36. Dante
There were children in our villa!
The proof was in the laughter, shrieks, and the unmistakable chaos that comes with having four children running around the house.
I couldn’t have imagined five years ago, when Elysa and I married, that my life could be this fulfilling.
After we had our first child, we moved from the flat to a villa in Monteverde Vecchio, a quiet neighborhood perched on Janiculum Hill.
We were still in Rome but with more space, tree-lined streets, and terraces that overlooked the city.
The sunsets were still spectacular.
Dean sat cross-legged on the floor of our living room with my three-year-old son, Matteo, perched on his lap.
He was trying to help him assemble a ridiculously complicated train set.
Dean patiently explained to Matteo why the tracks needed to fit a certain way, but Matteo wasn’t having it .
“Like this!” Matteo insisted, slamming two mismatched pieces together.
Dean looked up at me helplessly, and I smirked.
“You’re losing to a three-year-old, Archer. You might want to rethink those Harvard credentials.”
“Your son has your stubborn streak, by the way. This is genetic sabotage.” Dean grinned despite himself.
Elika, Dean’s wife, was in the kitchen with Elysa.
Their laughter filled the room as they tried to wrangle our one-year-old daughter, Michela, into her highchair.
Michela, who had recently discovered that food was just as fun to throw as it was to eat, had managed to smear yogurt across her face and hair, and Elysa was wiping her down with the kind of patience only a mother could possess.
“Is this breakfast or a battlefield?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen.
I dropped a kiss on Michela’s hair.
“Strawberry?”
Elysa laughed.
“You want some in a bowl, or are you going to eat it off her hair?”
I slipped an arm around Elysa’s waist, and her eyes sparkled as she looked up at me.
“We need to buy her a straitjacket when we feed her.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” Elika teased.
I kissed my wife’s temple, breathing her in.
“Happy anniversary,” I murmured.
She smiled, her eyes softening.
“Happy anniversary. ”
Before I could kiss her properly, Matteo came barreling into the kitchen, shouting something incomprehensible about trains, followed closely by Dean, who looked like he’d been through a war.
“I’m calling time out.” Dean held up his hands.
“You didn’t tell me babysitting would be a contact sport.”
Elysa laughed, her head falling back in that way that still made my chest tighten.
“You’re doing great. And you’re not babysitting—you’re being Uncle Dean.”
“That’s a full-time job,” Elika chimed in.
There was a sound on the baby monitor, and Elika passed Michela to me as I instinctively caught her mid-wiggle.
Their son Akamu, now eight months old and still entertaining naps, was waking up.
Their six-year-old son Ahe was visiting the Colosseum with Dean’s parents.
We finally got everyone settled as best we could, and that evening, we happily left Dean and Elika with a good bottle of wine and a house full of kids while we slipped away to Palazzo Giordano’s rooftop restaurant.
The table was set with crisp white linens, and the view of Rome at sunset was breathtaking.
I’d ordered all of Elysa’s favorites: burrata with roasted tomatoes, handmade pappardelle with truffle, and a bottle of 2010 Brunello di Montalcino.
Except she wasn’t drinking…
again .
I raised an eyebrow as she pushed her glass aside with a small, knowing smile, but before I could say anything, the concierge from the front desk approached with a small, cream-colored envelope in hand.
“This was just delivered for you, signore.” He placed the envelope on the table.
I frowned, picking it up.
The handwriting on the front was familiar, though I hadn’t seen it in years.
My heart clenched as I finally recognized the elegant script.
“Dante?” Elysa asked, her brow furrowing as she noticed my expression.
“It’s from Nonno,” I said softly.
Her eyes widened, and she set her fork down, her attention now fully on me.
I opened the envelope carefully, my hands steady even as my chest tightened.
Inside was a single sheet of neatly folded paper.
I unfolded it and began to read aloud, my throat catching slightly.
Dear Dante and Elysa,
If you are reading this, it means that five years have passed since you married.
I hope with all my heart that you are not reading this during a divorce.
If you are, well, shame on you, Dante.
Yes, I know about the prenuptial agreement that Dante made you sign, Elysa.
It said that you could both divorce in five years if you wanted to make it worthwhile for both of you.
I hated that clause because I knew that you, Elysa, didn’t care about money, and Dante, you cared too much about it.
This made me fear that, Elysa, you’d leave Dante, and he’d let you go.
I’m hoping that hasn’t happened.
When I encouraged you to marry Elysa, Dante, I did so because I knew you needed her.
I saw how you worked yourself to the bone, how you let ambition consume you.
And I knew that if you didn’t find someone to pull you out of that world, you would lose yourself entirely.
Elysa, I’m sorry if I meddled in your life more than I should have.
You were exactly what Dante required, even if he didn’t see it at first.
And, Dante, I hope you see it now.
I hope you see that life is more than work, more than success.
It’s about love.
It’s about family.
It’s about moments like this one, where you sit across from the woman you love and realize that nothing else matters.
And Dante is exactly what you needed, Elysa.
A man who would love you to distraction and never make you feel like you weren’t enough.
He’d shower you with affection and let you be your fabulous self.
I pushed you two together because I believed in you as a couple.
Now, I hope you believe in yourselves.
If you’ve made it this far, I am proud of you—more than you’ll ever know.
I hope you have wonderful children and a great life.
I love you both, and if you’ve messed this up, I promise I will haunt you.
With love,
Nonno
P.
S.
The lawyers were told to deliver this to you on your fifth wedding anniversary.
Don’t go yelling at them for not giving it to you before.
I looked up at Elysa, whose eyes were shining with tears.
“He knew,” she whispered.
“He knew.”
I reached across the table, taking her hand in mine.
“I love you,” I vowed passionately.
“More than anything. More than I ever thought I could.”
She smiled through her tears, squeezing my hand.
“I love you too, Dante. And he was right. This...us...it’s everything. And we’re going to have another baby.”
“I hope it’s a girl, just like you.”
After dinner, we decided to walk.
The night air was cool and refreshing, and the city was alive with people and the faint notes of street musicians playing love songs in hidden corners.
Elysa slipped her hand into mine as we strolled along the cobblestone streets, her head leaning against my shoulder.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.” There was a quiet certainty about her, which grounded me.
“Neither have I,” I admitted, brushing a kiss against her hair.
“You’ve given me everything, Elysa. A family. A life I didn’t even know I wanted. And now...”
I placed a hand over her belly, my heart swelling at the thought of the new life growing there.
“Now we get to add to it.”
She laughed, her eyes bright as she looked up at me.
“We’re doing pretty well, aren’t we?”
“Better than well. We’re perfect.”
As we walked back to the villa, the stars shining above us and the city of Rome wrapping around us like an embrace, I realized that Nonno had been right about everything.
Life wasn’t about work, ambition, or control.
It was about this—these moments, this love, this family.
And I’d never been more grateful.
Thank you for reading That’s Amore .