Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
The night before my cousin’s wedding, I was invited to witness a beautiful tradition.
The rehearsal dinner wasn’t the type I was used to. It wasn’t extra fancy, and no one practiced their role in the ceremony, like how to walk down the aisle and whom to pair up with. Everyone gathered at a small local restaurant to eat and talk excitedly about the next day. I doubted I would’ve been invited to such a private event, but I was treated like royalty, a newly discovered relative whom the bride’s family not only welcomed but insisted stay close.
I kept sneaking glances at Quint throughout the meal. We’d stayed together each night this week, locked in a world where only the two of us existed. Logically, I knew the first rush of a new relationship was heady and that hormones played a key part. I’d read all about oxytocin. I understood sex was not love. Yet being with Quint was unlike anything I’d experienced or even imagined. It was as if not only our bodies were in sync but our entire beings. We spent hours under the covers, talking and sharing. I felt fully seen for the very first time in my life. I craved not only his touch but his presence, and we’d been able to sneak in time together so he could show me everything about Sciacca and why he loved it.
Catena and Theo both knew about our blooming relationship and had happily told Quint to take time off from the pub. I didn’t have many days left here, so we’d decided to make the most of the time we had.
After dinner, my cousins took me back to Magda’s house, and all the men stayed behind, going off for a drink. Giggling, Teresa and Catena pulled me up the stairs to the bride’s room, and I gasped when I entered.
The space was decorated with an enchanted, romantical charm. The bedsheets were pulled back and neatly folded, gleaming in bright white silk. Flowers filled the room in rich citrus colors, scenting the air with happy floral notes. Wedding gifts were spread around the room, a bounty of well-wishes for the bride and groom. Pressed, crisp linens; gorgeous ceramic platters and bowls; jewelry displayed in small velvet boxes—I spotted a coral ring and chandelier earrings—along with polished silverware and a shimmery lace negligee hung in front of the mirror.
Sugared almonds in pastel blue and pink were tucked within the sheets. As I stepped closer, I noticed a strange assortment of wheat, rice, and money.
Magda’s wedding dress was laid out carefully on the end of her bed. The stitched white lace with sheer flowing sleeves and a dreamy train, along with her veil, seemed straight out of a fairy tale.
“What is this?” I asked Catena. “Does Magda know about this?”
My cousins laughed. “Of course! It is a tradition. The night before the wedding, the women in her family come to prepare the wedding bed. But only a single woman can touch the sheets,” Catena explained.
“You could have done the job, cugina ,” Teresa teased.
Catena laughed. “Magda’s younger sister stepped in to help. We gather her wedding presents to display, and on the sheets, we leave gifts to represent fertility and wealth and happiness. Then we lay out her dress.”
“It’s stunning,” I said. I looked at the tight circle of women, old and young, crushed into the bride’s room. Everyone was chattering nonstop, sharing in the excitement of the bride-to-be. “Why isn’t Magda here?”
“She will come in a bit to see. Then we will distract her for the next part of the evening.”
“Something else happens?”
Catena nodded, her eyes dancing with joy. “Ah, yes. My favorite part. Come—let’s prepare drinks for Magda for when she arrives.”
“Would it be okay to take pictures? For my posts?”
“Of course—Magda will not mind!”
I took out my phone and snapped a bunch of pictures. I loved the one with the older women in a tight circle, heads pushed together, talking in Italian and pointing to things in the room. Afterward, I joined my cousins in the kitchen, pouring wine and setting out snacks—even though we’d just eaten. When Magda arrived, her sister escorted her to the room, and I loved the cries and sounds of happy weeping from upstairs. Time flew by as I settled into the chaos of my family, hugging Magda, who told me once again how glad she was I had stayed.
I didn’t know how much time passed before a sense of anticipation rippled through the air, and my aunts began yelling in Italian. Catena jumped up and down and grabbed my hand. “He’s here! Come outside and see!”
Having no idea what was going on, I followed her out the door and caught sight of a large group of men in a circle, standing under one of the windows. “What’s happening?” I whispered, trying to take in the odd scene.
