La Famiglia (16 page)

She smiled when he went still. “Morning,” she said.

Mira turned with his help to face him and lie on her side. She went into his arms. Holding his waist, placing her face against the hard definition of his chest with her belly resting against his hot and sweaty abdomen, she felt bliss. His heart hammered so fast she feared he’d go into arrest. But she held to him tightly and waited for both of them to settle into bliss.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked her, his voice unintentionally gruff.

“Today is mine again, huh? Anything I want, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled.

“Then I want to see everything. Take me on a tour of Mondello,” she said.

“A tour? I had planned to take you into Palermo, Bagheria to see friends and family.”

“Are your parents buried there? Bagheria?” she asked.

She felt him go stiff. She waited a beat and then lifted her head from his chest. He moved to give her room so he could look into her eyes. She tried to spare him her
morning breath but she had to know. “Your father is buried there? Right? What about your mother?”

“My father is buried in the family plot. Yes. It’s in Bagheria where he was born. My mother is buried here.”

“What? Here? At Villa Mare Blu? Or in Mondello?”

He released her and turned over to his back. Mira lifted on her elbow to stare at him. “Why not bury her next to your father?”

“She wasn’t his wife, Mira. I’ve explained this. Patri never divorced his wife. The church still sees him as married. His wife will be buried next to him. That is how it’s done,” he said.

“Oh, baby,” she ran her hand over his chest. “I’m sorry. I know how important they both are to you. It must have been hard to separate your parents that way.”

“I’ve learned to live with hard things, Mira. Mama loved Mondello. And I made sure she was laid to rest properly.” His gaze dropped over and fixed on her. “She’s at peace now.”

“I want to meet her. For you and I to go visit her grave so I can pay my respects. Is that okay?”

“Why insist?” he asked.

“Why? She’s the most important woman in the world to you that’s why. She made you.” Mira touched his face. “You’re my husband. Shouldn’t I meet your mother?” When he didn’t respond she tried harder to explain. “Even in death I can feel her everywhere. Sorrento, here, I can see how she cared for your home and took care of this family. If I had any family I would want them to know you. I’d take you to Virginia and have you sit at the table so my granny could make some of her best buttermilk fried chicken. I’d wave bye to you from the front porch as my Pop-Pop took you out to hunt past the apple orchids on his land.” She blinked away tears and tried to keep the pain of their loss from her voice. She missed them so much. She had learned to live with the loneliness after their death, until she found Fabiana. The sister she never had. Now even she was gone. All she had was the family they made together.

“I would have loved to meet them,” he said in earnest.

She kissed his nose. “Take me to meet your mother.”

“How about breakfast? Sophia put things in the cooler. I can cook for us.” Giovanni grinned. He sat up. She was forced to do the same.

Mira frowned at his attempt to change the subject. Maybe it was painful for him to visit his mother’s grave. She couldn’t bring herself to visit her grandparents’ grave.

“Don’t dismiss what I’m asking of you, please. I think we should do the hard things together. It makes us stronger.”

He glanced her way and then averted his gaze. “You should eat. Let me fix something. I’ll think on it.”

She loved him for offering breakfast but he was not a cook. And her keeping him from the stove averted the accidents in the kitchen. “We can shower and I can cook for you? How does that sound?” Mira offered.

“And then… my beautiful wife…  I will take you to meet my mother.”

Mira smiled. “Thank you.”

“Because you are right, Bella. She’s important to me, just as you are. And I want her to see how happy you’ve made me.”

Mira grabbed his face. She kissed him. “Can we be like this always?”

“
Sì. Per sempre tua—forever yours
.”

* B
*

Marietta yanked hard on the curtain and dragged it across the window. In an instant the room was flooded with the bright side of morning. Lorenzo shielded his face. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. The sheet was tangled around his waist and thigh. The bed covers had all been kicked over to the floor.

“Wake up.” Marietta folded her arms over her breasts and approached the bed. Their clothes were tossed everywhere. Carlo disappeared into the night. Lorenzo booked a room at a small hostel instead of returning her to their yacht. After the drinking and celebrating over his proposal neither of them could be trusted on the open sea. The rest of the evening was a blur. If she hadn’t woke up stripped naked with the familiar aches in her lower back and pussy from sex with Lorenzo, she wouldn’t have been able to piece together what happened last night.

“What is it, Marie? I’m tired,” he groaned. “Damn. Close the fucking curtain.”

He called her Marie from time to time. A pet name she liked. And therein lie the problem. She liked him—the good, the bad, the confusing. No. She loved him. She had to know the truth. It was killing her.

“You proposed,” she said.

He froze. He lowered his arm and looked at her. She felt her heart sink. It was definitely the booze talking last night. And that hurt. She never wanted to be married. Never wanted a mobster boyfriend either. But with Lorenzo she wanted many things. Now he had gone and opened his big fat mouth. He reopened a wound on her heart she thought had long healed. The need to be loved, truly loved in return. 

“Were you serious? When you asked me to marry you, Lo?”

Lorenzo sat up in the bed. “
Mi dispiace molto
. So sorry,
cara
,” he said.

Marietta closed her eyes and rubbed the tension from her brow. She bit so hard on her tongue she feared her teeth would sink through. She wanted to scream at his dirty ass for tricking her into believing he could be serious. She wanted to rage against her own stupidity for thinking their fling could ever mean more to him.

“Sdraiati.”
He told her to lie down. He took her hand and pulled her closer to the bed. Despite her hurt she went into his arms and lay on top of him. “I should have never proposed to you that way,” he admitted. “In a dirty discothèque after we’d been drinking.”

“Forget it. I didn’t want to marry you,” she mumbled. “Never thought of you that way.”

