L’Arancia Più Dolce – by Gemma Snow
L’ARANCIA PIù DOLCE
BY GEMMA SNOW
Di fronte al mare la felicità è un’idea semplice
In front of the sea, happiness is a simple idea.
Jean-Claude Izzo
For a long time, I believed love to be some complex, other-worldly force.
To be born in Italy is to know art like a second language, and the artists, as I have come to learn in my own time, have the tendency to add a little extra drama to true stories.
In the words on the page, paint on the canvas, the ivory sculptures towering over the piazzas, love became something grand and untouchable, the whole weight of the universe caught in the gaze between two strangers across a room, the legends and myths tangled in their fingers as they find each other in the night.
Love was to be worshipped, admired from afar, and never understood.
And then I fell in love.
And all at once, I understood that love was somehow the biggest and smallest force in the universe.
It had the capacity to wreck like the tides at the shore, to flood the earth and tumble the mountain to ash.
It could create whole worlds from the burned-out husks of civilizations and turn monsters into men and men into gods.
Love could be found in the sparkle of the distant stars, the unyielding sea, the paint strokes of long-departed dreamers.
But love could also be found in the sunlight on a sleepy smile, in the act of breaking bread or sharing wine from a single glass, in the making of a bed or the picking up of a single sock, or the tending to a plant to craft a favorite meal.
My love should have been complicated. The world had said as much, and I had believed it. But when I listened to the beating of my own heart — when I listened to theirs, in our shared bed, late into the night — I realized quickly that the world didn’t understand love at all.
I never had a wedding day — not like this.
But Caspian is a star, whether he wants the fame and attention or not, and my brother’s fiancée is Hollywood’s darling — most days.
The world can be vicious to powerful women, that much has always been true, but today she is their Princess Grace, and every single detail about this wedding must be flawless.
It is, of course. In the time I’ve come to know Harlowe, it’s become all too clear why Caspian has laid his claim.
She is a force of nature, capable, competent, a perfectionist at times, but to great effect.
She is in so many ways a director, but in so many truer ones, an artist at her heart and soul.
And while she may have my brother’s number, she’s kind .
It’s amazing to see the type of success she’s achieved without losing the soft smile or the bright glint in her eyes, and I’m not even the least bit surprised that everyone is doing their damnedest to make sure today goes off without a hitch.
I am a little surprised when Harlowe gathers us in her dressing room well before her hair and makeup are done. Her soft blond hair is still piled in enormous curlers, and she only has the barest touch of makeup on, but already she looks like a princess. A queen.
“We need to take a quick detour,” she says.
She looks over to her other bridesmaids, Simone and London, the partners of Cas’ co-stars, Leo and Mason.
London looks like she just emerged from the turquoise seas of the Mediterranean, with the way her soft blue bridesmaid’s dress enhances her golden brown skin.
Simone is a French ballet dancer, and her dress, layered with multicolored blue silk, makes her look like some kind of fairy from the woodlands, elegant and ethereal.
With the way Harlowe is looking at them both, I’m sure she sees the same.
Or maybe something more.
Because I know I’ve only ever looked at two people like that in my life.
And I’ve only ever seen her look at Cas that way.
Perhaps.
“What kind of detour?” her friend, Anne Marie, asks. “Your mom is almost done with her hair.”
Harlowe scrunches her perfect little button nose and seems to wage a private battle with herself, then shakes her head.
“Just us,” she says. “For now, just us.”
As if she’s trying not to lose her nerve, which I have yet to see her do, Harlowe turns and walks out of the dressing room, London and Simone quick at her heels.
Anne Marie and I share one glance and then follow them, and my curiosity mounts with every step we take.
Harlowe is on a mission, but Simone and London are quieter and more subdued than they’ve been since the start of the wedding preparations.
Pieces of the puzzle are starting to come into focus, but they’re not clear enough for me to see, not yet.
Thankfully, it only takes us a few minutes to make it to the glass-enclosed orange grove at the end of the hall.
The far wall overlooks the Pacific Ocean, in its brilliant blue splendor.
