Epilogue
TESSA
TWO YEARS LATER
I figured you could wrap this around your bouquet.
Something borrowed, something used.
Sei tutto per me, Cara. See you soon.
Gio
The ivory silk ribbon feels smooth in my hand as I read his incorrect turn of phrase. I can’t help but laugh, brushing my thumbs over the miniature, delicate figs Gio stitched alongside the edges of the fabric.
Letting out a watery breath, I reread the note.
The sunlight filters in through Roberto and Maria’s bedroom window, casting a rainbow prism onto the paper.
My eyes snag on the framed photo of Gio and me on the dresser, my favorite from our gelato photoshoot.
I’m sporting the biggest smile my face has ever seen, while Gio stands behind me, whispering that silly visual of Lamont riding horseback in my ear.
God, I miss Gio. Why did I think being apart the night before our wedding was a good idea? He was right to be so grouchy about it. Hanging out with the girls at the inn nearby was fun, but sleeping without Gio felt lonely.
That’s a ridiculous rule. An American probably came up with it, my fiancé said as he glued me to his lap yesterday evening. But after spending the whole night apart from him, I wish I’d clung onto our last hug a moment longer.
I just want to marry you, Tessa. Why don’t we do that today?
He’s impatiently asked me to marry him every day for the six months we’ve been engaged.
Sometimes he whispers it in my ear to wake me up in the morning: Buongiorno, Cara.
Marry me today? Other times he asks me the question as he talks me to sleep at night: Before you fall asleep, what do you think about marrying me tomorrow?
Over the past two weeks, he’s even tacked a threat of biking the hills onto the proposals.
I smirk at the thought of my constant response. Tack on an orgasm instead, and I’ll consider it.
Gio’s “tacked on” many an orgasm since, but I still wanted a real wedding. One with our loved ones. One with the dress, the flowers, the cake. One in the place where we fell in love.
Among the fig trees.
I compromised on intimate wedding vows, just between us, which we read to each other aloud in the living room last week.
I promise to always go out of my way for you.
You are the love of my life.
For as long as we live.
After our vows were complete, Gio finally translated the poem he recited to his parents that day in Brescia two years ago.
Finer than the finest gown, and stronger than the strongest seam.
She wraps in beauty all that she touches. I am sewn to her.
I'm sewn to you.
But today, the day of my wedding, I have one regret: forbidding my future husband to see me this morning. As if I were some sort of 19th century virgin.
He hasn’t seen my dress, which I designed with Simone earlier this year.
I spend my days with Simone soaking up all her guidance and expertise at Santerre, and my spare time overseeing Gio as he tailors my personal designs for my own line, which I hope to launch next fall.
Slowly but surely, I’m making progress toward my goals and improving my craft.
Even my hand sewing has improved, though my lessons with Gio sometimes end with more fabric on the floor than what we started with.
I knew exactly what I wanted my dress to look like when I sloppily sketched it at age twelve, and my access to Santerre’s professional seamstresses brought the design to life.
They were so meticulous, perfecting every last detail on my heirloom worthy, fit-and-flare Chantilly lace dress.
The hand stitched underlay adds a classic scalloped hem, and the cathedral-length tulle veil is lined to match the off-the-shoulders long sleeve topper.
I’ve always wanted a romantic silhouette like this, one that would stand the test of time. And I feel exquisite.
But I still miss Gio.
I sense eyes on my back, so I turn toward my bridesmaids, who are standing on the other side of the room.
Esme’s holding her camera (“I just want to take, like, a few pictures getting ready. I promise I’ll let your mom do her job.
”), Peyton’s holding a bridal essentials kit (“I put a baker’s dozen of lip glosses in here.
”), and Grace is looking at me with a huge smile on her face (“I can only keep your brother out of this room for so long. Both you and I are in it.”).
“Damn. You three look too good. I should’ve dressed you uglier. Is it too late to mess up your hair?” I half-heartedly joke, garnering a few chuckles from my girls.
