Chapter 20 My Name, Our Home
SERAFINA
Tuesday morning I wake in my childhood bed already rehearsing what I want to say to Fio. The jasmine vial sits on the dresser where I left it, still wrapped in its brown paper.
I dress quickly and find my mother in the kitchen, already halfway through her tea.
"I'm going into town." I kiss her cheek on my way to the door. "I need to talk to Fio."
"About the perfume?" She sets down her cup, interested but not pressing.
"About everything." I grab my keys from the hook by the door. "I'll tell you when I know more."
The drive to Profumi e Spezie takes twenty minutes through the winding roads that connect our family's land to the town center. I rehearse my opening sentence at every bend and discard it before the next. By the time I park, I've decided to ask her plainly.
Fio is behind the counter when I push through the door, arranging small bottles of olive oil on a display shelf. The shop smells the way it always does, like dried herbs and good soap and the faint sweetness of the beeswax candles she keeps near the register.
"You look like someone with a plan." She sets down the bottle in her hand and leans against the counter. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably." I cross to the counter and rest my elbows on the worn wood. "I have a proposition for you."
"I'm listening." She mirrors my posture, already clearing a space between the bottles for me.
"You know the estate botanical idea I mentioned." I take a breath, organizing my thoughts. "Using ingredients from the Visconti groves to create a line of fragrances. Something that connects the perfumery to the land."
"I remember." She studies my face, her amusement giving way to interest. "You said you were still figuring out the details."
"I've figured out some of them." I straighten up, needing to move. "I want a fragrance line of my own, with my name attached to it."
"Your name." She says it carefully, testing the weight of it. "Not the Visconti name?"
"Serafina." I rest my fingers on the counter. "Just Serafina, on the bottles. People can ask what it smells like before they ask who my husband is."
"What do you need from me?" Fio leaves the olive oil display half finished and pulls her stool closer. I have her attention. Now I have to ask for more than that.
"A partner." The word feels right as I say it. "Someone who understands the supply side, who has connections with growers and producers, who can help me source what I can't make myself. Someone I trust."
"A partner." She repeats the word back to me, but there's a smile starting at the corners of her mouth. "Not just a supplier?"
"Equal voice." I lean forward. "Your expertise, my craft. We build it together, we share the credit, we make the decisions together. I don't want to just buy ingredients from you, Fio. I want you in the room when we decide what to make with them."
She's silent long enough that I start to worry I've overstepped. We've only known each other a month. Maybe this is too much, too fast, too presumptuous.
Then she laughs, bright and surprised, and comes around the counter to pull me into a hug.
"I was hoping you'd ask." She squeezes me tight before stepping back. "I've been thinking about this ever since you showed me those trial blends. Wondering if you'd ever want to do something bigger."
"You never said anything." I stare at her, caught off guard.
"It wasn't my place to push." She shrugs, but she's still smiling. "You had enough people telling you what to do with your life. I figured if you wanted a partner, you'd ask for one."
"I'm asking." I reach out and take her hand. "Will you do this with me?"
"Yes." She squeezes my fingers. "Obviously yes. Did you think I'd say no?"
"I thought you might want to think about it." I feel lighter than I have in days. "Sleep on it, consult your accountant, whatever sensible people do."
"I am a sensible person." She releases my hand and crosses back behind the counter. "I also know a good opportunity when I see one. Now sit down and tell me what you're thinking, because I have about forty questions and I'm only getting more impatient."
I pull up a stool. A customer interrupts us for a bottle of soap, and by the time Fio has wrapped it and waved her out, I've covered the back of an old receipt with ideas. She leans forward to read, then takes the pencil and circles one.
"Jasmine and black pepper. That one's for me first." I tap the words she circled. "Rafael found a beautiful jasmine sample for it. I want to see how much of an edge I can give it."
"Warm and sharp at the same time." Fio adds a question mark beside the combination. "I like that. It's unexpected."
"That's what I want the whole line to be." I look up at her. "Unexpected. Things people haven't smelled before, combinations that surprise them. Not just another citrus blend because we're in Sicily and that's what people expect."
