Because I told myself I wouldn’t fall. That I couldn’t. But now, it’s like I’m halfway off the ledge and the wind has caught my dress, and I don’t know if I’m flying or free-falling.
We haven’t spoken much since that night. Just polite greetings, shared glances, and brief conversations during meals. But I see the way he looks at me. Like he wants more. Like he’s waiting for me to give him something I’m not sure I have. It scares me to death. If I surrender to him fully, and he realizes I’m not enough, what then? What if he realizes I'm too broken for him to mend?
I glance at the time on my phone. 2:07 p.m. I blink and curse inwardly. Dio Santo. I missed noon completely. The hours slipped past while I was lost in thought. How did the time run off like that?
I should be in the garden by now. Lunch can wait. I always feel more like myself there. It’s where I breathe easiest. My little patch of peace. Where I read, knit, tend to the soil. Where I forget, if only briefly, that I am a wife unsure of her place.
I fold the half-knitted scarf and slip it into the woven basket beside the bed. I grab my slippers and am halfway to the door when a knock halts me.
I pause briefly, wondering if it's Maria coming to check on my progress. I call out, “Come in,” though the word sticks awkwardly in my throat.
Maria peeks through the doorway. Her cheeks are pink, and she signs quickly, excitement in every movement. Someone is here to see you. Signor Giovanni asks for you in the foyer.
My stomach flips. A visitor?
I sign quickly. Who is it?
She shakes her head, offering only a soft smile and a small shrug.
A hundred thoughts race through my head. My father. Has it come to that? Why would Giovanni allow him in? He promised me. He swore he wouldn’t. I cling to that promise even now, willing it to mean something. I don’t ask Maria anything further. I rise and slip into my flats, heart already pounding as I follow her out into the hall.
My pulse is hammering as we walk down the stairs, past the tall windows spilling afternoon light across the floor like golden silk. I press my palm to my stomach, willing the panic to settle. Then, I rub my wrists, anxiety getting the better of me.
The foyer comes into view, and I stop. For a second, I don’t breathe.
It’s not my father. It's a familiar face I haven't conjured up in weeks. Guilt and recognition war with each other as my mind calls up his name.
Dario. My cousin.
For a moment, I don’t move. He stands there in a worn grey coat, his familiar slouch, the same crooked smile that used to make me laugh when I was a kid. He’s older now, but still the same. Lean, wide-eyed, awkward. His hair is longer, swept carelessly back.
His eyes are warm, bright, and full of recognition. I haven’t seen him in years. And just like that, something inside me thaws. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel small. Because in a world that’s changed so suddenly, he is something familiar. Something good.
A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. It rushes up, full and uncontained, curling at the corners of my lips like it’s always belonged there. He opens his arms without hesitation.
“Cugina,” he says, grinning.
I run to him without thinking. And for the first time in weeks, I feel like I’ve found a piece of home.
I fling myself into Dario’s arms, the momentum catching him off guard. He stumbles, and we crash to the floor in a heap, his body cushioning mine as we land on the cool marble of the foyer and the air is literally knocked out of my lungs. He lets out a startled laugh, his shoulders quaking underneath me. Laughter bubbles up in my chest, something sort of a soundless vibration.
Tomasso’s voice cuts through, laced with amusement. “What a spectacle, you two.” I glance up, catching his roguish grin, but my eyes slide to Giovanni.
He stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets. His face is unreadable. I can't tell if he's annoyed or bemused. The look he gives me sends a shiver down my spine.
We scramble to our feet, dusting ourselves off. Dario’s hands fly into motion, signing with that familiar, eager energy. You look radiant, cugina. Marriage suits you. His grin is wide, boyish, and my cheeks warm.
I sign back, my movements teasing. How are you? How’s school? Still charming your way through?
He laughs, his voice a soft huff, and signs. Barely. It’s a grind, but I’m surviving. His eyes sparkle, but I notice the shadows beneath them, the faint bruises of exhaustion.
He looks me over, his smile never leaving his face. Dio, I missed you.
I sign back eagerly. I missed you too.
Giovanni stands silently, a towering presence at the edge of my vision. His discomfort radiates, and I feel it acutely. He's glaring holes into Dario.
Tomasso claps a hand on his shoulder, his voice light as he says, “Come on, let’s give them space to catch up.” He tugs, but Giovanni’s feet are rooted to the ground.