“ La serenata. ”
I realized the group of men were hoisting up a wooden ladder to rest against the house. Magda’s fiancé tilted his head back and called her name loudly, followed by a long stream of Italian. I couldn’t catch any of the words and tugged at Catena’s arm. “What did he say?”
“He called her the lover of his heart and told her to come out to him.”
“No. Way.”
She grinned. “Oh—here she is!”
The lace curtains parted and Magda appeared at the window. She opened it and leaned over, resembling Juliet. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders and she laughed, her face beaming with joy. She said something to him, waving her hand as if to invite him up, and everyone in the crowd began to shout.
Her fiancé began climbing the ladder with a large bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, as his support group stood in a line behind. The ladder looked rickety, so I hoped they’d spring forward to catch him if it went down. Step by step, he climbed up, reaching the top rung, which ended right at her window. He whispered something. She whispered something back. They stared at each other in the moonlight, and for a few seconds, there was only silence.
I held my breath.
And then he began to sing. His deep, rich voice boomed out into the night with a passion that gave me goose bumps. His friends hummed in beautiful harmony for backup, but Magda had eyes only for him. I didn’t understand the words to the song, but I remembered when I saw my first opera at the Met in Italian and realized I didn’t have to truly know what they were saying to get the story. It was the same here.
The song was about love, and it was a gift offered to his bride.
The moon glowed and the stars twinkled, and for a few moments in the world, everything was perfect. Because we were all invited to step into their love story and share in their emotions.
Finally, he ended with a long, drawn-out note that was heartbreakingly tender, fading into gentle silence. Slowly, he pressed the bouquet to her chest in a parting gift.
She bent over and kissed him.
Everyone cheered and shouted. My heart expanded and my throat closed up. I’d never experienced this kind of feeling a part of something bigger and realized I’d cut myself out of any opportunity for this type of connection. Tonight was a gift, and I wasn’t about to waste a single moment. I wanted to remember tonight forever.
Catena sighed. “I cannot wait to find a love like that. When I’m ready.” I opened my mouth to agree, but she looked over my shoulder and gave me a mischievous wink. “See you later, cugina . Yours may be here now.”
In seconds, she’d disappeared, and Quint was beside me.
“Did you enjoy the singing?”
I stared into his face and wondered why I suddenly pictured myself on the balcony, looking down as he sang to me the night before our wedding. Blinking, I tried to erase the image, but it stubbornly held. “Um, yes. It was very romantic. I didn’t know about decorating the bride’s room, either. I think we need to steal some of these traditions for America.”
“Ah, what are some American traditions?” he asked.
“The usual, I guess. A bridal shower where gifts are given. A rehearsal dinner and reception. And of course, the bachelorette and bachelor parties.”
He lifted a brow. “What type of party is this?”
I grinned. “The bride takes a bunch of her friends and travels somewhere fun. Or goes out to party for a night.”
“Ah, I know this. We call it stag parties.”
“The ones we hold usually have strippers.”
His dark eyes widened. “I can’t even imagine this.”
“Same for the men. I guess we’re a bit wilder. It started as a way to blow off steam before committing for life.”
“Blow off steam?”
I loved the way he frowned intently when he didn’t understand my expressions. How could a man that sexy be adorable, too? “Be a little bad. Maybe we don’t have the best views of marriage in the US.”
“We take it seriously in Sicily, but there are still many men who like to be…a little bad.”
I laughed with him. Feeling the press of stares, I glanced around and noticed my cousins looking at us with big smiles, and my aunts nodding with approval. My cheeks heated. It was strange to have my dating life on display. I had an inkling of what it might be like if I was in love with a man everyone disapproved of. My mother was young and passionate. Would I have been so different if it had been me? I remembered the way she’d judged Jason and how angry I’d gotten. It was easy to blame a parent. I saw things more clearly now.
“I wonder if they are worried about my intentions toward you,” I said.
He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss in my palm. His eyes twinkled. “You can use me as you see fit, bella . I can take it.”
I bit my lip and shook my head, grinning. “You are very bad.”