"And something that smells of the groves, too." She reaches under the counter for a small notebook. "I've been keeping notes on local producers. We could start asking what might be possible."
"My trials still use ingredients I've bought in." I shift the receipt, making room for her notebook beside the jasmine notes. "The estate idea will take time. I don't want anyone thinking I've solved everything with a bottle of perfume."
"Then tell them that." She opens her notebook beside my receipt. "You can be excited about starting. You don't have to pretend you've finished. Who would you like to tell?"
"Our families. Some people from town." I look down at the two sets of handwriting on the counter. "I want to share this with them. Let them know there's something new coming from the estate."
Fio looks up from her notes, her expression shifting to something softer. "Rafael knows about this?"
"He knows I want to build something." I think about yesterday, his hand warm against my belly, his eyes full of everything we'd almost lost. "He doesn't know the details yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
"Good." She closes the notebook and slides it across the counter to me. "Keep this. Add your own notes. When you're ready to talk specifics, we'll figure out the rest."
"There's something else I should tell you." I tuck the notebook into my bag, then look back at her. "I'm pregnant. Rafael and our parents know. Now you do, too."
Her face transforms, joy and surprise and something that looks like protectiveness all flickering across her features. "Sera. Oh, Sera."
"I wanted you to know before we commit to anything." I meet her eyes steadily. "In case it changes things for you."
"It doesn't change anything." She comes around the counter again and takes both my hands. "Except now I'm even more determined to make this work. That baby is going to grow up knowing their mother built something extraordinary."
"Can you keep it quiet for now?" I blink hard and reach for the tissue box beside her register. Trusting her with this feels good. I want a little longer before everyone knows.
"Of course." She waits while I dab at my eyes, smiling so broadly that I start laughing. "Has Beatrice started knitting yet?"
"She hasn't shown me anything yet." I crumple the damp tissue in my hand. "I'm afraid to ask how much she has planned."
"We'd better make our own plans, then." Fio returns to her side of the counter and retrieves my receipt. "What are you thinking for a timeline? When do you want to announce?"
"Soon." I stand up, suddenly restless. "Within a week or two. Nothing elaborate. Just a small gathering, both families, maybe some people from town. Enough to make it feel real."
"I can help with that." She pulls out a different notebook, this one filled with lists. "I know everyone in this town, and most of them owe me favors."
"I'm counting on it." I head for the door, then pause with my hand on the frame. "Fio. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She grins at me over her lists. "Wait until you see how much work this is going to be."
***
The days blur together in a way that feels productive rather than anxious. I spend mornings at my parents' house, working on formulas and making lists.
Afternoons I'm either at Fio's shop or walking the groves with Rafael, talking through ideas, letting him see the shape of what I'm building.
Rafael asks which part of the land I want to explore first, and I tell him. When he doesn't understand something, he says so. I like that almost as much as his interest. I can tell him I don't know yet, too, without either of us treating it as a failure.
A week and a half after my conversation with Fio, Rafael brings me over from my parents' house for our gathering.
We have set it up on the terrace behind the main house, where the gardens slope down toward the groves and the afternoon light falls golden across the old stone. Fio arrived early to help arrange the tables, and now she's adjusting a display of small sample vials while I try not to pace.
"Stop fidgeting." She doesn't look up from her work. "You're making me nervous."
"I'm not fidgeting." I stop mid-pace and force myself to stand still. "I'm thinking."
"You're wearing a path in the flagstones." She finally looks up, her expression amused. "Everything is ready. The samples are labeled, the explanation cards are written, the food is beautiful. All you have to do is talk."
"I hate making speeches." I cross to the low wall at the edge of the terrace and look out over the groves. "I'd rather just hand everyone a bottle and let them smell it."
"You can do that too." She comes to stand beside me. "But people want to hear from you. They want to understand what you're creating and why."
"What if they think it's presumptuous?" The fear slips out before I can stop it. "The wife of a Visconti, playing at perfumery, using estate resources for her little hobby?"