Chapter 14 Velato or.Our Veiled Home
Velato or...Our Veiled Home
Aria Amora
Rocco had to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder to get me out of our veiled home.
Nel Cielo.
Meaning, “in the sky” or “in heaven.”
Both worked for me, or as my husband had said to me, “Essere al settimo cielo,” meaning, “To be in seventh heaven.”
I sighed wistfully as he carried me back to Apple Blossom. This time, he set me in the shotgun seat and took the driver’s seat. I had a feeling he thought I was still floating in the clouds and wouldn’t be able to see straight enough to drive us down.
He was right.
A goofy grin was stuck to my face, and I was pretty sure hearts were floating in my eyes.
Nel Cielo needed a lot of work—and I loved it. I loved the idea of making the place ours. It had been abandoned, and it needed us as much as we needed it.
Rocco had said the property had belonged to someone in his family, and after the family members became too old to care for the land, he’d purchased it.
He wanted it, mostly, for the winery. He’d never seen the old villa until after he had made a day trip down to check on the winery.
The past owners never did much with it, since it was the grapes they were after.
It was completely enough for us, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it.
I couldn’t wait to get them dirty, get specks of paint all over my clothes and in my hair, while also respecting the beautiful bones of the place.
I couldn’t wait for my scent and my husband’s to mix and go beyond walls and hit wood.
I couldn’t wait for our memories to fill up the place, adding to the ones already made.
As soon as Rocco had set me down in the villa, I just knew.
We had been invited in—we had been invited in to make the place ours.
A warmth radiated in the air; one I could barely describe in mere words.
Warmer than any other place I’d ever been in, including the childhood house I grew up in.
That was the only home I’d ever known, but it was never truly mine.
I loved having the place to sit with my childhood memories and reminisce, to be closer to my grandparents, but with all that I was, I knew the villa in the clouds was meant to be ours.
The windows were rolled down in Apple Blossom, and maybe it was dirt from the dry road, but what seemed like more clouds floated around us as Rocco made his way down.
We were both quiet, reflecting on what our hearts had found and already known: Nel Cielo was our forever home.
If I would’ve been to the place before Rocco, although I knew I would have thought it beautiful, it wouldn’t have had the same feeling as it did when Rocco was next to me.
Same for him. He’d been there before and left it.
Together, we brought out the welcome, the magic. And that feeling? Again, indescribable.
I twisted my hair up, my bangs lightly fluttering in the breeze, and closed my eyes to the warmth of the autumn sun.
Behind my eyes, reels of Nel Cielo danced in my memories.
What it was: a place that needed love and attention to make it a home again.
What it was going to be: our home.
The light was grand inside of its walls.
So many windows to allow the outside world in.
The bones of the place were in amazing shape, especially for its age, but we’d redo the wooden floors, change out some of the broken tiles, and give the walls new coats of paint.
We’d salvage all the antique furniture, give them oxygen again after the dust was blown off.
Apart from the picturesque cucina with a view overlooking the rolling Piemonte hills, and of course, our sanctuary, our bedroom, the room Rocco had made me close my eyes to before he surprised me with it still made my heart flutter and my breath catch.
My own writing space.
It, too, had vast views of the rolling hills, all his prized grapes, and my own garden to tend to right outside of its door. I already knew I didn’t want edible plants there, but a magical garden that would invite butterflies to stretch their wings when they landed.
Just being inside the room had given me a spark, a creative heat inside of me that almost made my fingers ache for the keyboard. I wasn’t even going to acknowledge, not then, the fact that once I started writing, truths I might not be ready for would reveal themselves.
That worry was for another time.
That moment.
That moment was for us to revel in.
Rocco looked at me, and I looked at him. Our grins came slow as we made our way back to the main estate in Tuscany.
“We’re just going back for Pisolino and our things, right?”
He laughed. “Sì. If I do not take you back soon, I will have to chase after you.”
I laughed. “When we rise to heaven, we’ll do it together.”
“There is no other way, Amora. You are the heart in my chest. The air in my lungs. The very blood in my veins. There is no me without you.”