“Will you come home with me tonight?” he asked softly. “Carmella is staying at her cousin’s.”
His gaze turned heated. The memory of our bodies entwined, lips skating over my naked skin, his breath in my ear, his hands in my hair, all of it washed over me and I trembled with longing. For more. “Yes.”
“And will you be my date for the wedding tomorrow?”
I touched his cheek. “ Sì. I would love to be your date.”
“Then let’s go home.”
He held my hand as we said our goodbyes, the sound of the word home echoing in my mind like a beautiful mantra.
—
The day of the wedding burned sunny and bright. I joined my family close to the church and watched the bride walk with her parents in a procession through the narrow streets. They strolled into the main square, where people lined up and waved, calling out auguri in booming voices. Magda looked stunning in her white dress, holding a bouquet of orange flowers, her veil and train trailing behind. As she reached us, she blew me a kiss, which I returned, and then we followed her in a group to the church, where the bells rang merrily and the town gathered to celebrate a local wedding.
The groom was already at the altar, and one look told me he was a nervous wreck. Still, he looked handsome in his black tuxedo, hair neatly slicked back, clean-shaven, and eyes brimming with anticipation as he watched everyone walk in to take their seats.
I sat in the pew, light beaming through the stained-glass windows, surrounded by my aunts, uncles, and cousins. As I glanced around, I noticed the majority of them I now knew by not only name but interaction. Somehow, in the past month, I’d bonded with dozens of people who all meant something to me in some way.
The music soared and we stood. Magda had only her two sisters walk down the aisle in front, their sky blue dresses a happy pop of color. When the bride appeared in the entryway, flanked by her mother and father, a hush and gasp came over the crowd. Her husband-to-be seemed in a trance as he stared, and with every small step, she edged closer to where he stood. Magda’s parents placed her hand in his and stepped back.
And the ceremony began.
It was a full Mass, but after attending every Sunday, I was used to it now. I let each moment unfold and found peace in allowing myself not to rush to the finish. Seemed I’d gotten used to seeking the end and forgetting about the journey. It wasn’t about the pronouncement of being husband and wife or rushing to the reception or wondering what happened next.
It was about this second, right now. And it was beautiful.
They became husband and wife. They kissed. They walked back up the aisle together, hand in hand, rings shining on their fingers.
I was so damn lucky to be part of it.
We took pictures galore and my cousins shrieked with excitement. “Let’s go party!” Catena announced, linking my arm with hers and Carmella’s. Quint joined in with Theo and we made our way to the winery for the reception. Tables were scattered on the deck outside, overlooking the vineyard, the mountains shimmering in the distance. A full band entertained, while wine and endless amounts of food were first passed around, then formally served at the tables.
It was a celebration of love and life and family. My sides hurt from laughing and my stomach hurt from overeating. Suddenly, the band launched into a fast song and everyone screamed with excitement, flooding the dance floor. The guests formed a large circle and Quint grabbed my hand. “We must dance. It’s ‘La Tarantella.’?”
“I don’t know the steps!”
“It won’t matter. Just do what everyone else does,” Quint said.
I joined the circle and held Quint’s and Catena’s hands. As the music geared up, I threw myself with enthusiasm into the dance, moving with the crowd right and left, lifting our hands, feet jumping to the rhythm, voices shouting the words in gaiety. I noticed the very young and the very old were part of it, catching sight of my grandparents dancing next to each other. The joyous grin on my grandfather’s face made me stumble. I wondered if he’d once looked at my mother like that—with stars in his eyes and pure love in his heart for his precious daughter. Emotion flooded me at the thought.
After the dance, I staggered away for air, gulping down water. The sun soon set and threw the sky and grounds into a fiery color explosion. I watched the light get swallowed by shadows, inch by inch, and wondered how I was ever going to be happy alone now that I knew what I was missing.
I turned to find my grandfather walking up behind me. He looked handsome in a neatly pressed navy blue suit and red tie. I caught the scent of aftershave in a comforting spice. He’d gotten a haircut, and the strands were combed to the side. His hazel eyes scrutinized me behind his glasses, as if he were still unsure what he wanted to say. “Aurora. Do you enjoy the wedding?”
