finish the picture. And when I finally reached that last little section and put my crayon down…” I laughed quietly through my tears. “It felt like I’d crossed the finish line of the biggest race in the world.” I swallowed down, feeling my eyes burn.

“That little girl was so proud of herself… so unbelievably proud. Not because the picture I colored was perfect, but because I finished when it felt like I wouldn’t with so much to color.”

I paused, fighting through the tightness growing in my throat.

“And then my parents saw it.” My words came out shaky.

“They carried on like I painted a masterpiece that belonged in a museum. They ranted and raved over every little thing, pointing out the colors I used and how proud they were of me staying in the lines…”

A sob got caught in my throat. I looked down for a moment, willing myself not to completely break apart.

“They probably never realized what they gave me those days. Their excitement became my confidence. Their belief became my pride. Through their eyes, I started believing maybe there was something special in me.” I pressed my lips together as tears slipped free again.

“When my dad discovered I could draw at seven years old, he transformed an entire side of my bedroom into an arts-and-crafts sanctuary. I had shelves for supplies, jars full of pencils and markers, stacks of paper and notebooks. I remember walking into that room with him presenting the room to me… he told me, ‘Your creativity matters’.”

The room around me blurred as memories flooded in. For a moment, I could see my mother’s smile and my father’s proud eyes on me. He used to look at me as if I could do absolutely anything I put my mind to.

“I miss them every single day.” My voice cracked completely.

“They are the reason I learned that creating things could quiet the noise around and inside of me. Coloring isn’t just art for me… it’s comfort and brings healing… it feels like home when you don’t have one.”

My gaze shifted across the room to Luca.

“Years later… life brought me him,” I pointed in Luca’s direction and the crowd shifted in their seats to look at Luca.

“He had no obligations to carry any of my burdens but somehow he recognized them without me uttering a word… He paid close attention to me and took note of the things that brought me peace…” I inhaled sharply then looked down at my shaky hands.

“He was the second man next to my father to gift me a peaceful sanctuary outside the walls of my camper to create in. He turned an entire wing of his estate into a craftsman’s workshop.” I shook my head in disbelief, still mad at myself for running from Luca and causing him the amount of pain that I caused.

I silently thanked God that he gifted me with Novae. Our bond was forever tied through her. Several tears escaped at once as I pressed my hand against my chest.

“I love you, Luca,” I uttered the words out loud for the first time.

His hardened face and eyes softened, he tapped his chest twice and mouthed the words back. I wanted to run off the stage and into his arms but remained still. I turned to look back at Balani then Serenity.

“My childhood was short lived.” I turned back to the crowd. “I never knew what it was like to have friends really until today. I saw the two new people who came into my life and made a difference…doesn’t matter if it was small or big.” I smiled, slowly wiping away my tears.

“In the short time of me staying in Vegas, my friend convinced me to really get serious about what brought me peace… Thank you, Balani, for pushing my stubborn self, and thank you, Serenity, for supporting me today.” I turned to both of them and smiled.

“I’m still healing through past traumas…” My throat tightened.

“Coloring and drawing constantly reminds me of my youthful peace and innocence…. It reminds me that broken things can still create masterpieces…” I cleared my throat.