Page 96 of I Would Beg For You
He waves at the reception room behind us. “Vai, vai. Go enjoy yourselves.”
I lean closer to Valentino as we make it inside. “What did he say to me?”
He cocks his head to whisper in my ear. “From the motherland of seas, mountains, lakes, and rivers, may its waters and earth bless your soul, your womb, your hands.It’s an old blessing for brides on their wedding day or when they first visit the house of their husband’s relatives after the wedding.”
A soft warmth radiates from my chest when I ponder these words. Don Giorgio already seemed to have taken Valentino under his wing. In including me this way today, he embraced our union and welcomed me in, too.
Just like Val’s family has done. Luciano is becoming a close friend. Marco’s not blood, but he’s there for us, and we can count on him. Carlito and Ina, who I’d never have guessed aretogether—she won’t marry him, though, loving the label of living ‘in sin’—are like doting mother hen with me. Luka is a burst of sunshine, and Francesca probably already has me listed as BFF in her contacts. Franco calls me regularly, and lately, he’s started to ask for dating advice, like a guy would ask his big sister.
And Victor—he surprised us by stepping out of an Uber in front of the house one day. Valentino is a big man, but Victor is literally like a giant come to life. Stoic and unmoving like a small mountain, scary almost in his perpetual silence broken by occasional grunts and one-word answers. Yet, his deep blue Andretti eyes, they’re kind, gentle even. I can totally see him as a quiet yet doting father, those beautiful eyes watching his children learn about life as he keeps a close watch on them.
Val and Luciano both say Victor was paranoid about returning to the States before the family found its foothold again. That he came to visit us, and especially to welcome me into it, says legions.
All of them folding me into their unit, it coddled my bruised heart. And last week, I finally got the chance to meet my uncle in person. I was right—the minute our eyes locked in real life, he opened his arms to me, and I found a piece of myself in his hold.
And today, we were welcomed into a bigger fold. Can life really be turning the corner for us, finally?
Valentino and I are seated at a table with a few other couples—I find out the men are all Dons. We make it through dinner and the speeches, then it’s as if an unspoken cue goes around the table, and the men all stand up.
My husband leans over and drops a kiss on my temple before leaving with the others.
The formal introductions. They’re about to happen. Behind closed doors, in private, of course.
“He’s hot,” one of the women says, fanning herself with a napkin.
“The wedding night must’ve been intense,” another quips.
I can feel my cheeks burning. Bawdy laughter ripples across the table as the women all swap chairs to come huddle around me.
One of them throws her arms around me and hugs me tight to her ample chest. “You poor figlia. We’ve been following the news. After everything you went through…”
Valentino had warned me about these wives of Dons and bosses. Basically, they were Italian mammas—overbearing, loud, smothering, but it’s all meant with love. I have no trouble believing this as they fall on me like a flock protecting an injured duckling.
Thankfully, they’re happy to talk about me and my story among themselves. I’m only required to add in a clarification or a yes or no in some places, and they’re off again embroidering on my tale. I have to admit, it’s fun to watch, like being in the middle of a soap opera or a dramatic telenovela.
The women start to titter, then I feel a pair of warm, strong hands on my shoulders. I don’t need to look up to know my husband is back. He tells them something in Italian, tone sounding apologetic. More titters, followed by a chorus of “Vai, vai!” He thanks them then is pulling me to my feet.
“Dance with me?” he asks.
I smile and let him lead me to the dance floor. I can’t believe we all missed the bride and groom’s first dance.
“How battered are you right now?” he asks as we start swaying to the slow song playing.
“Battered, breaded, and fried to a crisp.”
He laughs.
“I enjoyed it, though,” I tell him, looking up into his brilliant blue eyes.
Valentino sighs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you all this.”
I frown. “All what?”
“A wedding like this.”
I glance around at the laden tables, the remnants of the five-course meal gone, the wine, the crush of people.
“It’s a bit…much.”
