Epilogue
D ahlia
I'm beyond nervous. I run my hands down the midnight blue mini-dress that clings to my curves. A pair of matching thigh-high go-go boots complete the outfit. I’m about to go out on stage and sing. The trouble is, a planned performance is totally different than grabbing the mic while I'm drunk in Miami.
Antonio's uncle, Don Beretta, is hosting a private anniversary party for me and Antonio at one of his nightclubs, and Antonio asked me to sing a song as an anniversary present. I chose Peggy Lee’s recent version of “Fever.” It's sexy and sultry and speaks to the burning romance I have with my new husband.
What I didn't expect, though, was to see my parents escorted in and given the front-row seats beside Bea.
She looks as surprised as I feel, so I know she didn't invite them. I haven't spoken to them since the day I jumped off the balcony. That day, I became a part of Antonio's world and left high society life behind. I haven’t missed it once.
Bea remains my steadfast friend (much to her parents’ dismay), and I’ve been welcomed fully into the Beretta clan. I now have lively cousins and sisters and friends. The Berettas are a tight, loud, lively bunch.
Antonio must have orchestrated my parents’ presence. I can't decide if I want to kiss him, slap him, or cry. Maybe I'll do all three. It's too late to back out of singing or curse at my husband now, though. The band leader is introducing me.
Eek!
My legs tremble as I step out on stage and take the microphone. The band is already playing the music to the song. We practiced this afternoon, and it went beautifully. There's no reason for me to panic. No reason other than I wanted to sing to Antonio and feel sexy and now my parents, who hate my singing and would find my open sexuality an affront to my upbringing, are here.
But screw them. This is my anniversary. This is my world. A year ago today my real life started. The life where I am myself, all of me, where I'm loved for who I am, not what I represent. Not how I reflect on another.
I look around for Antonio. This song is his gift, after all. I'm shocked to find he's taking the seat beside my mother. All three of them are now sitting around a small cocktail table in front of the stage.
My husband leans back in his chair, his dark glittering gaze on mine as he lights a cigar. He winks, and that's all I need for my power to return.
Because Antonio does make me feel powerful.
He makes me feel beautiful and talented and strong. And I haven't missed my old life for one moment. Yes, the rift between me and my parents has bothered me, but I haven't missed living under their control or the pressure to perform for them.
I keep my eyes glued to my husband's handsome face and sway my hips slowly to the music. The moment I begin to sing, I forget my nerves. I forget that my parents might disapprove. I stop worrying about why they're here or what I will say to them afterward. I just feel the music. Embody the music. Sing out of pure joy. Out of love. Out of total devotion to the man who is totally devoted to me.
Antonio's gaze never leaves my face, and it tells me everything: that he's as enamored as I am. As bewitched. As feverishly in love. It's strange, but our love only seems to grow.
By the time I finish the song, I realize that everyone's watching. Even Don Beretta and the Family men who were talking loudly amongst themselves when I began are quiet now, staring at me.
I complete the last note and fumble as I put the microphone back in the stand.
Did I embarrass them? Maybe the Berettas don't like me singing in public either.
A chance of glance at my parents, and I'm shocked to see a tear running down my mother's face. She climbs unsteadily to her feet. She's going to walk out now without even saying anything to me.
But no, she stands and begins clapping. She's giving me a standing ovation.
The smoky lounge erupts with applause. There's a roar of cheers. Some people call my name. Bea, I think. And Antonio.
It takes me a moment to recover, but a smile breaks out on my face, and I take a bow.
My dad stands up–although I think I saw Antonio give him the evil eye first.
I bow again, heat and pressure building in my chest and behind my face like I’m going to cry.
Instead of heading off stage, Antonio holds his hand out to me, and I jump down from the stage apron and fall against him. He envelopes me in a hug and kisses my forehead. “Bravo, Principessa. Grazie . I loved the song. You were incredible.”
“You invited my parents,” I croak.
“I did. It’s time to mend fences, amore .” He turns me toward my mother and nudges me forward.
My mom holds back. It’s an awkward moment until Bea throws an arm around each of our shoulders and pulls us in for a group hug. “Wasn’t she amazing, Mrs. King?”
My mom doesn’t answer. It probably would be too much to concede in front of Bea, when my singing is an embarrassment. Instead, she bursts into tears.
“Oh, Dahlia! Are you okay? You look so happy. I missed you so much.”
I pull my mom into a real hug and pat her back like she’s the child and I’m the parent. “I missed you, too, Mom. I’m very happy with Antonio. I love him.”
I sense Antonio’s gaze on me when I say those words and turn to see him speaking to my father. He propels my father toward me, and I endure another awkward hug.
“Nice singing, honey. Beautiful dress.”
Not really the words I need from my father, but it’s a start.
