Chapter 45
SOFIA
Rotta Maggiore (Partenza) – Bresh
The Ligurian coastline sparkled in the midday sun, and Sofia breathed in the air of the place she still considered one of her homes.
Traveling as much as she did, home hadn’t been singular in a very long time. Each place holding a special corner of her heart based on what happened there.
Bogliasco had been home for her entire childhood, teenage years and early adulthood, until the Master’s degree brought her to the States.
In the past, she had always felt a little bit trapped in that place.
No space to breathe, with the mountains at her back and the Mediterranean stretched out before her.
But then, the sea had become her home. Her father had inherited a boat, and since then, they had never spent a weekend on shore if there was good sailing weather.
Everybody knew everybody there, and as soon as she stepped out of her sister’s car—a very fancy one compared to her old Jeep—old neighbors smiled at her.
She hadn’t been back to Bogliasco in nearly half a year, if not more.
The last time had been after she resigned from Neptune, hiding away between mountains and sea to avoid speaking to anyone.
She’d spent two weeks in full cocoon mode, cuddled by her parents and the sea outside their house. She wasn’t proud of it.
“They’re probably down at the beach,” Gabriella said, stretching her neck. Her blonde hair was cut shorter than usual, just to her neck making her look older. Whether it was from having twins or the unfortunate haircut, Sofia didn’t dare ask. She valued her life.
Luckily, their private parking space only needed to accommodate two cars—their parents' and Gabriella’s. Bogliasco was tiny, with even tinier streets and a nightmare parking situation she didn’t want to deal with ever.
They walked up the stairs from the garage to the main house.
It was a common middle-class Italian home, except that, when you opened the kitchen window, you saw the sea.
Her dad had inherited it from her grandfather who passed away and the family had moved from Genova to Bogliasco when she was just five.
The house smelled like always. Someone had clearly made pesto, probably her mother, who still used the old family recipe passed down from dad’s mother. But in the corner stood a pata de jamón, a perfect reminder of the household’s Spanish and Italian blend.
“Change into a bikini and we’ll go down to the beach?” Gabriella asked, as Sofia took in the familiar surroundings.
“Yes, sure.”
She stepped into her old room, the one overlooking the Mediterranean, probably the thing she missed most while living in the States, and even now in Ericeira. She changed quickly and followed Gabriella out of the front door, heading down to the beach just below the house.
“Prepare yourself,” Gabriella murmured. “He’s all bones.”
Sofia clenched her jaw, steeling herself for the shock. She had to brace for the reality of seeing the strong man who’d raised her looking frail, diminished.
The beach was quiet. Wednesday morning, no tourists. Their umbrella was planted close to the water, so their father could sit with his feet in it while staying shaded from the sun.
Two little tornados bolted toward her as she caught sight of her dad.
She barely had time to register the slope of his shoulders, the way his arms looked thinner, the shaved head under his beanie, before Francesca and Ginevra launched themselves at her in dripping wet Frozen swimsuits, clinging to her neck like octopuses.
“Zia! Tia!”
At five years old, they were fully into that chaotic bilingual phase Sofia remembered all too well.
Blending languages like a linguistic minestrone.
Gabriella was raising them in both Spanish and Italian, and soon they’d start attending an English school, so they were headed for trilingual greatness or confusion.
“Look at you! How is it possible that every time I see you, you’ve grown more?” Sofia grinned, crouching down and kissing them, wrapping them into a hug that smelled of sunscreen and childhood. Their little cold, damp bodies clung to her, and she felt something tight loosen in her chest.
They looked more like her than they did Gabriella, which pissed her sister off endlessly. Brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin.
“We are signorine now. That’s what Nonno calls us.”
“Signorine, eh?” Sofia grinned.
They both nodded excitedly. “Are you coming in the water with us?”
“Let me say hi to Nonno and Nonna first, and I’ll be there.”
Gabriella took the girls by the hand and led them toward the water, giving Sofia space. Her mother met her halfway, phone still in hand—clearly recording the reunion, though Sofia was sure it was going to be a wobbly mess.
They hugged tightly, long and deep, so many unsaid things tucked into that single embrace. Sofia buried her face in her mother’s graying hair and exhaled, holding back another wave of emotion.
“How are you?” she asked her mother.
“Good, good. I’m happy you’re here.”
“I had some time off.”
“Bugiarda.” Her father’s voice cut through the warmth like a familiar knife. “You should be in Brazil. What are you doing here?”
When she turned, his soft eyes betrayed his words. He was glad. He was always glad to see her. His brown eyes locked on hers, and her throat tightened. As soon as he opened his arms, she collapsed into them.
Sobs overtook her. She had sworn she wouldn’t cry, but god, how relieved she was not to be too late.
“Va tutto bene, Sofi. I’m fine.”
“I know,” she whispered, even though they both knew it was a lie. She smiled through the tears as he stroked her face. He was still him. Still Antonio Moretti. Just less weight, less hair. But the same loving smile.
“You’ve always had the ocean inside of you, and it had to come out. So sensible,” he murmured, wrapping her into his arms again.
“Zia, andiamo a nadar?”
“A nuotare,” her father corrected. “They’re driving me mad with their itanol. You used to drive me nuts too.”
“That’s what you get when you marry outside your country,” Sofia teased, glancing at her mother, who pretended not to hear. Gabriella stepped beside her, something softer in her eyes than usual. Usually, Sofia was the calm one. Gabriella was the fire.
“Let’s go swim a bit,” Gabriella said, taking her hand like they were kids again. “It’ll help. Like always. Water heals.”
“I’m the eldest here. I should be the one taking care of you,” Sofia reminded her.
“Yeah, but you’ve always been the most soft-hearted of the two. Come on.”
Sofia took off the shirt she’d been wearing, scooped up Francesca, and launched her into the water while Gabriella did the same with Ginevra.
Screeches echoed across the quiet beach as the calm water of the Golfo Paradiso lapped around them. It was nothing like the wild Atlantic she’d grown used to, but it was home. And even though her heart hurt. The water always helped, healed.