Chapter 35 Julian
THIRTY-FIVE
JULIAN
PRESENT DAY
“Ifound his parents,” Lana says, her face sombre.
She’s not the bearer of good news, then.
I glance back at Santi. At the kitchen table, Colomba and my mum coo over him, feeding him while my dad plays with little action figurines. The kid giggles and plays along as he chews what looks like three spoons of pasta. I’m not sure how it can all fit into his mouth, but he makes it work.
It’s so reminiscent of how Mammona treated Igor when he first came in that my heart gives a sad little jolt.
“They’re dead,” Igor declares and she nods.
We were all hopeful but prepared for the eventuality.
“What are you going to do with him?” Pietro asks.
“He stays with us.”
Igor’s statement is final and non-negotiable. The severe set of his brow and the intensity with which he regards the boy is unmistakable. The protective energy emanating from him tells me he’s been keeping himself awake with that decision.
We talked about it, of course. Every night since he came back with a boy of six in tow.
Igor has my full support, whether he wants to find an adoptive family for Santi, or if another solution arises.
His stare reminds me of how he looks at me sometimes.
Igor loves fiercely, and the boy just gained a protector for life, whatever he chooses to do.
He’s only six so but Igor argued that with what he’s been through, he needed to be given a choice.
“Gisele needs to be involved,” I say.
“I’m not letting anyone take him away.”
“No one’s taking Santi, Igor,” Lana offers. “But Julian’s right. Gisele has to give her opinion here, for both your mental health and Santi’s. You know what he’s been through. Love can do a lot, but it won’t be a substitute for professional help.”
Igor’s jaw works but he picks his phone and dials his therapist immediately, stepping aside for a conversation none of us are privy to.
We tried to get Santi to stay at the medical centre but he cried a lot and asked for Igor so we let him stay with us.
He sleeps in my bed, and Igor and I squeeze into the sleeping couch.
I’d be lying if I don’t secretly love the proximity, especially since Igor accepts my touch again. But it’s not a long-term solution.
I bite my lip, thinking of the other one I’ve been working on.
I started before Santi came into the picture but now more than ever, it’d be perfect.
A renewed sense of hope has me ready to fly.
I want to scream to everyone that I have the perfect solution, and it’s us.
Igor and I. And our home in the mountains.
Igor joins our congregation again. “Gisele will be here tomorrow. I’m bringing Santi to the aquarium this afternoon. And then, he has language class.”
“Meet us back here for dinner?” Pietro asks and we agree to come back later in the day.
As we walk to the car, Santi’s little hand in Igor who looks at him with a fondness I haven’t seen before, I decide now is the time. If I’ve learnt one thing with everything we’ve been through, it’s that there’s no time like the present.
“I’d like to make a detour before we go to the aquarium, if you don’t mind.”
Igor tilts his head in my peripheral vision but agrees.
In the rearview mirror, Santi observes the landscape like he hasn’t seen anything like it before.
I got him a kid’s seat as soon as I realised he would be staying with us.
Which was probably the next day after Igor brought him back.
I’m out of my depth and probably going overboard, buying too many toys and things he can’t even play with yet.
I have no clue what I’m doing, just that when I watch my husband watch over him, it does something to me.
The road to the house is short and I stop a little before it comes into view. Its on the other side of a little rocky hill, but the view is breathtaking, and I want it to be a surprise.
“Where are we?” Santi asks in Spanish, and Igor tells him he doesn’t know.
I’m so freaking grateful I loved language classes when I was in school.
It helped to make him feel at home with us, even though both our mastery of the language is rudimentary.
So far, Santi hasn’t spoken more than a few words.
We don’t know how long he’s been in Misha’s clutches.
His parents died more than six months ago so it’s safe to assume it’s been at least that long.
He probably didn’t have anyone to speak with for a while.
The back of my eyes prickle, but I shake myself out of it.
Santi is safe. Igor is safe. And I’m about to show them what I’ve been working on for weeks.
In a mix of English and Spanish, I invite them to follow me.
We climb the short distance to the top of the hill, Santi running ahead of Igor and I. I take his hand in mine and lace our fingers together.
“This place was always meant for you and I. When we decided to have a family.”
Igor looks around, a small smile spreading on his mouth.
He’s been growing his beard and I’d be a liar if I said it isn’t wildly attractive.
It goes him a rugged edge that fits with his serious personality.
And I know how soft it is under the pad of my fingers when I pull him to me to kiss me senseless. My ears heat.
“Wow,” Santi exclaims as he stops at the top. He glances over his shoulder at us and wave us over. “Iggy, come see.”
He’s taken to call Igor ‘Iggy’. Igor was harder for him to pronounce and my husband is all to happy to get a new nickname. We join him at the top. Igor drops my hand, his arms going slack by his side.
Santi takes off to run around in circles around the pool.
It’s empty for now, but I’m hoping the last touches will be ready in the next couple of weeks.
I can’t wait to live here with the man I love.
And Santi. Maybe we’ll get to call him our son, some day.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself but with how Igor looks at the boy and how attached I already feel to him, wanting to protect him and see him happy, with friends and our families around him, it makes sense.
“Jules…”
I snatch both Igor’s hands and force him to face me.
“I’ve wanted to be with you for as long as I remember, my love.
You were my first and you’ll be my last. I started building this house for us before we even got married because I knew.
I told you a long time ago: you’re it for me.
I want to live here, with you and with our family.
The one we’ll build together, if you’ll have me. ”
I take a fortifying breath and drop to one knee, holding the silver rings twin to mine in front of him. Since his previous wedding ring is now in use for other purposes—not that I’m complaining—and we’ve made good progress on our relationship, I want everyone to know, but especially him.
“Igor Bartoli, would you do me the honour of marrying me? Again?”
Igor pulls me up and kisses me with the force of a hurricane while Santi screams and jumps around us. He may be only six, but I guess even he knows that what I did means something good. I thread my arms around my husband’s muscular torso and clutch him to me.
The only reason that I come up for air is because I have another surprise. And also, a kid of six running around. Gotta keep it PG.
“Come on, let me show you something.”
Instead of going right towards the pool and the front door, we veer left. The hill descend to a man-made terrace where I’ve planted an orchard. The trees are small for now, but they’ll grow into massive lemon trees.
“You planted an orchard?” Igor asks.
“Yes, but there’s only one type of trees. It’s something I’ve decided to add to the Bartoli name, to expand on wine. And I’d like you to help me with it?”
His brow furrows.
“They’re lemon trees,” I say.
Then, I take a wrinkled paper from my pocket, and hand it to him. His hand flies to his mouth but not before a sob escapes him. On the paper, scribbled in thin script, Mammona wrote her recipe for limoncello.
“Mammona told me to give this to you when I’d know you’d be ready to receive it. I’ve been carrying it around for five mouths. She wanted you to know how to make her limoncello.”
His eyes mist, then tears fall on his cheeks. Santi pulls on his pants and asks him what’s wrong with anxiety running his little body. Igor picks him up and hoist him onto his hip.
“I’m happy,” he says before repeating it in Spanish.
The boy wraps his arms around Igor’s neck and drops his head to my husband’s shoulders. On his other side, I slide to him, thread my arm around his middle and do the same.
Igor kisses the top of my head and whispers to both of us the words he’s been saying every day for days now.
“Ty svet moyey zhizni. Ya ne mogu bez tebya zhit.”
THE END.