“Listen, you’re the bride. If you want me to ‘spill’ wine on my dress, I’ll do it,” Peyton offers, by far the most ride-or-die girl I know.
Esme snaps a picture of me before looking in the viewfinder and frowning. “You look like someone just told you floral patterns are only for spring. No being sad on your wedding day, Tess,” she chides, before exchanging a look with Grace.
I sit up straighter and glance in the mirror. “What is it? Do I look okay?”
Peyton jumps in immediately. “No, you look perfect.”
Grace gives me a small smile, walking closer to my corner of the room.
“It’s just… Well, we hope you don’t mind.
” She pauses, nervously tapping her foot on the floor.
“We called your fiancé, and he’s on his way.
You look like you need him. Any sadder and people will think you were left at the altar. ”
I break into a beaming smile. “I love you all so much. Thank you.”
Their smiles match mine, as we wait for—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
We all startle at the knocking.
“Tèssa?! Are you in there? Grace said you needed me. What happened?! I knew we never should’ve separated.
I knew something like this would happen.
” The sound of loud footsteps, walking back and forth, booms through the locked door.
“Who did something? You can’t trust Italians, Tèssa.
Or Americans. I’m always saying that. Don’t trust anyone, unless they’re a Vatican nun, is what I’ve always said. ”
His accent sounds so thick, probably unintelligible to my bridesmaids. The last time it was this strong was when I asked if his parents had Italian dressing for my salad (“There’s no such thing as Italian dressing!”).
I turn to Grace with wide eyes. “Oh my God, G—did you not tell Gio why he was being summoned?”
“I didn’t think anything of it!” she says frantically. “I just said, ‘Tessa needs you’ and he said ‘on my way!’”
“Dear God,” I say flatly. “We are two minutes away from him calling la polizia.”
Esme rolls her eyes. “Not this again…”
Peyton bites her lip, trying to stifle a laugh, which proves to be a fruitless effort. She nearly chokes on air as she doubles over, cracking up.
“TèSSA!”
I’m slow-moving in my wedding dress, so Grace gets the door to a heaving Gio.
He must’ve sprinted here from the garden, because a bead of sweat drips down his brow.
Upon seeing my future husband, my jaw drops.
Damn. He looks so sexy in his navy morning suit.
The blue damask double-breasted waistcoat only brightens his blue eyes.
Smiling at the sight of the fig cufflinks I bought him, I feel calmer already.
Gio, however, looks anything but calm. “What happened?”
Holding an EpiPen in his left hand, he walks toward me, scanning my body for… Well, I’m not sure. Broken limb? Ripped hem? Based on the frantic look in his eyes, it could be either.
Noting that my extremities and gown are both intact, he trains his scrutinizing gaze on my bridesmaids. “Was it one of you who did something to Tessa? Tell me. What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s fine. She just wanted to see her future husband for a second,” I tease, grabbing his hand. “Gio, look at me.”
He slowly sets the EpiPen on the vanity, then turns. The moment his eyes find me again, his entire expression gentles. His posture quickly follows, loosening, as if the adoration in my eyes is enough to steady his entire being.
“Cara…”
Grace, Esme, and Peyton all scurry out of the room in less than ten seconds.
Gio wordlessly studies me, raking his gaze up and down my body. “How did I get so lucky to marry you?” he whispers, almost incredulously.
I blush under his gaze. “Do you like the dress?”
“It’s enchanting… perfect… everything you are.”
He cups my chin, placing a delicate kiss on my glossy lips.
“I missed you,” I sigh.
“I’m right here.” He finds my lips once more.
Gio’s presence soothes and settles me. I’m completely at peace with him here.
“Will you marry me today, Cara?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He picks up my hand and kisses the top of it. “Do you want to—”
“Tessa, we heard Gio was coming in here!” Maria bursts into the room, an EpiPen positioned like a dagger in her hand, ready to stab.