I breathed out. “I could get used to this, Rocco Fausti, for the rest of my life.”
“My life’s work is to make you comfortable, but to never take for granted what we share—my hope is that my words of love will continue to shock you down to the soul of your heart. I will make you feel for the rest of your life, just as you have done for me, Vita mia.”
I turned to face him, my back hitting the door. “Because that’s what happened to you…you stopped feeling.”
“This world found a way to kill me—I was dead inside. Now.” He lifted my hand and inhaled the spot over my pulse.
“Now I feel everything. Your love resuscitated me, and I am a man brought back from the edge of death. I am experiencing life for the first time. It has never felt so good in my lungs, in my heart, in my veins.”
I completely understood what he was telling me. The world had found a weak spot inside of my husband, through his vulnerability made by a lack of love, and was attempting to squeeze the life from his heart. It almost did. And then we found each other, and life was beautiful.
We’d saved each other.
I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed over his pulse. Then we looked at each other and grinned again.
We were only a few hours away from the estate in Tuscany, and it felt like endless miles.
I couldn’t wait to get back to the villa in the clouds with Pisolino in hand.
As soon as Rocco parked and opened my door, I was off.
It pleased him how excited I was, and he even laughed when I told him to load up Apple Bottom.
She could take the weight of all my luggage without an issue.
Even though Rocco ordered some of his men to assist with the haul, he personally saw to my things. He loaded them up, and in such a core way, it felt like exactly what we were, two newlyweds who couldn’t wait to get started, a black cat with green eyes our third.
As soon as we were back to Nel Cielo, I changed into one of my husband’s old shirts, one he seemed to wear while working with the grapes, tied it at the waist, and paired it with a pair of stretchy shorts. I stuck my hair in a ponytail, wrapping a scarf around my head to keep my bangs back.
And…life began as we began to work on our home together. Rocco and I redid the wooden floors, painted the walls fresh new colors, and selected new tiles for the bathrooms and wherever we decided to add it.
Nel Cielo was rustic with touches of elegance, and we wanted to keep it that way.
We wanted the wooden beams to keep their aged appeal, while the stucco walls and frescoes enhanced their solid appearance.
The walls would keep their earthly color palettes while we updated them with fresh coats of paints.
Sage, creamy white, golden ochre, and even forest green for Rocco’s home office.
I wanted to incorporate wrought iron details, since they reminded me of New Orleans, and Rocco loved this idea, along with my idea for all the candle placements I wanted to warm up our home and make it more romantic.
Even Pisolino had his own space, a nook that looked out over the property, with his own fuzzy bed. He was already loving traversing the land, making a nuisance of himself with the donkeys who lived on the property. One day he’d get used to them, and them him, but…he enjoyed stalking them.
I started to give them all names, and my husband laughed when he realized I was naming them Doc, Grumpy, Happy… and when I said Sneezy and Wheezy, he really lost it. He lost it even more when I began to sing “Dominick the Donkey (The Italian Christmas Donkey)”, heehaws and all.
Pisolino gave Rocco a narrow stare and took off. He didn’t bother the donkeys after that. Maybe he figured a more dangerous cat was on the prowl, and he might get him if he didn’t leave them alone.
Rocco had hired men to complete the bigger jobs, including all the tile work. That was one of my favorite parts of the redo/refresh. I loved discussing all the different patterns with Rocco and what we both envisioned for the look and feel of our home.
While we were changing Nel Cielo together, growing closer—Rocco making his peppery pear and honey dish for me on the regular—the world outside our window was changing too.
It was grape harvesting season, or as Rocco called it, La Vendemmia.
It wasn’t only a time to collect the grapes, but to celebrate the bounty the land had given and show thanks.
It was a mixture of work and celebrations.
Between La Vendemmia and the house renovation, and my actual birthday, which we spent at home, where Rocco gave me an opal that fit in my jugular notch, it seemed like we had no time to spare, though I was cherishing every moment of my new life in Piemonte creating a home for Rocco and I—a home we could both see us raising a family in, growing old in, living in forever.