He chuckled. “You break my heart,
cara.
Was I serious? Yes.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his face. “Yes what?” she asked with a tremulous voice.

“
Sposami o morirò
—marry me or I’ll die,” he said.

Her heart stopped beating. She had learned to tell when he was lying, to read his expression and tell when he was tricking her. She saw nothing but deep sincerity in his eyes and heard it in his voice. He flashed her that smile of his and she smiled back. “I want you to be my wife. The mother of my children—”

“I don’t want children,” she reminded him.

“
Basta!
The things you say woman. Of course you want children!” he stated. “And you will give me sons,” he smacked her on the ass.

She dropped her head on his chest and hugged him tightly. The light of love he sparked in her heart melted her defiance. She wasn’t making him any damned babies. But that was an argument for another time. At the moment she wanted something more. She wanted to be his.

“Today we get your ring. Do you have your passport and birth certificate?”

“Yes,” she said. She tried to contain her excitement. “I don’t want to get married in a church. Let’s do it at sea! On the yacht, with the ocean around us.”

“Whatever you say,
cara
. I will visit a friend of mine, one who can expedite things here in France. We will marry. As soon as possible.”

“After you propose to me properly.” She sat upright. Lorenzo winced. She moved so she didn’t crush his legs. “I need a proposal with you on bended knee.”

“Knee?” Lorenzo frowned. “You want me on my knees?
Che palle!
”

Marietta pushed up and stood on the mattress. She crossed her arms and glared down at him. “I want a proper proposal. I want to do it official. And then I will marry you and make you miserable for the rest of your life!”

Lorenzo laughed. He tackled her knees and she screamed. Lorenzo flipped her on the bed. It didn’t hurt, but she was surprised by his swift maneuvers. He pinned her beneath him. He held her face. “I will propose on my knees, I will do it in front of the world. And then we buy you the most beautiful dress in France, today.”

“Okay,” she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy.”

“Why are you happy, beautiful? Tell me?” he asked.

“I came to Italy looking for something. I don’t know. I wanted to belong, to something, to someone. And I found you.” She kissed him shyly and opened her heart to him. “I love you, Lorenzo Battaglia.”

He kissed her in return.
“Ti Amo, Marietta,”
he said before slipping inside of her again.

* B
*

Mirabella watched her step. It was extremely bright out today. The sunlight buttered the trees, flowers, groves and landscape. Every color of the day from the flowers to the trees held such vibrance. Together they strolled along a path that scaled up a hill. The forest grew denser and the breeze felt much cooler. She wore Giovanni’s shirt over the top of her summer dress. He walked at her side, his hand holding hers, in just his slacks and bare feet. She feared for his feet. Even in her thong sandals she found the grass prickly with rocks and rough patches that caused her to stumble a few times. But Giovanni kept a protective watch over her.

Between Villa Mare Blu and the sea there was a clearing, and on the emerald green land a safely guarded private garden of blue roses. For the first time since she arrived in Sicily she saw his mother’s flower, her flower. Whoever cared for the roses nurtured their growth and they bloomed everywhere. No other flower was allowed to thrive within the same vicinity.

The crypt was four feet tall and three feet wide. It was made of grey Italian marble that glistened under the rays of the sun. To the left was a matching marble bench for those who came to visit. Mira took a step forward. She could read the scripture carved into the surface. It said Evelyn ‘Eve’ McHenry was a beloved daughter, mother, and wife in Italian.
Wife?
Clearly that was Giovanni’s attempt to give her some dignity in death though he could not give her the Battaglia name.

She glanced to her husband. His dark hair was tussled from a whipping breeze with most of it in his eyes. He stared at the grave with not a trace of emotion on his face. His mother’s image was preserved in a small cameo picture on the crypt. She was a striking woman with red hair and piercing blue eyes.

Mira removed her hand from his. She stepped to the rose bush, careful of the thorns when she plucked the prettiest bloom. She walked over and placed it on top of the crypt. “
Mi chiamo Mirabella.
Giovanni’s wife.
Piacere
.”

The words felt heavy as they left her heart. Being so close to someone so loved brought forth emotions of her dearly departed mother.
What if her mother had lived?
What if she had been there for her when she found herself alone at sixteen? Would she and Giovanni have ever met? He says they were destined to meet, but love didn’t happen through destiny. Look at Evelyn, stolen from her family so young. Forced into the role of mistress, and then mother. In love with a man who caused her so much pain. Did she consider herself destined for this life?

Giovanni’s hands landed on her shoulders. Mira smiled. “We can go. I wanted to pay my respects,” she said. “I have.”

He kissed the back of her head and then embraced her. “She would have loved you, Mira. And our children. Madre wasn’t like the rest of them. She had no prejudice, no envy or spiteful nature. No matter who a person was she loved and accepted them into her heart. That’s why my father could never let her go. He told me once that he wanted that love all for himself. I guess I’m like him in that way.”

“No, honey, you aren’t that selfish.”

Her husband sighed. She tried to look back at him but he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He lifted his face. “I can remember how happy my mother was when she was blessed with a girl. From the moment she brought Catalina home my mother was changed.”

They stood there for a moment staring at Evelyn’s crypt. If she listened hard enough she could hear the soft sounds of the ocean waves breaking across the shore.

“It’s beautiful here. Peaceful. Did you do this for her?” Mira asked.

“I did. I told her when she took sick after Patri died that I would bring her body back to Ireland. I’d lay her to rest with her parents, and sisters. She refused. She wanted to be here. Close to Patri and us. She loved Mondello.” He dropped his chin on Mira’s shoulder and his hands held the lower swell of her belly. “My father’s murder broke her. I knew she loved him despite everything. In the end I never understood why.”