Epilogue
Allegra
“IT LOOKS SO beautiful.” I looked out at the vineyard, and tears threatened at my eyes.
The sun had set, slipping behind the Tuscan hills and leaving behind a sky brushed in violet and orange.
Next door, graceful rows of vines spread across the field—twice as many as there had been when I first arrived a little less than two years ago.
Matteo and I had turned his house into a working winery, installing everything he needed to produce his own bottles.
Off to one side, where the garage once stood, was now a beautiful stone-and-wood loggia for wine tastings.
But tonight, it had been transformed. Strings of tiny lights crisscrossed overhead, glowing like fireflies, and lanterns hung from the olive trees that bordered the large square.
Long wooden tables draped in white linens blew softly in the evening breeze, each one lined with a garland of branches and hundreds of flickering white candles.
It looked like a dream. And it was—my dream wedding.
“You better not cry.” Camilla lifted a tissue to her eyes. “Because if you start, I’ll start, eh? Then my mascara will run, and I just met a silver fox out there who has my name written all over him.”
“What silver fox?”
“His name is Antonio.”
“That’s Matteo’s uncle. He’s handsome, but probably close to fifty.”
She grinned. “So if he and I marry, I will be your sister and your aunt, yes?”
I laughed and a breeze blew, carrying the faint scent of wine and lavender.
Today couldn’t be any more perfect. My amazing sister was going to be my maid of honor.
The last two years had given me more than I ever imagined possible when I’d first gone to see her pretending to be someone else.
Camilla wasn’t just my sister now—she was my best friend, the person I could always count on, and hopefully soon, my business partner.
I’d recently taken the Italian bar exam, and if all went well, we were going to open a practice together.
It’s funny, when I was little, every time I argued with my father, he would smile and say I was going to make one hell of a lawyer and that he could already see it: Bianchi and Bianchi. Now it was about to come true, just not with the Bianchi any of us had expected.
Yes, things were perfect now. Well, almost. Because my nonna wasn’t here.
Cassie walked in, her hand resting on her five-months-pregnant belly. “They’re ready for us, whenever you are.”
“Have you seen Luciana?” I asked.
“I saw her over by where the guests are seated a few minutes ago. Matteo’s little helper Tomasso had her hand. It looked like he was flirting with her. The guy she came with didn’t look happy about it.”
I smiled. “That’s Lorenzo. It’s okay. That’s…kind of his thing.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” I laughed.
Cassie squinted at me. “I think you have something in your hair. Come here.”
“It’s glitter. I put it there.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. It’s your day. By the way, I’m proud of you. When you showed me your dress, I was a little nervous about the strapless neckline. But you’re about to walk down the aisle, and I don’t see a single red blotch or a nervous bump.”
“That’s because I have nothing to be nervous about. I’m marrying the man I was meant to marry.”
Luciana walked in with her dad. “You ready?”
“I am.”
The music began—soft strings carrying an Italian love song Matteo had chosen. The guests turned in their seats as Cassie, Camilla, and Luciana started down the aisle with the groomsmen.
Matteo’s dad offered me his arm. “Thank you for letting me walk you down the aisle. It means the world to me.”
We started together, each slow step feeling like a louder heartbeat until I saw him.
Matteo stood at the archway, his jaw tense as though he was fighting every emotion all at once. When our eyes met, he broke—his lips trembled, and tears fell freely down his cheeks. The sight of it undid me. All the air left my lungs.
This man was the love of my life. And I had finally found my forever home.
When I reached him, he took my hands. “Sei la cosa più bella che abbia mai visto e io… io sono l’uomo più fortunato del mondo.” You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I, I am the luckiest man in the world.
I no longer needed to guess how his words translated. My Italian was fluent now.
The priest smiled, his eyes kind. “Before we begin,” he said, lifting a folded piece of paper tucked into his book. “I’ve been asked to read something very special that was given to me just this morning.”
I looked to Matteo, whose brow had furrowed. He seemed as confused as I was, and together we turned back to the priest.
“It’s a letter. From someone who couldn’t be here tonight, but very much wished to be.”
My breath caught in my chest.
The priest unfolded the paper and began to read.
My dearest girl,
If you’re hearing this, it means you’re standing in a white dress, probably fighting back tears—and I know you’re losing that battle already. Remember, darling: dab, don’t wipe.
Before I bestow the secrets to a happy marriage on you and your handsome groom, I must first confess to a tiny little white lie. I didn’t bring you to Tuscany and force you to spend three months in my old house because you were working too much—well, you were, but that wasn’t the real reason.
You see, I wanted to give you the chance to fall in love with Matteo, like I already have.
I adore that man. Truly. He is a good soul—the kind who fixes my leaky gutters and pretends to need my opinion on a new wine blend just so I won’t eat dinner alone every night.
They don’t make many like him anymore. Every time he left my house, I thought of you and how you two would be perfect for each other.
I may have also checked out his rear end once or twice as he walked away. You’re welcome.
Everyone laughed, including Matteo and me. It brought a bit of much-needed levity to the moment before the priest continued.
So yes, I did a little matchmaking from beyond the grave. Consider it the final part of your inheritance. I always did like to save the best for last.
Now, on to some wisdom about how to make a marriage work. I think I’ve earned the right to share it. After all, I was married to your grandfather for fifty-seven years and managed not to kill him.
First: Don’t listen to the idiots who tell you not to go to bed angry. Nonsense. Sometimes a little anger keeps things exciting in the bedroom. Plus, it’s the best kind of cardio. You’ll sleep like babies afterward and wake up wondering what you were even arguing about.
Be patient. When he starts telling you that story you’ve already heard three times, don’t interrupt—even when you’d rather shove a corkscrew in your ear. Just smile and nod while you’re mentally writing your grocery list. He’s happy, you’re efficient—it’s a win-win.
“It’s fine” never means it’s fine. It means one of you screwed up, and the other should give them a little space, preferably by going to the florist or the jewelry store.
Always keep a bottle of your favorite wine for the hard days and the best ones. I assume Matteo owning a vineyard has you covered.
Remember that passion fades and rekindles. The real magic isn’t in the grand moments. It’s in staying steady and choosing one another again and again. Love is like a garden, some days it’s in full bloom, some days you’ll be stuck weeding. The secret is to keep tending.
And finally: Kiss every day. Dance in the kitchen. And when you can’t agree on something, kiss again until you forget what the hell you were fighting about in the first place.
To Matteo, my dear boy—thank you. I trusted you with my land before, but now I trust you with the most important thing in my life. She’s brilliant and brave, stubborn as a mule, but I promise, she’ll come back to you every time. Love her well, and she’ll make your life extraordinary.
And to you, my darling girl—this will be my last letter.
But know this: I’m still here. I’m in the wind that moves through the vines, in the laughter that fills your new home, and occasionally I’m in the storm that rolls in unexpectedly just when you’ve hung the laundry out to dry.
You carry me in your heart, and that’s where I want to be for eternity.
Now go. Kiss your man, raise a glass, and live! This was the inheritance I truly meant for you to have.
With all my love,
Nonna
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