Chapter 35 You Make Me Feel So Young
You Make Me Feel So Young
Aria Amora
After I had gone through Nonna’s things, slower this time than the first time, and more thoroughly, since the first time I was too emotional to truly look, I found a journal she had left for me. She had written down a few things she wanted me to remember. Only a few lines decorated the pages.
At the end of her life, the sickness had hit her harder than I could’ve ever imagined and took her away from me sooner than I’d expected.
In all truth, I think I’d been touched by delusion—I convinced myself I had forever.
My eyes had filled with tears when I’d read this line in her unique handwriting, a beautiful script:
Wherever you find love, Amora, you will find God, and wherever you find God, you will find peace.
Life is not peaceful.
So, hold tight to your love and you will find your peace protected there.
Nonna was a faithful woman. She lit candles for people in need.
Volunteered her time working with the less fortunate and the poor in spirit, and even though she was faithful, she wasn’t all that religious.
Although she complied with a few of her religion’s beliefs.
Like asking Saints to pray with her for herself or other people.
She said she never put her faith in man, and she felt any big religious organization was too dishonest for her taste.
But her words kept showing up in my life whenever it seemed like I needed them the most. Her advice felt like an echo of her love for me. Not only did I hear that reverberation inside of my heart, but whenever I touched my husband, I felt like I was touching a physical representation of love.
My heart was so full, I feared it might burst.
After we left the ski resort, and I ate more than my fair share while Maggie Beautiful was my constant companion, and the rest of the ladies took turns skiing then also keeping me company, since I was the only pregnant lady in the group and Rocco had a fear of me slipping, or worse, we headed to the restaurant for dinner.
It was located high in the mountains, and I felt like a lost traveler attempting to get to the top, only my companions making me trust that we were not, in fact, getting lost. Once the restaurant came into view, I fell in love with it right away.
The structure was all dark wood, and it had many windows to admire the snowy view from, all from its perch, which was tucked into the mountainside.
A frozen lake, which Scarlett said was taken over in the springtime by small frogs, seemed like the perfect place to go ice skating, if one was brave enough to trust the thickness of the ice.
The trees surrounding the restaurant seemed to be holding on for dear life, but the closer we came toward it, the smell of warm foods invaded the senses, and I was suddenly ravenous.
I ate more than usual while Rocco grinned the entire time, a constant order for me on his tongue, until I finally told him I was going to explode and pushed the half-eaten plates toward all the starving men in our party. Especially Ermanno, who seemed like an endless pit.
Everyone but me, it seemed, was drinking Cornalin wine, while the table was full of love and laughter.
Even Luca was more lighthearted than usual, which I figured had to do with Maggie Beautiful’s issue being manageable.
Nothing else could’ve changed his attitude.
The entire night he held her hand, kissing her fingers, and the two of them kept leaning in close, whispering to one another.
Maggie Beautiful would close her eyes, her lips stained with ruby colored wine, and smile—it was a bit mischievous. Very flirty.
Luca was obsessed. He kept scenting her like she was his mate.
Maybe that was why I was filled with warm love.
The entire table was full of couples who couldn’t wait to get home, while making the moments linger at the table, and if the men were unattached, they were entertaining each other with tales from the slopes.
Even Massimo seemed content talking about the snow day he had.
The only time I would see Massimo’s eyes narrow a bit was when his gaze would pass over Matteo and Stella.
The boys were not with them, but I wondered if Massimo was wondering what his son was doing at that moment.
Or, maybe, thinking that he would’ve taken him to see all the snow and the high mountains.
I could see why Matteo and Stella would leave children that young behind with a caretaker, but…
my mind was running through all the things Massimo could’ve been thinking of.
Or…maybe he was just thinking how lucky Matteo and Stella were to have two sons who were close in age.
I also wondered if Massimo would ever want Michelangelo as his own.
It didn’t seem like he had any resentment toward Matteo.
Earlier, they had come into the cafeteria together to grab a bite to eat and something warm to drink.
They seemed as close as brothers who not only loved each other because of the shared blood, but because they truly liked each other.