I nodded. His big smile was gone and replaced by his usual reserve. Knowing there was a deeper level of emotion residing within him that I was unable to reach hurt me. Which was ridiculous. I was being ridiculous, treating my grandfather’s affection like a prize to chase and claim. I had no right to his love on my own. It was strictly from my mother’s memory. He didn’t know me deep enough to care like that. “ Sì. It’s beautiful. I liked the dance.”
“?‘La Tarantella.’ I have not done it in a while. Makes me tired.”
“Me, too.”
We stood in silence and watched the evening creep in. “What did you do this week?”
I gathered my breath. “Quint took me to see how coral jewelry is made. I bought this.” My fingers brushed against my necklace. “I learned a lot—I had no idea how important coral was to Sciacca.”
“After the coral was gone, many had to go back to fishing in order to make money. Craft is important here. Learning the old ways is not just for pride but to carry on our traditions.”
“I can see that. I don’t think there are enough crafts- and tradespeople anymore. Everyone wants to learn tech and sales, but no one wants to make anything. Here, art and wine and food are respected as highly as computers or social media.”
He cocked his head. “Your job is this media, no? And…sales.”
“It is. It was.” I laughed self-consciously. “I’ve been writing a lot. Posts about Italy and how it feels to welcome change. Stuff about Mom and grief. I’m exploring.”
“That is good. To be happy in life and in work.”
“Were you?” I almost clapped my hand over my mouth as the question popped out. He narrowed his gaze, but I didn’t back down. “Were you happy? With Nonna and your job and your family?”
Puzzlement flickered over his features. “It is different. I did what was needed. My father came from Lucca and worked on an olive oil farm. I followed in his footsteps. I did not ask if I was happy—I was glad to be able to support a family.”
Fascinated, I probed a bit more. “How did you meet Nonna?”
“We were introduced by our families. She was a friend of my cousin’s. I asked if I could court her and her father allowed me the privilege.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the idea of such a custom. “Did she get a choice, or did her father force her to date you?”
He looked affronted. “There was a choice, of course! I was very handsome.”
A startled laugh escaped. My grandfather did have a sense of humor. “I bet you were.”
He shifted his feet. “We had a good life. Good children. A house and jobs. Food and family. What more is there to ask for? This happiness you ask about. All of this should be enough.”
I nibbled at my lip, assessing his sudden irritation. “Did you want my mother to do the same? Listen to you and do what was expected rather than running after my dad? Do you blame her for chasing what she thought would make her happy?”
A dark cloud settled over him and I regretted pushing. It was a beautiful day, the day of my cousin’s wedding, and here I was playing with fire. I was like my mother—stubborn. I wondered if it was easier for him to forget about me and Mom and leave it in the past. Because talking about her and her choices was painful.
“Never mind,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” He shook his head hard. “No, I do not blame her. I didn’t understand. Your nonna did—she tried to explain, but I thought we were enough. Her family. I did not understand this type of love. The love she had for your father.” I held my breath and prayed he’d continue. “But it was good. She was happy. I know this now.”
“How? How do you know for sure she was happy?”
Understanding beamed in his eyes as he stared at me. Surprise threaded his tone. “Because of you, Aurora. My sweet fragolina . Your mamma had your father and you. She had the family she chose. And now you are here, a gift from above. You are here, my second chance.”
My feet froze to the ground. I swayed, staring at my grandfather, who had said these extraordinary words without hesitation. My eyes burned and my voice came out like gravel. I said the only thing I could in that moment, when I finally realized what I meant to him. “Babba.”
He blinked. And slowly reached out.
I stepped into his arms and hugged him tight. The scent of coffee and spice rose to my nostrils. His jacket was rough against my cheek, his bones solid yet fragile within my grip. Comfort and warmth surrounded me, burrowing deep into my soul. Our embrace brought in a solace that lingered. And stayed.
When we broke away, I brushed at my stinging eyes and laughed. A smile tipped his lips. “Come. We go back now.”
I followed him back to the party.