Epilogue
THE LONDON GALLERY was abuzz with a large crowd.
Champagne flowed, the space alive with excited chatter and the soft hum of admiration, even though it was almost time for the night to draw to a close.
Rocco stood off in a corner, his own glass of champagne in hand, marvelling at what had been achieved here.
This exhibition—a year in the making—had been a dream made real.
And he had his wife to thank for that, along with her former employer, Maxine.
The exhibition had brought together each member of Gli Invisibili—not as their personas, but as their real selves.
The members had all shared a quiet drink beforehand, laughing that this was a performance within an installation, showcasing their work together in public and in Rocco’s case, for the first time.
There was also the delicious irony of the exhibition’s name.
Invisible.
Because none of the patrons attending the opening knew that this gathering of acclaimed artists and one newcomer was also the group of anonymous creators who’d gained notoriety across Italy and then Europe for their guerilla street art.
It was perfect.
Across the room stood his brother and his wife.
Leo raised a glass to him; Rocco raised his in return.
It had taken time, but what had truly brought them together was the friendship between their wives.
Lily and Simone had bridged the gap, their warmth wiping away years of distance and enmity.
They’d become closer than he’d ever hoped for.
Leo had been the first person he’d invited to the London show. The first invitation accepted.
‘You happy?’
Rocco shut his eyes for a moment. That voice. His wife, his love, his muse. Every day he was reminded how blessed he was to have her. Whether in their London home, or in Rome, she was his sense of place. His foundation.
He turned, smiling as he took in the sight of her.
She held their son, Maxwell Leonardo Zanetti, named after his two godparents.
The woman who’d unwittingly brought them together, and Leo himself.
Their burgeoning relationship evidence of the new beginnings Rocco had opened himself up to, all because of Lily.
Max had arrived in a squalling rush six months earlier—big, bold and beloved.
Complementing the family that he and Lily had created together.
Binding them tighter than he’d ever imagined was possible.
His birth announcement had also been the bridge to Lily speaking with her brother again.
Whilst her parents remained estranged, Rocco hoped Lily’s relationship with her own sibling might continue to heal like his own had.
He glanced over at Leo again. Simone nursed a glass of water rather than champagne.
Lily hadn’t said anything, but Rocco had noticed Simone’s hand drifting protectively over her stomach.
He hoped that in nine or so months, they might have a niece or nephew to welcome into the family.
Rocco and Lily had also begun talking about a sibling for Max …
‘The exhibition’s going well,’ Lily said softly. ‘Your work’s getting a lot of attention. I’m so proud of you.’
Tonight was his debut as a sculptor. His showpiece, a winged woman emerging from a chrysalis, was titled Muse. It said everything he couldn’t put into words. Through his art, he’d expressed what Lily meant to him. How she’d transformed him, and how he hoped their love had transformed her too.
He’d signed with Maxine’s gallery shortly after Lily had secretly sent photographs of his work to her. That was typical of his wife. Quietly determined, and full of faith in him even in the occasional moments when he’d doubted himself.
‘Is he getting heavy?’ Rocco asked as Max nestled in her arms. Whilst their son adored Rocco, Lily was his favourite person in the whole world.
‘He’s a big boy,’ she said, smiling. ‘He takes after his father.’
‘Let me hold him for you. This night is as much yours as mine. You deserve to celebrate too.’
He drained the last of his champagne, set the glass aside, and opened his arms. Their son reached for him, tiny hands outstretched. Rocco gathered him close, as Max lay his head on Rocco’s shoulder, patting his chest with his little hand.
Being a father still stunned him. It was one of his greatest privileges.
He couldn’t understand the choices his own father had made with Leo.
Holding Max in his arms, it was inconceivable to Rocco that a father could leave his child behind.
For that reason, the relationship wasn’t what it had once been, and he’d made peace with the fact that it might never be the same again.
But his parents were doting grandparents who adored Max, and their son loved his Nonno and Nonna which in the end, was all that mattered.
A waiter passed them and Lily grabbed a glass of champagne for herself, taking a sip. He marvelled how he was the luckiest man in the world, getting to kiss the heavens from her lips every day.
‘I couldn’t have done this without you, tesoro,’ he said, his voice low, meant for her alone. ‘Everything I am, everything I have …is because of you.’
She reached up and brushed her lips against his jaw. ‘The feeling’s mutual.’
He smiled, the weight of the past continuing to lift as he looked around at the people who had become his family. The laughter, the art, the life they’d built together. With passion and purpose as he’d wanted, but also with love. Always love. Transcendent and transformative.
Rocco slipped his free arm round Lily’s waist. Tightening his embrace around the loves of his life. Those he cherished the most. His wife and their son.
‘Let’s go home, amore mio,’ he said, as Lily smiled up at him.
And not for the first time since marrying the incredible woman he held in his arms, Rocco knew that with Lily, home was where he always was.