Chapter 21 #2
Two colossal statues on horseback lumbered down the street, hauled by miniature trucks that seemed ridiculously small in comparison.
Draped in crimson and standing at least twenty-six feet tall, they depicted a fair-skinned woman on a white horse and a dark-skinned man with curling hair on a dark brown steed.
They looked like vintage plastic cake toppers, blown up to gigantic proportions.
The crimson fabric rippled in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight like pools of blood.
A low rumble emanated from the trucks hauling the statues, a dissonant counterpoint to the festive music in the air.
“They’re huge,” I breathed. I tilted my head back, the figures so immense, I felt strangely small, insignificant.
Plaster and wood… how could something so towering be made from such simple materials?
Hundreds of people swayed and twirled to the procession, clad in vibrant Sicilian folk costumes.
The men pounded drums and squeezed accordions, while the women shook tambourines decked with colorful streamers, their voices blending in joyful harmony.
A Carretto—the famous Sicilian horse and carriage—followed.
I’d seen a tiny replica of the colorful horses my mother kept as a souvenir, but never the real thing up close.
As the statues pranced past, we moseyed toward the heart of the celebration.
The Piazza Duomo pulsed with the vibrant strains of Sicilian folk music, rendered by organettis and tambourines.
The crowd surged toward the center. A band on stage belted out ‘Ciuri Ciuri’ , the singer—clad in custom black pants, vest, ascot hat, and a red bandana—dancing and clapping on the wooden platform.
Food stalls ringed the piazza, their enticing aromas of garlic and basil making my stomach rumble.
Enzo purchased three steaming bowls of pasta.
I dug in, the rich, tomato-basil sauce exploding on my tongue, a comforting flavor drawing a blissful moan from my throat.
Around us, people devoured crisp-crusted croquettes, their fried aroma mingling with the scent of sizzling arancini.
Laughter from adults and the delighted squeals of children as they raced past, painting streaks of color from their waving sparklers and glow sticks, filled the air.
A young man dipped his girlfriend for a romantic kiss, earning a round of applause.
People shouted “Hey!” in time with the music, clapping and swaying to the beat of the drums.
Enzo nudged Lucio, who kept eyeing a brunette in the crowd.
Even from this distance, I could see the girl’s laughter was bright, lilting, almost like a melody, something that seemed to capture Lucio’s complete attention.
The young woman flushed crimson every time Lucio glanced her way.
As for Lucio, he bit his lip, amused by her shyness.
“Don’t mind me.” He patted his brother’s back with a wink.
“I’ll catch up with you two later.” He sauntered toward the bashful brunette, leaving Enzo and me chuckling.
A tug on my pinky made me jump. A little boy, no older than five, tugged insistently, swinging side to side. “ Balla con me .”
Enzo’s smirk stretched into a full-blown smile as I waited for him to translate. “He wants you to dance.”
My eyes widened, and my hand flew to my chest in an unconscious gesture. “Me?” How could anyone say no to this little charmer?
“ Per favore .” The boy’s small hand clutched mine, and he yanked me into the dizzying swirl of the dance floor.
A wild folk melody erupted from the musicians, the beat so infectious it seized my feet before my brain could protest. I had no idea what I was doing, and judging by the boy’s exuberant jumps, neither did he.
He tugged me into a clumsy circle, and a laugh—a real, unburdened laugh—bubbled up and escaped my lips.
Soon our little circle of joyful chaos became contagious.
One couple, then another, abandoned their graceful steps to mimic our awkward, joyful movements, their laughter mixing with ours until the entire floor was a beautiful, stomping mess.
From the edge of the crowd, Enzo let out a shrill, piercing whistle.
I shot him a playful glare, my cheeks hot, but the little boy beside me simply beamed.
He gripped my hand tighter and, as the song crashed to an end, took a deep, theatrical bow to the applauding crowd.
“Prego, prego!” he yelled, absolutely reveling in the spotlight.
Heat crept up my neck and flushed my cheeks. I managed an awkward smile and mumbled, “ Grazie .” Then, I gently pulled my hand free from the adorable little boy and scurried off the dance floor. He blew me a kiss as he darted through the throng, his laughter echoing behind me.
Enzo claimed my hand and spun me around. “You’re the star of the show now.”
I pursed my lips to hush him. “Let’s keep the spotlight on the giant statues, okay?”
