Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Violetta
To make it to the crematorium on time, we leave before seven in the morning. Stefano drives and Tomasz comes too. Two other cars filled with men I don't know accompany us.
I was able to persuade Stefano not to consult Damiano over my planned trip but he insisted he wouldn't take me unless I agreed to the additional security.
It seems over the top to me but I understand Stefano's point of view. If I turn up at the funeral without protection, Damiano will have his head.
As we drive, I think about my last visit to Rome, to see Beatrice. She insisted I visit the Villa Borghese. Perhaps I'll have the chance on this trip, to go there and imagine the woman she was with three young boys, two running riot and the other quietly sketching in his notebook.
When we pull up on the verge opposite the surprisingly welcoming brick building, I sit for a moment gathering my courage. A handful of people are already making their way inside.
Among them I recognize Olivia Volante and the man who must be her husband. They're in a large group of men who look like carbon copies of each other. There are several women with them.
Stefano gets out of the car and so do the men from the other vehicles. They position themselves discreetly around the property, blending in with Damiano's security guards who are already here.
I would have thought a funeral would be safe from the prospect of attack but then I remember Matteo and Giulia's wedding and revise that view.
As I'm straightening my coat, I spot a man standing apart from everyone, close to one of the trees on the grounds. Wearing a black suit, he has his fists clenched by his sides. His head is bowed as if he's trying to hide. A suspicion forms and I walk toward him.
Tomasz follows, but I wave him off. He doesn't retreat but he does stay back.
My feet crunch on the gravel and the man looks up. I see his face — the scarring that runs from his left jaw up across his cheekbone. He's wearing a black patch over one eye but the other is the same shape and color as Damiano's.
I stop a few feet in front of him.
"Gabriele?"
He stiffens. Tension radiates from him as I study him carefully. The left side of his face is a ruin but the right reminds me so much of Damiano it makes my heart ache. I keep my face neutral to hide the instinct to look away that isn't fair to him and the pity he wouldn't welcome.
"I'm Violetta, Damiano's wife."
He frowns. "Why aren't you with him?"
I don't want to answer that. "Why aren't you?"
He tilts his head in acknowledgement of a point well made but he doesn't answer either.
"I didn't know your mother well," I say carefully. "But I liked her."
Gabriele nods. He glances at the building.
"I didn't talk to her enough," he says. "I didn't talk to her and now I can't even..."
He growls in frustration. As he stares at the open door into the crematorium I see a longing in his eyes and I think I see what his problem is. He wants to go in there but he can't.
"Your mother asked me to give you a message," I say. "The day I met her."
He goes very still.
"She asked me to tell you she understands."
His shoulders sag.
"I think I do too." I hold a hand out to him. "Come in with me. I don't want to go alone."
He looks at my hand, then up at my face. I give him an encouraging nod but he doesn't move, not for the longest time. Just as I think I've lost him and I'll have to go in and take my seat, he takes my hand.
I'm not sure which of us is leading the other, but we make it into the chapel. It's simply furnished with rows of wooden chairs.
At the front, here's an arrangement of flowers draped on a plain wooden casket, providing a burst of color I hadn't expected.
There's a photograph of Beatrice when she was younger, when she was fully herself.
She's beautiful. I see the sparkle in her eyes.
It was there the day I met her, if only for a moment.
Most of the front five rows have been taken but there's still plenty of space. I choose a seat at the back. When I sit, Gabriele shakes his head.
"I'll sit on the aisle."
I'm not sure if that's to protect me if anything happens or because he wants to make a quick exit, but either way I'm not going to argue with his dominant tone. It seems he's like my husband in temperament as well as looks.
Gabriele lowers his head as an attendant comes to give us a copy of the order of service.
"A Humanist celebration of the life of Beatrice Volante," I read from the front. "It's not a religious service?"
Gabriele shakes his head. "It's what she would have wanted."
I think about the opulence of the hallway in Beatrice's home and try to reconcile it with the plain wooden casket and the bright fresh flowers. I imagine this is more to her taste. Damiano wouldn't have chosen such simple arrangements. Everything he's done has been according to her wishes.
I look up as he enters through a door at the side of the chapel. Dressed in black, he holds himself with his usual composure but I see the strain on his face. Lorenzo follows with Lucia. Marco and Agnesca join them on the front row.
