Epilogue
Thanksgiving Day
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Dante, you may kiss your bride.”
Dante pulled Marti into his arms. Now, she truly was “his Martina”. It had been a beautiful wedding, and she was a gorgeous bride. He had barely held it together while watching her walk down the aisle to him on her father’s arm.
The church in San Francisco was packed. The majority of his family from Italy had come and had welcomed his beautiful wife into the Avera family.
His godfather, Ricco, had stood beside him as Mario would have as his best man.
His godbrothers, Skylar and Nico, and his best friend Rossi, were his groomsmen.
Marti’s sister Kara was her maid of honor, and three of her cousins were her bridesmaids.
Her twin nieces had been her flower girls, and one of Dante’s cousins’ five-year-old son from Italy was the ring bearer.
He got to know Marti’s family and felt blessed to be welcomed into their fold.
He fell deeper and deeper in love with ‘his Martina’ every single day and looked forward to spending the rest of his life with her.
Ricco, Nico, Skylar, Rossi, and his uncle Matteo in Italy ─ the most important men in his life ─ were the only ones who knew about the baby since Marti wasn’t showing yet.
He accompanied her to all her doctors’ visits, and Dr. Josten saw no reason this would not be a normal pregnancy.
After their honeymoon, which was two weeks in Bora Bora, they would make a pit stop in Italy to meet the members of Dante’s family who could not make the wedding due to their age.
They had found the perfect condo, one larger than he’d originally thought they would need, due to his son or daughter who would be born six months from now.
When he finally broke off their kiss, he leaned in and whispered, “I love you, Martina.”
She smiled at him. “And I love you, Dante. Always and forever.”
At that moment, it seemed he felt his parents’ presence.
Although his mother had never met Marti, his father had…
that one summer years ago. Marti and Kara had spent a lot of time with them, so they had history there as well.
Whenever he talked about his father to Marti, she understood and had her own memories of him.
Mario Avera was no stranger to her, and she had once been a recipient of his time and kindness.
For Dante that was special, and he thought it was a fundamental element that tied all their other commonalities together.
Over the past month he had taught her the Tarantella, and knew his Italian relatives would be impressed with her dance moves. Also, he had promised to teach her how to play the drums. She was actually excited about it. Since her excitement was contagious, he would admit to being excited as well.
After the minister presented them to everyone as Dante and Martina Avera, he swept her into his arms and headed out of the church. He thought of new beginnings, a lifetime of loving and parenthood.
And he was ready for all of it.
***
On his mother’s thirty-eighth birthday in May, weighing eight pounds and ten ounces, and with his mother’s gray eyes and a head full of his father’s thick black hair, Mario Dante Avera was born to very happy parents.
They couldn’t wait until he got older so they could reestablish the Avera tradition of spending part of their summers in Wild Rose Point, Oregon.