Epilogue
Josie
"Pass the garlic bread, tesoro." Nonna motions to me from across the crowded table. Sunday dinner has gotten considerably louder since our families started sharing it. My mom sits next to Nonna while Mario and Dad argue good-naturedly about wine.
Florence squeezes my knee under the table before reaching for the bread basket. "Tell them about the coin," she murmurs.
I clear my throat. "We have some news."
The table gradually quiets, though Tilly keeps trying to steal food from Renna's plate.
"The government agreed to terms about the 1933 Double Eagle," I announce. "They're going to auction it and split the proceeds with the foundation."
"How much?" Joe asks, obviously trying to contain his excitement. As our authenticity expert, he's been following the coin case closely.
"Early estimates suggest between twenty and twenty-five million." I can't help grinning at his stunned expression. "Which means ten to twelve million more for helping families recover their lost treasures."
"Speaking of treasures," Catalina pipes up, "when are you two finally setting a date?"
Florence groans. "We've been engaged for three weeks, Cat. Let us enjoy it."
"You've been enjoying it for six months already," Tilly points out. "The fake engagement counts."
"No, it doesn't," Florence and I say in unison, making everyone laugh.
"The foundation dedication is next month," Mom says thoughtfully. "You could do it then—"
"Absolutely not." Florence shakes her head firmly. "Our wedding will not be a publicity event for the foundation."
We talked about it last night. We're thinking spring, something small and private. Just family and close friends. But we're keeping that to ourselves for now.
"How's the foundation coming along?" Dad asks, deftly changing the subject.
"We've already helped three families recover artwork," I tell him. "And we're working with museums in France and Italy to digitize their records of lost artifacts."
"The university partnership is official, too," Florence adds. "They're creating a research center focused on art repatriation and cultural preservation."
"And they're naming it after Elena," I say softly.
Nonna's hand flies to the chain on her neck. "After me?"
"The Elena Vitale Center for Cultural Restoration," Florence confirms. "It seemed fitting."
Nonna mutters something in Italian that makes Lucia gasp and Catalina snicker.
"What did she say?" I whisper to Florence.
"That we're all impossible, and she's too old for such nonsense." Florence's eyes sparkle. "But she's pleased."
"Will you tell the students my story?" Nonna asks suddenly. "About Vittorio?"
"Only if you want us to," I assure her.
She nods firmly. "They should know. About love and loss, and finding beauty in pain." Her eyes find the ring on my finger. "About how some treasures are meant to be lost, so they can be found again."
"Like us?" Florence murmurs in my ear.
"Like all of us," I say, looking around the table. At my mom and Donna, finally together. At Mel and Renna, so in love it warms my heart.
"To found treasures," Joe proposes, raising his wine glass.
"To found family," Mom adds.
"To found love," Florence says softly, just for me.
I lean over and kiss her, ignoring Tilly's exaggerated gagging noises. "To choosing each other," I whisper against her lips. "Every day."
Later, as we're cleaning up, Florence pulls me into a quiet corner. "I have something for you."
"Another ring?" I tease.
"Better." She hands me a small box. Inside is a key on a silver chain.
"What's this for?"
"I bought the penthouse," she says quietly. "Or I will, once the sale goes through."
I stare at her. "But I thought—"
"Not to live in," she explains quickly. "But I thought maybe for the foundation. It seems right, somehow. Transforming a place that held so many secrets for so long into a place that will help bring them to light."
I pull her close. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"Mm, not in the last hour." She grins. "I'm starting to feel neglected."
"Well, we can't have that."
"Ready to go home?" Florence asks softly.
I look at the key in my hand, at the ring on my finger, and at the woman in front of me—the woman who started as a contract and became my everything.
"I am home," I tell her.