It’s hard having my brother living across the world, but California has a magic to it that’s difficult to deny, and a little of that magic is in the room with us right now, along with the splinters of morning sunshine cutting through beveled glass windows, and the sweet perfume of oranges and earthy moisture.
A moment later, the very rowdy other half of the bridal party joins us, Caspian and his co-stars, Leo, Mason, and Paul, all of whom are still very much in their loungewear, and I can’t help but notice Harlowe’s reaction to Cas’ arrival.
She’s a woman in love, I have no doubt of that in my mind, but I do have questions.
Starting with,
“Tell me why exactly the bride and groom are seeing each other before the wedding?” I ask.
“How about we share a drink?” Simone replies, gesturing to the small table filled with champagne.
“And all take a beat. Today is a celebration.” She looks to her husband, a beautiful Spanish man with the gaze of a marauder.
He’s easy on the eyes, but I prefer my men a little more rough around the edges.
“And not just a celebration of how handsome my husband is.”
She breaks some of the tension and after a moment we’re all raising our glasses.
I’m missing something and I know it. Even with the light flirtation and the sparkling drinks and the soft citrus in the air, there’s a heaviness I don’t understand, and part of me wishes my men were here, to hold my hands, to give me strength, as they so often do in moments of uncertainty.
“So,” Harlowe begins, “you guys are some of the most important people in our lives.” She catches each of our gazes in turn. Mine, Anne Marie, Paul. “We trust you and we love you. And we’re so grateful that you’re going to stand with us on our special day.”
She takes a deep, deep breath, the pause lingering in the room of oranges.
“We have a secret.”
“You’re pregnant,” Anne Marie guesses, the champagne nearly spilling out of her glass as she jumps next to me. “It’s twins. You’re having twins!”
Harlowe shakes her head and opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, Paul says, “You’re an undercover CIA agent who seduced Cas to gain secrets from Italian intelligence.”
At that, I’m shaking my head. Like they would ever trust my brother with Italian intelligence secrets.
“Yes,” Harlowe replies, her tone completely straight, “You’ve nailed it. I’ve been undercover as a television director the whole time.”
“I knew it,” he says. “But in all seriousness, congratulations.”
“For what?” she asks.
“For finding one another.” He looks first at her and then to Cas, and then he turns his gaze on the others, Mason, Leo, London, and Simone in turn. “Love is kind of a magical thing, in any form.”
The final puzzle piece. Clarity. Obvious, obvious clarity. I know stolen, forbidden looks across a room. I know lingering touches with unspoken words. I know what it’s like to live in a way others don’t expect, perhaps don’t approve of, and I know what it’s like to go ahead and do it anyway.
In the moment of weighted silence that descends on the glass room, I twist the banded ring on my finger and allow all the information to fall into place. And then everyone starts speaking at once.
“How could you know?”
“How long have you known?”
“What gave it away?”
“Is that what this is?”
The last is from Anne Marie, who’s staring at Harlowe in absolute shock.
“That is what this is,” Harlowe says quietly. She doesn’t need to speak very loudly. Everyone is paying very close attention right now.
“Cas and I finally got together in a sort of an unusual way.”
“An…orgy?” Anne Marie ventures. It’s hard to tell if she’s laughing or about to pass out.
“You could call it that,” Cas says, and he’s so clearly a man in love the smile is written in every word.
“I’d kind of prefer you didn’t, since my sister is sitting right next to you.
” I raise my glass to him at that. “But when the dust settled and then settled again…and then a third time. Well, it turned out there were feelings there. Deep, wonderful feelings.”
“I mean…that’s… How?” Anne Marie pauses, collects herself, and tries again. “All six of you?”
Harlowe shrugs one delicate shoulder. “All six of us,” she says. “I know it’s a lot, and if you need time to process it, I completely understand, but today is about honoring Cas and my love, and it just felt right to share this, too. I hope it’s not too much.”
She looks nervous. I wish she didn’t. This woman is all power and grace and brilliance, and I haven’t once in the months since she first visited our family, in the weeks since wedding prep started, seen her miss a step.
But I also understand the feeling. When I told Caspian my truth last year, it felt like trying to swallow the world in a single bite.