Chapter 26
Patron of the Arts
Aria Amora
I’d always felt like second-guessing my choice in clothes meant I didn’t know myself well. Style was extremely personal to me. It was a way to show the world who I was. Give them a hint of the personality within.
It was probably ridiculous to feel that way in this phase of my life. When a woman, me, was fortunate enough to have many styles she loved hanging in her closet, it might be hard to choose between one outfit or another.
I’d never struggled so much between one dress or another—who I was and who I wanted Rocco’s world to perceive me to be.
I’d told Luca once while we sat in the church Rocco and I would be married in that who I was with Rocco was not who I’d be to the world. I meant that with every bone in my body. Who I was with Rocco would be for us, but who I was to his world would be different. I’d become a version of me.
I wouldn’t lie. My love for Rocco would always be front and center. I, however, would hold back, be the refined queen they expected me to be, while also being true to myself—I was a naturally warm person, unless someone I loved was threatened.
So, all that being said, I had no idea why I’d decided on the dress that I did. Nonna had bought it for me in the French Quarter one evening when she was walking home from working for the Poésy family. It had been showcased in the window.
The color was merlot, like a gorgeous wine, she had said, and it was in a halter style, the waist cinching in, ruffles cascading in the front and back, a slit to the thigh making it sexy, but not revealing too much.
Nonna had said that for some reason she was compelled to go into the store to feel the material of it.
She said the light fabric called to her, and she laughed as she said…
“It was just so pretty, Amora! And for reasons I can’t even explain, it reminded me of my sister, a dress she would have worn if she would’ve been born and raised in this time.
It reminded me of you! I could see you dancing in it, all the pretty ruffle details moving with your body—causing a scene in the best way.
You’ll never guess the name of the dress. ”
She gave me a moment to guess, and when none of the answers rang the bell, she said, “Aria!” She cracked up. “Aria Merlot Halter Maxi Dress, to be exact.” She showed me the tag. “See? It’s right there.”
“You bought this for me?” I’d set the dress against my body, and I fell in love instantly.
“I didn’t buy it for me.” She smiled, making a motion for me to go. “Try it on. Let’s see how it looks!”
“Okay,” I’d agreed with a smile. “But under one condition.” I held my pointer finger up, and she took it down.
“There’s never a ‘but’ in love, Amora,” she had said. “Remember that, ah?”
“What does this moment have to do with love?” I’d asked.
“Nothing.” She’d shrugged. “But it came to me, and I never know when I’ll remember again to tell you these things. Only if I could live for as long as you do.” She sighed and shook her head. “What’s this condition?”
I grinned at how she raised her eyebrow—a move that made me behave more than any of her words could.
The truth was…I didn’t want to talk about her leaving me, because I’d been left my entire life, and I had only her and my grandfather.
He was gone by that time. In our culture, being a lone Italian translated to… a lone wolf.
“You try it on after me.” My grin turned into a smile, then laughter, as she pretended to whoop my butt as I raced to my room to try it on. I would’ve run to the bathroom, which was closer, but at the time I had a cheap body-length mirror in my bedroom. Better to see myself entirely.
Once I was safe in my room, I cracked the bedroom door, setting my mouth close to it. “Agree or not, Granny?”
“What did you just call me?”
I laughed so hard, I almost let her in, especially when she took her shoe off, raised it, and flung it at the door.
“Granny, if you don’t try this dress on after me,” I’d said, keeping the door positioned in case she used her other shoe as a weapon too.
“I do not give in to enemies,” she said with a straight face. “But.” She lifted her pointer finger. “If you must see how it would look on a more mature body, so be it.”
She had tried it on after me, and we had made over each other and the dress for a long time after.
She ordered me to put on makeup and do my hair before I put it on again.
She took a seat on my bed, watching me as I did my makeup, and after, she went and dressed in a black pantsuit she reserved for special occasions.
She’d taken me out to dinner in the Quarter, saying that the money she saved was reserved for times like these—life was meant to be celebrated, she had said, and the dress I wore screamed it to the entire restaurant.
