Chapter 15 #3
I arrived at Oidhche Nest early this morning, just in time to catch her halfway down the stairs. Before she could come any further, I went up and took her suitcase.
We only stood there, looking at each other. Then Cecilia leaned in and kissed my cheek, close enough to the corner of my mouth. “Buongiorno[XLIII], Alexander,” she said with a smile when she pulled away.
And in that one word, I had my answer. She wasn’t pulling away after what happened on Calton Hill.
On the way to the airport, she asked me to teach her more Italian. If she only knew how irresistible she becomes when she tries to speak my language, she’d know it’s nothing short of torture for me.
The moment we reached the private terminal and stepped out of the car, I took her hand and didn’t let go again until we were seated on the jet. I fought the urge to personally fasten her seatbelt... just to give myself another excuse to touch her.
Cecilia opened her laptop on the table separating us, asking me to let her know when we crossed into Italy and to point out some landmarks. I showed her the Alps first, then Lake Como, and everything else as we passed over them.
And now that we’re finally flying over Tuscany, she closes her laptop and gives all her attention to the window, to the rolling hills and sun-washed fields spreading out below us.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat or drink?” I ask, for what must be the third time since takeoff.
She turns to me with a smile. “No, thank you. I can’t eat when I’m anxious.”
I rise from my seat and sit beside her.
“My family is going to welcome you as if they’ve known you your whole life,” I reassure her. “In some ways... a few of them already do, from how much I talk about you.”
After Cecilia told me about her trip and we planned her stay in Italy, it felt as though a wall inside me had finally come down.
Before, I used to dodge every question about her, especially after Cesare decided to announce to the world that she was the reason I’d been flying to New York so often. I wanted to keep her to myself.
But with Cecilia coming to Italy, I wanted them to know her. I wanted them to see what I see and understand just how much she means to me.
She slips her hand into mine and gives it a squeeze. “If they’re anything like you, I already know I’ll feel at home.”
I smile and press a kiss to her forehead.
“Italy has always been a dream of mine,” she says, turning back to the window as we pass over old villas and winding roads.
“Especially Tuscany. Life just...” She trails off. “Kids, work, everything else. Intercontinental trips were never the priority.”
I circle the back of her hand with my thumb. “You traveled some, though,” I say. “I remember your old blog posts.”
She nods, then looks at me. “Yeah... but mostly nearby states and short trips. Colin always—”
She cuts herself off, glancing at me as if she’s said something she shouldn’t have.
I won’t lie and pretend I’m unaffected by hearing her say his name. But they share two children and a past, one I hope is buried deep... and for good.
I give her a reassuring smile. “You can go on.”
“Well... he didn’t like us being too far away in case something happened,” she continues, looking down at our hands.
“So our trips were always short. The last long one we took together was to Rio de Janeiro when Alicia was eight. After that, whenever it was just me and the kids, we never went far either.”
I nod, understanding. “And now? Do you plan to travel more like this?”
She grins. “Definitely. I want to keep traveling with the kids... but I also hope to do more trips just for me.”
Or with me, I think. But I don’t say it out loud.
I keep holding her hand as she turns back to the view outside.
It isn’t long before we’re descending into Pisa and making our way down the steps of the jet. The moment I step out behind Cecilia, what I see makes me mutter under my breath, “Davvero una meraviglia.”[XLIV]
“What is it?” she asks, stopping halfway down the staircase.
I gesture toward the Mercedes-Benz V-Class parked nearby, where two of my cousins and one very amused husband are already waiting for us. “My cousins Cesare and Pietro, and Pietro’s husband, Angelo,” I explain. “They’re the ones waving like lunatics beside the van.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, her smile starting to betray her.
We continue down the steps, and they only wave harder. I had asked Mario, one of the villa’s staff, to come pick us up. But of course... they showed up instead. I suppose I should be grateful that only the three of them came, and not the entire family.
Cesare is the first to reach us, arms thrown wide.
“Benvenuta, Cecily!” he says, pulling her into a hug.