The main reason for the warm high…my husband was beside me, feeding me bites of his food, even though I had the king’s share.
He absentmindedly stroked my neck while he chatted with his brothers about their day on the slopes.
He’d lean in every so often between conversations and whisper words in my ear that made it to my heart.
You are my heart.
You are the warm blood in my veins.
You are my wife.
You are my life.
There has never been a me without you. Not who I was meant to be.
You are who my heart longed for my entire life.
I longed to give and receive love—you made this possible. The only woman who was powerful enough to do this.
You were made for me and I for you.
La mia parola è buona come il mio sangue. I would bleed myself dry for you.
You are the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever seen.
“Your body is calling to mine in our secret language, a sacred language only the two of us can understand…” He lifted my hand and brought it to his mouth, breathing me in deeply, as if my blood was the bouquet of one of his finest wines.
I would’ve been afraid of this period ending, but my husband spoke the truth directly to my heart. He would love me this way for the rest of our lives.
Even more.
Even longer.
And rarely did I think about our age difference. But…he was older than me, and what I thought about when the age difference came to me was how it felt unfair to me that we didn’t have the time we missed.
In that moment, though, I pushed it aside, as everyone at the table began to talk about the baby and how excited they all were. Everyone was guessing girl or boy, and Ermanno even asked the wait staff for a pen and paper to write everyone’s guesses down.
My husband drank his wine and massaged my neck, and I could tell the entire situation pleased him.
When Rocco wore that look, I noticed Massimo watching him more intently, almost as a young man would study his father while he worked with tools or fixed a car.
Maybe because Rocco had never been that content before, that relaxed in his own skin.
Occasionally, their eyes would meet. Massimo didn’t look away right away, but he’d move his stare first.
We were having such a lovely time, I almost didn’t want to see it end, but one thing about having Rocco Fausti to myself…the nights were ours alone.
On the walk back to our chalet, he had his arm wrapped around my neck, his warm body helping to keep me warm, and he pulled me even closer, my body tilting into his, whispering in my ear, “I remember my wife mentioning climbing me earlier.”
I laughed. “You have an amazing memory, my husband, because when we get home, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You.”
We stopped walking and turned toward each other.
Crazed snow flurries danced between our bodies, while millions of stars burned cold above our heads.
Our breaths purled, and the scent of spiced bourbon, sweet wine, my husband’s rich cologne, my perfume, silver firs (an earthy pine smell), and ice seemed frozen in the thin air.
The wind howled as it passed in a strong gust, pushing against us, but we held steady.
My husband was like the towering mountain in the distance, blocking all that could harm me.
A slow smile spread on my husband’s face, and a much faster one on mine, when a chalet nearby began playing music from a wraparound balcony.
“You Make Me Feel So Young,” sung by Frank Sinatra.
Nonna loved Dino, but sometimes she’d put it down to Ol’ Blue Eyes.
I gasped, then laughed, when Rocco took me by the hand and turned me out.
He almost rocked our bodies together for a moment, before he swung me out again and we started dancing.
He was singing the tune to me, and honestly…Ol’ Blue Eyes, who?
From a direction nearby, a howl went up.
Usually, my husband would’ve pulled me closer to him, taken a protective stance, but…his eyes were narrowed in the direction of the woods on the other side of the chalets. The woods led up to the mountain and the trees, and fauna grew on a slope.
“Is that…some kind of animal?” I whispered.
“Sì,” my husband said, smoke purling from his mouth. “An animal known as Romeo Fausti, my fratello.”
“I’m not sure…that sounded so real.”
Rocco cleared his throat and sang another line of the song.
The howl went off again.
“Oh.” I laughed quietly. “He’s howling at you.”
“Sì, because of my singing.”
I’d caught that, but Rocco’s face was entirely too serious. Romeo was messing with him. Just like with his hair, Romeo thought he was the best at everything. He knew damn well Rocco could out-sing him, but…Romeo was Romeo, and he was being playful.
Grinning, I bent down and made a ball out of the snow. I threw it up in the air and caught it with one hand. “Do it,” I whispered, holding the snowball out for my husband to take.
“Do it,” he repeated, empathizing every word.