She said no one could take their eyes off me.
I had inherited her sister’s beauty and warmth, as attractive to eyes who were seeing the sun for the first time, feeling it caress their skin for the first time.
“Wear it well, Nipotina,” she had whispered. “Better than you do that dress, ah?”
Rarely did she pull out her Italian accent, but she had, and I knew in that moment it was natural, because she was remembering. We held hands on the way home, stopped to get beignets and café au lait for dessert, and I knew the dress would always be special to me.
I’d worn it well.
I ran a hand down the dress, smelling our house in New Orleans in the fibers of the material; even more: smelling the only home I’d ever known until Rocco—my grandmother.
Maybe it was insane, but my great-aunt too, any woman of my blood who had walked before me.
I felt their strength hug me as the dress did.
Maybe that was why I’d decided to wear the dress the first night my husband, a patron of the arts, introduced me officially to his world.
He’d taken me to small villages around Italy after my visit to Emilia-Romagna, and Brisighella, where some of my family was from. He didn’t say it, but I knew he was taking me around to the smaller places to get my feet wet, to give them a chance before anyone to accept me.
Seemed as if they did.
I was still warm from all the friendly welcomes, my belly still full of all the food they had offered me and I’d devoured.
I wasn’t a wimp when it came to trying foods different from what I knew, and when I wouldn’t turn down squid-ink soup, or any of the other daring dishes most people with a less adventurous palate would, it seemed to endear me to them even more.
Rocco seemed to bask in not my acceptance, but my happiness.
It truly made me happy to speak to people and learn about who they were.
I equally enjoyed my time with large families and small ones.
Everyone had a story, I was learning, and when he took Ermanno and I to an orphanage to meet the staff and the children, I had a hard time leaving.
Ermanno said it made his heart heavy. Even though the situation wasn’t ideal, the places were comfortable, and it made me feel lighter to make the children happy.
Tonight was a different crowd, though, and I knew the last time I spoke to Mari that the upcoming scene was what she was referring to.
I would have to find a way to allow them to know me, but only so far.
My love for my husband would shine through, but his pieces were mine to keep together, and if I couldn’t keep them together for myself…
I only had one option.
I had to be strong.
Yet with him…soft, supple, the woman he needed me to be.
The woman I loved when I was with him.
The full-length mirror in our villa in Lucca was much different from the full-length mirror in my bedroom in the Quarter. It had ornate gold scrolling and probably cost enough to buy a car with.
Still the same, though…
…was the reflection staring back at me. My eyes, my body, even down to the color of my hair and the length of it.
I’d always worn it long for as far back as I could remember.
The warm brown color cascaded down my shoulders, and what was left of my tan from summer was fading into a more natural olive tone.
I went with simple makeup to highlight my hazel eyes and features.
The jewelry my husband constantly gifted me with caught and glinted in the soft candlelight. Especially the diamonds on my left hand, ring finger.
My husband stepped behind me, fixing his custom-made tuxedo.
I’d left it out for him to dress in, and after a shower, he came to me looking like a dream.
He always did. He was much taller than me, towering over me, but instead of being intimidated, I relaxed into his safe arms as soon as he’d wrapped them around me.
And even though his tux cost more than triple what my dress did, the colors complemented each other.
His scent danced with mine, the fig with floral scent, and his hair was done in a dapper style—cut shorter on the sides, like the rest of his brothers, but his was more neatly done. The front waved to the back, and it perfectly showcased his strong bone structure.
Rocco naturally had eyes that always made him seem like he was in a romantic mood, but when he looked at me, it was as if he was seeing something he never had before. It was more than just a look. It translated into feeling.
It was the moment right before a man kisses his woman for the first time—for the last time.
His sea-green eyes shimmered in the soft light, and I had a hard time looking away from his luscious lips. They were in high contrast to the rest of him—soft enough to feel amazing against mine, firm enough that I felt him down to my soul, but more pliable than his body.
My eyes could find him a million times, but each time, it felt like I was transported back to the moment I was able to truly study him.