Cecilia laughs, a little shy, but returns it easily. Pietro and Angelo follow right after, greeting her with just as much excitement.
“You’re lucky,” Cesare says at my side. “I convinced half the family to stay behind.”
Exactly what I was afraid of.
I hear Cecilia speak before I even manage to. “è... un grande piacere conoscervi...”[XLV] she says carefully, then smiles when my cousins and Angelo congratulate her on the effort.
Angelo turns to me with a grin and says in Italian, “She’s almost one of us, Alex.”
I smile without holding back. “We’ll make sure she leaves here nearly fluent by the end of these two weeks.”
Cecilia looks at me and gives me one of those smiles that lights up her entire face. I take her hand and lead her toward the car.
“Does all this land belong to your family?” Cecilia asks, her eyes fixed on the landscape rushing past the window.
“Sì,” I reply. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
I point toward the yellow villa we’re approaching. “That’s where my grandmother lives, along with a few others. Some of the family stay in houses scattered across the estate, and others live in nearby villages.”
Then I gesture toward the white house crowning the hill, all glass and light. “That one’s mine. I built it two years ago, when I started spending more time in Pisa.”
After my grandfather fell ill, I wanted to be closer to him, and to Nonna. The house that had once belonged to my father stood on that same spot, but it had grown old with time. And I wanted something different, more modern and open, with more comfort and life in it.
So I worked closely with one of the architects at Santoro Marmo to give form to what had been living in my mind.
Over the last two years, I’ve been spending less and less time in Milan, and more time here, especially since Nonno died last year.
Cecilia’s gaze drifts to my house, and she squeezes my hand, the one she hasn’t let go of since we got in the car.
When we come to a stop, I step out first and help her down. She smooths her light blue blouse and adjusts her high-waisted beige trousers. As she walks, the fabric moves easily around her legs, brushing her caramel-colored flats.
“You’re as beautiful as ever,” I say, not hiding how I feel.
She looks up at me... and smiles.
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 is una bella donna[XLVIII]. Don’t let her slip away.”
I give him a small smile. “That’s not entirely up to me, Zio[XLIX].”
He nods, approving.
“Then you’d better show her why Italians have the reputation of being the best lovers, sì?”
Shaking my head with a laugh, I step past him with the cardigan folded in my hands.
Cecilia is talking with my aunt Lucia when I walk back. The moment my aunt notices me approaching, she gets up, excuses herself, and walks past me with a knowing smile.
I hand Cecilia her cardigan, and she looks at me before pulling it around her shoulders with a whispered thank you. I sit beside her.
“My family is a lot, aren’t they?”
Cecilia laughs, watching two of my nephews chase their cousin with water guns. “They are,” she says. “But in the best way. You laugh, you eat, you tease each other, you even argue, but it’s warm and affectionate. It’s a beautiful kind of chaos.”
Smiling, I take her left hand and lift her wrist to my lips, kissing it softly.
“Have you decided whether you want to stay in the guest wing... or with me, at my house?”
Without breaking eye contact, she answers in a hushed voice, “In your house.”
I kiss her wrist again, lingering this time, letting my lips rest gently on her skin.
We stay with my family a little longer before finally saying our goodbyes. I walk her over to my Range Rover Autobiography, where our bags are already waiting in the trunk.
A bark cuts through the noise, and I spot Sam running toward us all the way from the olive groves. When he jumps up at Cecilia, I instinctively move to stop him... but she shakes her head, laughing, telling me she doesn’t mind getting dirty.
I stand there, watching her drop to her knees to greet him, scratching behind his ears while he does his best to lick her face.
I’m taken back to the Hamptons, over a year ago. The day Sam brought her into my life just like this.
When Cecilia finally stands, she looks at me, tilting her head in curiosity. She has no way of knowing how hard that memory hits me.
“What is it?” she asks.
I reach out, offering her my hand. “Let’s go home.”
Without hesitation, Cecilia places her hand in mine.