When I'm standing in front of her, I take her hands, and hold them in mine. I turn her palms upward and press a kiss into each one. Her breath trembles. I frame her face gently, like it’s the most fragile thing I own.
“No,” I say, loud enough for her to hear, loud enough for it to carry straight to her bones. “No, Liliana. I didn’t marry you because of Alessio. I married you because the moment I saw you in your father’s study, I wanted you. Not out of duty. Not out of guilt, but because something in me knew I needed you. You. Not what you reminded me of, not who you resembled. Just you.”
I speak with the hope that she can hear the truth in my voice. “I saw that you were stronger than most people I have ever met. Because I know what you must have endured and overcome while growing up.”
She doesn’t move. Just watches me, her eyes impossibly still, like she’s balancing on some invisible edge, afraid to lean forward, afraid of what it might cost her if she does. Her hands tremble slightly in mine, and I feel the weight of everything she’s too afraid to show.
I keep my voice steady, but I let it soften and carry the ache I’ve been holding. “You don’t believe me,” I say. “I see that. But I love you, Liliana. And I’m not afraid of the work it’ll take to make you believe it. I'll keep proving it, in every moment, every damn day, in every way I know how, until you feel it, until it lives in your bones and sits in your chest and wraps around you like something permanent. Until you look at me and know, without a doubt, that you are wanted. That you are mine. And I am yours.”
Something breaks in her gaze, just for a second. Her lips part. Her brows draw, like she’s trying to hold back something too sharp to swallow. And then I see it—that flicker of something desperate and hopeful pushing to the surface, begging to be let out.
But she doesn’t sign. Her hands fall from mine. Her gaze wavers. She turns, quietly, like if she moves slowly enough, it won’t hurt.
And she leaves.
And I stand there, watching the space she left behind, watching the quiet that settles in her place, and for the first time in a long time, I feel truly hollow. Like something vital has been carved clean out of me and taken with her.
12
LILIANA
Success!
The word blooms in my head as I tie the last knot and set the needles down. I hold up the scarf, its storm-gray wool soft and heavy in my hands, the color a perfect match for Giovanni’s eyes.
Three weeks of stolen moments, needles clicking under Maria’s patient guidance, and now it’s done. I run my fingers over the tight, even stitches, dragging my fingers slowly down the length. A quiet pride swells in my chest. It's warm. It's whole. It's his.
I still haven’t figured out how to give it to him yet, how to bridge the gap between this small gesture and the weight of what it means. It feels too intimate, too raw. It's like handing him apiece of my heart. I set it on the bed, the gray wool stark against the white linens, and sit back, my mind already wandering.
There’s a knock at the door. At first, it's light, then two more in quick succession. I know it’s Maria. She always knocks like that.
I call out with a tap on the table, the signal we’ve come to use, and a moment later, she steps inside.
Her apron is dusted with flour, a smudge of it streaking across her forearm. The scent of baked bread clings to her like a second skin, warm and comforting. Her hair is pinned in a messy bun, wisps falling to her temple, and when her eyes meet mine, they crinkle with a smile so kind it wraps around me like a shawl.
Without thinking, I reach for the scarf on the chair beside me. My fingers tremble as I lift it and hold it up, the storm-gray yarn unraveling like a banner between us. I sign, eyes bright, It’s finished! The words pour from me fast and eager, and I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.
Her eyes widen, and something tender softens her expression. She comes closer, touching the edge of the scarf with reverence, then signs, It’s beautiful, Liliana. You did it.
My smile deepens. I’m so happy, I sign, the joy bubbling in my chest. The scarf had taken a lot of effort, and now that it’s done, I almost can’t believe it.
Maria nods, her hands moving quickly. I came to check if you need anything. If not, I’ll leave you to your peace.
She starts to turn, but something roots me in place, then moves me just as quickly. I step forward and, without thinking twice, wrap my arms around her.
She stills. I feel her breath catch. It’s not something I’ve done before, and I know it catches her off guard. But slowly, her arms lift and she returns the gesture, patting my back with gentle, uncertain hands. When I step back, there’s a slight blush on her cheeks, and her smile is shy, almost embarrassed.
She doesn’t know. She may never know. But she’s given me more than kindness, more than help. She’s given me the gift of quiet belonging. She saw me, my silence, my hesitation, and chose to draw me close instead of keeping her distance. She’s treated me like a sister, not minding my defect, not flinching at my muteness, never once making me feel less. I don’t know how to tell her how much that means to me. I don’t know if I ever will.
But I hold onto the moment. Hold onto the warmth of her, the quiet safety of her presence. She’s started calling me Liliana now, not Signora, not Mrs. It wraps around me in a way I never expected. It feels like love. The familial kind, the kind that doesn’t demand or weigh, the kind that simply is. And for that, I will always be grateful.
When she pulls away, there’s something soft in her eyes. Something motherly. She offers me a final smile, curtsies like she always does, and slips out the door without another word.
I sit back on the bed, exhaling. The scarf rests beside me, and my eyes catch on the light bouncing off its folds.
My thought wanders. My mind drifts back to that dinner. The way Giovanni had looked when he spoke of his brother. How his voice cracked when he said Alessio’s name. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look so raw, so unarmored. He let me see him. And that, more than anything, unraveled something inside me.
And when I asked, asked what I shouldn’t have, asked if he married me because of Alessio, he looked me in the eyes and said no. Not in signs, but with his voice, loud enough that I felt the vibration in my chest.
