CHAPTER 36
NINA MARCHESI
“Pregnant?” my mother asks, shifting her gaze between Nero and me as we sit on the sofa, hands intertwined, trying to present a united front. The gesture doesn’t escape her notice, but she says nothing, too shocked by the news she has just received. “Since when?”
“Six weeks. I found out yesterday, in Athens. I fainted and—”
“You fainted?” she interrupts, eyes wide with alarm. “In the street?”
“It was just a typical first-trimester episode, Mom. It only lasted a few minutes.”
“We’re going to make sure that never happens again,” Nero cuts in.
“You can’t control pregnancy symptoms, Nero,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.
Nero made me tell him everything, detail by detail, about how I found out.
When I reached the part about fainting, he completely lost it and decided we needed to make sure it never happened again.
I explained—repeatedly—that this isn’t something you can predict or prevent, but he refuses to be rational about it.
“But we can make sure you’re never alone while they last. If something like that happens again, you won’t be by yourself.”
“I’m pregnant, not sick. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“A companion,” he corrects.
“A babysitter,” I insist.
“All right!” my mother intervenes, clapping her hands. “This is… quite the news,” she says, trying to calm the situation, even though her face is still clearly stunned.
“Anyway. Since I didn’t know what was happening, I agreed to go to the hospital when I woke up. They did a blood test and, well… you can imagine the rest.”
“It’s quite the news,” she repeats, nodding.
“And it’s not the only one,” Nero announces proudly.
My mother tilts her head, curiosity sparking.
“Don’t tell me it’s twins!” she blurts out, alarmed—though the slight curve of her lips makes it clear she’d actually love that.
“It’s too early to know, Mom.”
“But it would be incredible if it were,” Nero adds.
I turn to him, narrowing my eyes at this newly discovered side of his personality—the one that apparently wants to turn me into a broodmare. Ten children? He has to be joking.
“So what’s the other news?” my mother asks.
I look at Nero and smile, my stomach flipping as the butterflies I’m convinced have permanently moved in there go wild.
“Nero proposed,” I say, turning to my mother.
Just as I expected, this second piece of news shocks her far more than the first. Her face goes completely blank as she blinks, giving us no clue what’s happening inside her head—though I know very well there’s a lot going on.
“I hope you’re comfortable sleeping in a single bed in a pink bedroom,” she says directly to Nero after what feels like an eternity of silence.
Both of us frown.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Marchesi, I don’t think I understood,” Nero says, confused.
She shrugs.
“Less than a month ago, my daughter assured me she wasn’t moving into your place under any circumstances. I’m assuming that means you will be moving in, in this case.”
“Mom!” I protest, and she shoots me a sharp look. Nero chuckles quietly beside me, and I glare at him in silent reprimand.
“I’d like to ask for your blessing, Mrs. Marchesi,” Nero says seriously. “I know things didn’t happen in the order people usually expect, but I assure you I have no intention other than loving and taking care of your daughter—and now your granddaughter… or grandson… or, who knows, maybe both?”
The sparkle in my mother’s eyes tells me using the g-word was a masterstroke on Nero’s part. When I look at him, I find a smug smile that says he knew exactly what he was doing.
“So I suppose Dubai is officially cancelled?” she asks, unimpressed by baby talk and getting straight to the million-dollar question.
I’m ready to answer, but Nero squeezes my hand gently, asking me—without words—to let him handle it.
“For now, yes,” he answers for both of us. “The pregnancy would probably complicate the finalisation of Nina’s contract anyway. But once the baby is born, whatever Nina decides, I’ll support it. If that means we move to Dubai for a year and a half—or three—or ten—I really don’t care.”
My head turns toward Nero before I can stop it, my heart racing.
We hadn’t talked about this.
He’d made me a thousand promises about our future, renewed every guarantee he’d already given me about buying beds, sofas, and bedside tables anywhere in the world.
But this—this is the first time I hear him say these words. Out loud. With this much certainty.
“You just said everything I wanted to hear,” my mother says.
I still can’t take my eyes off Nero.
“But words are tricky things, aren’t they?” she continues. “I once told you, Nero—who my children kiss, sweetens my own mouth. Keep your promises and you’ll always have a mother in me. Break them, and I won’t hesitate to use my broom. You have no idea what a powerful weapon I can turn one into.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, equally embarrassed and moved by her not-so-subtle threat. Nero’s laughter reaches me before I can open them again.
“I’ll take the grandchild part,” he says.
“I thought you would,” she replies. “That seems like a sensible choice. Welcome to the Marchesi family.”
***
“May I come in?” my mother asks hours later, knocking on my open bedroom door.
It’s midday. She’s probably just come back from the shop for lunch. I’m surprised I didn’t hear her arrive—I was completely absorbed, trying to write the email withdrawing my application from the nursing programme.
“Of course, Mom,” I say.
She walks in carrying a small bundle of fabric.
“What’s that?” I ask.
She sits on my bed and pats the mattress beside her.
I get up from my desk chair and sit where she indicates. She places the little bundle on her lap and begins to untie the ribbon holding it together. When the fabric opens and I see what’s inside, my eyes burn instantly.
She lifts a pair of tiny baby shoes and places them in her palm.
“They were yours,” she says softly. “I brought this bundle with me when I came to Greece. Every time things got too hard—when I was too tired or wanted to give up—I opened it, smelled you, and remembered what I was fighting for.”
By the time she finishes the sentence, thick tears are already sliding down my cheeks.
“I know you didn’t plan this pregnancy, my daughter,” she says, lifting her eyes to mine.
When she sees me crying, she uses her free hand to wipe my tears away.
“But I also know the woman I raised. I know you’ll do everything for this child’s happiness, just like I did for yours.
And no matter what, you can count on me. ”
“Mom… pregnant women are naturally emotional,” I protest weakly, and she laughs, pulling me into a hug. When my sobbing subsides, she takes my hand and opens it, placing the tiny shoes in my palm.
“They’re yours. For your baby. That’s why I kept them. I don’t know if everything will still fit, but I hope some of it will.”
I tilt my head, searching her eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking at her reddened eyes. “For everything.”
I don’t need to explain what everything means. I’m thanking her for the love, the companionship, the care. For never judging me, never pressuring me.
My chest tightens as I realise that if I’m even half the mother Rosa Marchesi is, the baby growing inside me will be incredibly lucky.
She kisses my forehead.
“Motherhood isn’t always the easiest kind of love, my daughter.
Sometimes we’re forced to keep what we know and what we want to ourselves, so our children can discover and choose for themselves.
That’s not always as simple as it sounds.
Still, being a mother is the strongest way to love.
You’ll find that out very soon. And you’ll understand that there will never be anything you need to thank me for. ”
“I love you,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her.
“Not more than I love you, my love. Not more than I love you.”