The service is quiet, unhurried and beautiful. Songs Beatrice liked are played rather than hymns. The celebrant talks about the woman she was and her friends share memories. Agnesca talks about the time they baked bread together and it came out of the oven like a rock. It’s the perfect farewell.
Beside me, Gabriele fidgets. I reach across and lay my hand on top of his.
He doesn't push me away. When Damiano gets up to speak, his eyes find us at the back of the room.
He falters for a moment as he registers his brother and me together, a rare crack in his composure. Then a smile touches his lips.
As the service ends, and a curtain is lowered in front of the casket, Gabriele raises my hand to his lips and kisses it.
Then he rises quietly and leaves. I remain where I am as Damiano receives condolences from his family and friends.
He shakes hands, accepts embraces, smiles when a beautiful older woman who looks so much like Olivia she can only be her mother kisses his cheeks.
People slowly file out of the chapel. Olivia sees me and acknowledges me with a smile but she doesn't linger. Lucia and Lorenzo walk past and he leans in to kiss my cheek and accept my condolences.
Then it's me and Damiano alone. He turns, his shoulders dropping. I walk toward him and then I see it, peeking out of his pants pocket. The tiny red bear his mother knitted. That tells me everything I need to know about him.
With a shuddering sob I fling myself into his arms.
Damiano
As Violetta walks toward me, my heart rate picks up.
When I got up to speak about my mother and what she meant to my brothers and me, I was composed despite my intense sorrow at her loss.
Then I saw my wife sitting at the back of the chapel with Gabriele and I almost lost it.
Having them both here was unexpected. I'd reconciled myself to neither of them being here. To see them together, her obviously offering him comfort. I would have preferred if he’d stayed to talk to Lorenzo and me after the service, but I understand why he couldn’t.
A second before she reaches me, Violetta suddenly stops.
Her eyes drop to my pocket then return to my face.
There's a look in her eyes I can't quite decipher but I realize she saw the bear.
I don't know why I took it with me when I left for Rome.
It was the last thing my mother gave me. I wanted to keep her close.
Violetta lets out a cry and throws herself into my arms. I catch her and hold her as she cries, her tears soaking my shirt. She clings to me with a desperation that can't be about grief alone. I kiss the top of her head and tell her everything will be all right.
When she gets her tears under control she pulls back and lets out a self-deprecating laugh.
"I'm the one who's supposed to be comforting you," she says. She shakes her head. "But that bear, Damiano."
Without me saying so, she seems to understand I don't want to delve into my feelings right now. She grabs my hand and leads me to a seat. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and slowly trail my fingers down the side of her face. She allows it.
"You should have told me about your mother." She sends me a look of reproach which softens almost immediately. "But I understand why you didn't. I understand a lot of things now."
"Such as?"
"Why you have to make tough decisions."
"It's never to hurt you, Violetta," I promise her. "I would never hurt you."
"I know." She reaches over and straightens my tie, an intimate gesture that catches me off guard. "But sometimes you do it without realizing. If we're going to fix this, you have to tell me things that affect my life, even if you think I won't like them."
“You’re right. I should have been more open with you since the beginning.” I take a breath “So are you saying you want to resume our marriage?"
"There's one more thing I want to know."
She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. I take her hand to assure her that whatever she wants to ask is okay.
"The last night we were together. I gave you the final piece of me." She swallows hard. "And then you told me I could leave."
"It was because I owned every part of you then." I stroke my thumb over the back of her hand. "But I couldn't force you to stay. I had to make it your choice. It was the hardest thing I ever said"
Violetta nods. "Well, I've made it and you're stuck with me."
I lean over and kiss her softly on the lips, her warmth reaching deep inside me and chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones the moment I walked away from her. Pulling back, I rest my forehead against hers and we stay like that for a long time, saying nothing.
When I eventually straighten I get to my feet.
"My family's waiting for us."
Violetta shakes her head. "Our family," she says with typical indignation.
She takes my hand and we walk out into the cold crisp air.
I wrap my arm around her waist and hold her close as I walk her to my car.
Our security guards fall in behind us and I smile, understanding that Violetta brought them here to show me what she's willing to change.
Now it's my chance to prove to her that I can make concessions too.
There's a lot to work through but that can wait.
The woman I love is by my side and that's enough. For now.