Champagne is uncorked and someone wheels out a giant, tiered cake as if it’s our wedding and not just our first anniversary.
“Cake is being served. You’ll stay for cake, no?” Antonio asks my parents. “Sit down with Dahlia here. You three catch up. Bea, too–the four of you. I need to make the rounds.”
My vision goes blurry for a moment at the thoughtfulness of my husband. The ease with which he moves mountains and orchestrates miracles.
God bless Bea, who starts talking brightly about the band and my dress and the weather.
“I love you.” My father interrupts Bea’s monologue.
We all stare at him in surprise. He’s not the kind of man to express emotion. “I’m glad you’re safe. I never would have forgiven myself if that–” He seems to bite his tongue against whatever name he was going to call Antonio. “–if your husband had been cruel to you. But it seems he loves you. And I guess that’s all that matters in the end.”
There’s a look of defeat around my father that I don’t like to see, but I remind myself that he made his own bed.
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
One of the servers slides cake and champagne in front of each of us and across the room, Antonio clinks his glass to bring the room to silence.
“I wish to toast my beautiful wife.” He lifts his glass. “Eight years ago, I got a job on a yacht where I kissed the most beautiful girl in the world. It utterly changed the course of my life.” There’s a wryness to his tone, and the room rumbles the same wry sound back. Everyone here knows what happened next because there are no secrets in big Italian families. They know what my father did. The storm of vengeance Antonio became in response.
My mother-in-law glares at my father. She loves me, but she will never forgive him, even if Antonio has embraced the outcome of it all.
“No no.” Antonio holds a hand out. “Let there be no disparagement of my father-in-law. He found me unworthy then, which caused me to make something of myself. And I have.” Antonio spreads his arms wide and the room erupts in cheers. It's true. In the year that we've been married, I learned that Antonio basically runs the Beretta crime family now. The don is mostly retired. His nephew rose up faster through the ranks than any man ever has and took the helm along, generating hundreds of millions of dollars.
The yacht business, it turns out, was key to allowing the Berettas to move their weapons dealing across international waters with total ease. Antonio also made King Yachts profitable again, without any infusion of dirty money.
“And while I thought I was making myself into something powerful so that I could wield my revenge, it turns out, Mr King was right. I needed to make myself worthy of Dahlia. Because she is my everything. And I would do anything to keep her happy.”
Aw, damn . My mascara is going to run. I dab at the corners of my eyes. Antonio finds my gaze and lifts his glass. “So this toast is to you, Principessa. My darling Dahlia. You’re the love of my life.”
“Awww.” Some of the female guests sigh.
Antonio ignores them, going on. “Thank you for being my wife.”
My mom holds a cloth napkin over her mouth to cover a sob.
I stand from the table and walk slowly across the room with my gaze fixed on my husband's handsome face. It's like it's our wedding day–a real wedding day–and I'm walking down the aisle to meet him. To seal our futures together forever.
He sets down his glass when he sees me coming and takes both my hands in his. “Marry me?” he asks. I laugh-sob and nod, the tears escaping my eyes for real now.
“I love you, Mrs. Beretta.”
“I love you.”
The crowd cheers.
“Saluti ,” calls Don Beretta and everyone lifts their glass and drinks. Everyone except for me and Antonio because we’re locked in a bone-melting kiss
“Come here.” He takes my hand, and we slip out of the room as the party-goers turn to their cake and champagne.
Antonio pulls me into a back office where he slips an envelope out of his inner coat pocket and hands it to me. “This is my present to you.”
“What is it?”
“Go on.” He nods toward the envelope. “Open it.”
I don't know why my fingers tremble as I open it. I know it's not something unwanted, like divorce papers. It's just the emotion of the moment, I guess. The overwhelm of being loved this thoroughly and well.
I unfold the sheaf of papers and start to skim. They are legal papers.
“You're signing King Yachts over to me?”
“Yes. It's up to you if you want to return it to your father. He's been reaping the benefits of it anyway, as I've paid his salary for the last year.”
“You…you have? You've been paying my father's salary.” I can't keep the disbelief from my voice. “Has he been working for you?”
Antonio gives a dry laugh. “No. Nor do I want him to. But I couldn't let your parents starve.”
I let out a watery laugh. “They wouldn't have starved. They could have sold off half their properties and lived on the interest from the proceeds for the rest of their lives.”
“Well, I didn't want them to suffer. They're your parents. That means they're my family too.”
This man. He may be a cut-throat businessman, but underneath it all, he’s a big softie.
“I'm not returning it to my father. This is a legitimate business, and we're keeping it for our family. Our future children. It will be our legacy.”
Antonio cradles my face. “I can't wait to begin that family, Principessa .”
And now for my real anniversary present–far better than a song at a party. Something that will last a lifetime.
I beam up at him. “We already have.”