He leaned closer, his spicy cologne wrapping around me like a promise. “Do you know of the legend behind this festival?”
I shrugged. Other than knowing it happened every August, the Passeggiate Dei Giganti was a blank slate.
He traced a slow circle on my wrist with his thumb, sending a shiver up my arm.
“Grifone, a giant of a man, led an army to conquer the city. During his raid, he stumbled upon a beautiful, fair maiden named Mata. He fell madly in love and begged her to marry him, but she refused because Grifone wasn’t Christian. ”
“Rightly so,” I interjected, raising a brow. Go Mata .
He chuckled, lacing his fingers through mine. His green eyes held me captive. “Grifone didn’t take it well. He rampaged through the city, plundering everything he could find. Then, he kidnapped Mata and forced her to become his wife.”
I bit my lip at the irony. “Typical.” His smirk dimpled his cheeks. “To win her love, he repented, converted, and dedicated his life as a man of faith.”
I liked this story more than I should have. “And Mata fell in love with him, I presume?”
“How could she resist?” He puffed out his chest, cocky as ever. “His strength and good looks were already tempting, but his conversion sealed the deal. They’re revered as the ancestors of Messina. This is why people celebrate this festival every year.”
I closed the gap between us, my front brushing his torso. “You’re right, how could she resist?”
His green eyes widened, darkening.
“Something about this story… hits a little too close to home.”
A slow grin spread across his face as he cupped my cheeks. “You think?”
Our gazes locked, the world shrinking until it was just us.
The music, the crowd, the vibrant energy of the festival faded into a muted hum.
His fingers grazed my ear, a feather-light touch sending shivers down my spine.
He tilted his head, his lips parting in an unspoken invitation.
Need him . I’d never craved anyone like this, never felt this raw, desperate pull.
Then, the fear coiled tight, squeezing the air from my lungs.
I stumbled back. His groan brushed my cheek, a sound of frustrated longing.
The festival’s noise exploded around me, a harsh reminder of the world outside our bubble.
“Don’t, Gemma.” He gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin. “Don’t shut me out every time we get close.”
“I have to.” Anger, hot and bitter, surged through me. Not at him, but at my own body, its desperate longing for his touch. Before, I fought it, but each time it grew harder. “I… I can’t deny I want you. That’s what terrifies me.”
“Why?” His eyes widened on the verge of berserking, his grip tightening until it hurt. “Why does it scare you?”
“You’re not the only one who made promises.” My heart twisted painfully, impeding the strength in my voice. “I made a vow, too. To God.”
He blinked at my words.
I should have guessed he wouldn’t understand. “To wait for marriage. I’d hate myself if I broke that, if I gave in to you.”
“But we are married!” His voice cracked as he shook me.
“Not to me, we’re not.” Cold clarity slammed into me.
I feared this would happen. The lines would blur between reality and falsehood, afraid my heart wouldn’t discern between sincerity and lie.
“Remember why you married me? To break me,” my words burst out.
“I at least need to walk away keeping this one thing. It’s the one thing still mine and not tainted with your revenge. ”
“It won’t be tainted.” He spat as if the syllables on his tongue tasted foul. “What we share has nothing to do with my vow and everything to do with us. There’s a pull between us. We’re both suffering. Why fight it?”
If I let myself touch him, kiss him, I’d be doomed. I’d spend the rest of my life haunted by the memory, mourning what could have been. “And what happens when we part ways? Huh? What happens then?”
He grew silent, his expression hardening.
“I heard what you said to Carina. The plan to manipulate me into falling for you? You told her you’re working on it.”
A flicker of pain crossed his face before he masked it with defiance. “You think all this… everything we’ve shared has been a game?”
“Yes?” My voice wavered, the uncertainty eating at me. He grabbed my hands, his grip tight, almost desperate.
“I told you things… things I’ve never told anyone.
I opened up to you in ways I never thought possible.
How could you even think it was all a lie?
” His voice cracked on the last word, a raw, vulnerable sound clenching my stomach.
“Don’t you dare cheapen what we’ve built.
” He sneered and compressed his lips together.
The muscles between my brows tensed. “So… you lied to your mother? You told me you didn’t lie!”
“I haven’t lied to you .” His eyes burned into mine. “I don’t care about lying to others.”