17. Alessia
— ? —
Alessia
Then - The Year He Came Back
My cousin Sofia’s wedding reception fills a white tent on Long Island, and Anthony is my date, and every aunt I have is pretending not to stare at him.
He’s in a black suit that fits his shoulders like it was poured on, tailored and elegant in a way that makes my mouth dry every time I look at him.
When he leans down to ask me if I want another drink, his mouth brushes my ear, and I forget the question entirely.
I forget my own name. All I can think about is the way his breath feels against my skin and the way his hand is resting on the small of my back like it belongs there.
“Champagne?” he repeats, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Please,” I manage.
He disappears toward the bar, and I watch him go, following the way he moves through the crowd - confident, easy, like he belongs at a Sartori family event even though half the people here are probably wondering who he is and how he ended up on my arm.
Euridice materializes at my elbow.
“Powder room,” she says. “Now.”
She doesn’t wait for me to agree. She just grabs my wrist and pulls me through the crowd, past the ice sculpture and the dessert table and the dance floor where Sofia is waltzing with her new husband, until we’re in the cramped powder room with the door locked behind us.
“He looks at you like he’s starving and guilty at the same time,” she says, fixing her lipstick in the mirror so she doesn’t have to look at me.
“He looks at me like he loves me.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
She caps the tube with a snap and finally meets my eyes in the mirror. Her face is careful, guarded, the way it gets when she’s about to say something she knows I won’t want to hear.
“Ally, don’t you think it’s strange? He turns up after all these years with a perfect explanation for disappearing, and inside three months you’re on his arm at a family wedding with a man you hadn’t laid eyes on since you were a child.”
“You think he’s lying?”
“I think people don’t change that much.” She turns to face me, leaning against the sink with her arms crossed. “Your father scared him off once, and he ran. What happens when it gets hard this time?”
I want to argue. I open my mouth to argue - to tell her she doesn’t understand, that what Anthony and I have is different, that he’s not the same frightened boy who left me in the vineyard.
But something cold settles under my ribs, and I have to grip the edge of the marble sink to steady myself.
“He’s different now,” I tell her. “We were sixteen.”
She doesn’t look convinced. She just reaches out and fixes a curl at my temple, very gently, like she’s trying to soften the blow of what she’s already said.
“I hope you’re right,” she says. “I really do.”
She unlocks the door, and we walk back into the tent together.
The band is playing something slow and romantic, and the dance floor is full of couples swaying in each other’s arms. I scan the crowd for Anthony, expecting to find him at the bar with two champagne flutes, but our table is empty.
I find him at the edge of the tent, near the entrance.
He’s standing perfectly still with a glass in his hand, and he’s staring at someone across the crowd like he’s looking at a ghost. His face has gone pale, and there’s something in his expression I’ve never seen before - something that looks like fear and rage and grief all tangled together.
I follow his gaze.
My father.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. He told Zia Carmela he couldn’t get out of Florence, that business would keep him away. But he’s standing by the entrance in his linen suit with the dust of travel still on his shoulders, and he’s looking right back at Anthony with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Papa hands his coat to a passing waiter. He walks straight past me without a word, without even acknowledging that I exist, and puts his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.
“Come,” he says, his voice pleasant and light. “Let’s get some air.”
Anthony doesn’t look at me. He just sets down his glass and follows my father out of the tent, and I’m left standing there alone with my heart pounding and Euridice’s words echoing in my ears.
What happens when it gets hard this time?