Where did everyone get EpiPens from?
Her flailing accidentally knocks a picture frame off the dresser as her eyes frantically search mine. “What’s the matter? We’re so worried. Even your brother-in-law looks upset.”
“I’m fine, Maria!” I call through silent laughter at my pigeon “brother-in-law.”
She breathes a loud sigh of relief. “I just want to say that Luca, he would never barge in on his bride-to-be. He’s in the audience, and he’s still available if you’ve changed your mind about my son. You just let me—”
“Goodbye, Mamma.” Gio pushes her back through the threshold of the door to the sound of my delighted giggles.
“You look bellissima, figliola!” Maria shouts from the hallway.
Gio turns to hug me and groans into my neck. “What are we going to do about all these people?”
A gentle knock sounds at the door, followed by hushed voices outside the door. “Gracie, if anyone is going to see my sister before she walks down the aisle, it’s me. Because I’m the one walking her down the aisle!”
I roll my eyes, grinning at how annoyed my brother sounds, and call out to Grace. “It’s fine, G! He can come in!”
The size of Gio’s parents’ bedroom feels smaller and smaller as Daniel comes into the room, followed by an apologetic Grace.
“I’m so sorry about him,” Grace apologizes, opening the door. “I held out as long as I could, but I couldn’t contain Danny once he heard Gio was in here.”
“Tessie…” Daniel whispers, looking at me with tears in his eyes, which swiftly begin to fall down his face.
“Stop crying, or I’ll cry,” I warn, my eyes glossing over.
“It feels like just yesterday you were in Lion King pajamas drawing me in my football uniform. And… and look at you now,” he breathes. “You’re in a wedding dress you designed.”
Daniel glances back at his wife, who’s sobbing in the doorway, before walking toward me. “Can I hug you?”
“Don’t mess up her hair!” Grace calls through tears.
Gio gives my hand a squeeze. “I think it’s time for me to go, Cara. I’ll see you in the garden.”
I nod, my gaze following my husband-to-be until the door closes behind him. I’m so grateful to be back here again, at the beautiful home where we became an us. In front of our family and friends. All of us together, the people that shaped us to be a perfect fit for each other.
“You ready, Tessie?” Daniel holds out his arm.
After taking a few minutes to gather ourselves, Daniel and I head to the garden, pausing at the bend before the long stone path.
The backyard is intimate, but the countryside stretches wide behind it.
And the quiet rustling of the fig trees in the breeze harmonizes with the string quartet perfectly.
Daniel releases a long breath. “Wow. The scenery is almost as beautiful as you.”
I close my eyes to absorb the compliment.
“Thank you.” There are so many words I want to say back, compliments I want to give him, too.
But time is scarce right now, so I clear my throat and try to focus on the most important ones.
“Daniel. Before we do this, I want to say… You were the first man I trusted. The first man I ever loved. The first man that ever loved me—”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I wave him off.
“No, this isn’t about him. This is about you. My friend, my protector, my hero. I know you’re a lot of other people’s heroes now, but you were mine first. And I just want to say thank you for everything you did for me.”
Tears slide down my brother’s face, wetting his dress shirt. After cleaning them off with his handkerchief, he chuckles. “All that, and you still act like we’re unrelated in public. What’s that about, Cohen?”
I snort and raise an eyebrow. “Hey. It’s Cattaneo, now.”
He smiles. “You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be. And you deserve this kind of love.”
I release a little sigh of happiness.
I chose Gio quietly during our time in Italy.
I chose him again privately, in our living room, when we exchanged our vows.
Now, I get to choose him loudly, in front of our loved ones.
I’d choose him over and over and over again.
And, as I train my gaze on the man at the end of the aisle, the most comforting thought echoes through my mind: He would always choose me, too.
The strums of a violin begin to harmonize with the rustling of the fig trees.
I breathe in the sweet, fruity scent perfuming the open air.
And I take my first step toward Gio.