16. Maria
— · —
Maria
Six Months Later
I wake to clattering pans and the low murmur of Luca talking to Sophia.
“Luca.” I groan into the pillow. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast!” His voice drifts from the kitchen. Cheerful. Oblivious.
“It sounds like a one-man band in there.”
“That’s the love. You’re hearing the love.”
I drag myself out of bed. Pad down the hallway to the kitchen.
And stop in the doorway.
Luca is at the stove, shirtless, Sophia strapped to his chest in a baby carrier. There’s flour on his jaw, every pan he owns in the sink, and a plate of something on the counter that I’m choosing to believe is breakfast.
Sophia is watching him with her big dark eyes, completely unimpressed.
“You wrecked the kitchen,” I say.
“I made breakfast.”
“You wrecked the kitchen and made... something.”
“Same thing.” He grins at me over his shoulder. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning yourself.” I cross to them. Kiss Sophia’s fuzzy head. Kiss Luca’s cheek. “Did you sleep at all?”
“She woke up at three. And four. And five-thirty.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed the rest.” He slides a plate toward me. “Besides, we had a nice chat. She told me all about her plans for world domination.”
“Did she now.”
“Very detailed plans. Very ambitious.” He turns to face me, Sophia still strapped to his chest, and I’m struck, not for the first time, by how right this looks. How natural.
My family.
“I’ll make the coffee,” I say.
“My coffee is fine-”
“Your coffee is a human rights violation.”
He grins. Doesn’t argue.
This is our life now. Chaotic mornings. A demolished kitchen. A baby who sleeps in three-hour increments and has already learned to smile at her daddy.
It’s exhausting and terrifying and absolutely perfect.
***
The wedding is small.
We hold it in the garden of a villa that Nonna Donna once owned - she passed away peacefully last month, in her sleep, surrounded by photos of her family. But not before she held Sophia. Not before she told me, one last time, that I was the best thing that ever happened to her grandson.
“Take care of him,” she whispered. “And take care of that baby. And don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t belong in this family. You’re the only one of us worth saving.”
I wear a simple dress. White, but nothing like the elaborate gown I might have worn once, in another life. This dress is light and flowing, with tiny flowers embroidered along the hem.
Luca wears a suit. And a smile I’ve never seen before - open, unguarded, incandescent with joy.
Sophia wears a tiny white dress and sleeps through the entire ceremony.
***
The vows are our own.
“I promise to stay,” Luca says, holding my hands in his. “Even when you throw wine at people. Especially when you throw wine at people.”
I laugh. Can’t help it.
“I promise to love you. Even though you can’t cook. Especially because you keep trying.”
He grins. That rare, real grin that still makes my heart skip.
“I promise to be the father Sophia deserves. The partner you deserve. The man my mother always believed I could be.” His voice softens. “I promise to see you, really see you, every day for the rest of our lives.”
My eyes fill with tears.
“I promise to see you too,” I say. “The real you. The one you hide from everyone else. The one who plays piano when he thinks no one’s listening. The one who cries at dog commercials.” He laughs at that. “The one who found me at my lowest and never left.”
“I promise to remind you, every day, that you are not your family. You are not your father’s sins or your brother’s betrayals. You are Luca Moretti, the man who saved me. The man who loves me. The man who gave me a family when I thought I’d lost everything.”
He’s crying now. I am too.
“I love you,” we say at the same time.
And then we kiss.
In the front row, Sophia wakes up and screams.
Perfect.
***
Luca
The reception is small but warm.
Friends Maria has made in the past months. Renata, who still can’t believe any of this happened. A few colleagues from my practice who’ve only recently learned I have a family at all.
And others.
Giuliana stands at the edge of the garden, baby Elena in her arms, uncertain if she belongs. Amanda hovers near the bar, her own daughter on her hip, still rebuilding her life after everything fell apart.
Three women. Three babies. All of them here because one man tried to use them.
All of them surviving anyway.
I watch Maria cross to her sister. Watch them talk - tentative, careful, but talking. Watch Giuliana’s face crumble with relief when Maria squeezes her hand.
They’re not okay. But they’re trying.
“You did good.”
I turn. Renata is standing beside me, champagne glass in hand, watching the scene with something like satisfaction.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did everything.” She meets my eyes. “You gave her a reason to fight. You gave her a reason to believe she could win.” A pause. “You gave her a family.”
“She gave me one too.”
Renata smiles. Actually smiles. It transforms her face.
“Go dance with your wife, Luca. You’ve earned it.”
***
I find Maria on the dance floor.
Sophia is with Giuliana - passed between aunts like a tiny, squirming football - and for the first time all day, Maria’s arms are empty.
“Dance with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I pull her close. We sway to the music, something soft and slow, something I don’t recognize but immediately love because she’s in my arms.
“How does it feel?” I ask. “Being married?”
“Exactly the same as it felt yesterday.” She grins up at me. “Except now you’re legally obligated to deal with my chaos.”
“I was going to deal with your chaos anyway.”
“True.” She leans her head against my chest. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything is so... good. The wedding. Sophia. Us.” She looks up at me. “I keep waiting for something terrible to happen.”
“Something terrible already happened.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And we survived it. We’re still here.”
“What if something else happens?”
“Then we’ll survive that too.” I kiss her forehead. “That’s what we do now. We survive. Together.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”