Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Helping.”
She looked around at the mess I had made. “I see.”
I shrugged. “Trying.”
She patted my cheek. “Good boy.”
“Nonna, can you make Effie poached eggs? She loves those.”
“Of course.”
I puttered, getting juice, making toast, carrying the coffeepot outside to the patio, awkwardly setting the table. Effie came into the kitchen, smiling. “Do I smell bacon?”
Nonna laughed. “I saved it from being burned strips of cardboard.”
Effie joined in her amusement and shook her head at me. “Roman.”
They were both aware of my cooking limitations. Grilling was my forte. I only grinned. “I made the coffee.” It was really the only other thing I could make aside from toast.
We sat at the table. I was famished. I polished off everything they didn’t. The entire time, I touched Effie. Her hand. Her leg. I wiped her cheek when she got butter from her toast on it. I kissed her more than once. Nonna watched us, beaming. What happened had scared her terribly. We told her a semi-version of the truth, and she had been horrified that we’d been attacked. That Effie’s sister was involved. She spared no sympathy for Marianne’s death.
“Good. She cannot hurt you anymore,” she murmured to Effie, hugging her hard. “We will not speak of her again.”
And that was the end of that.
She had been pleased with the decision Luca and I had made, beaming at us. “My boys. Your mother would be so proud. As am I. Live your life and be at peace. You deserve it.” She kissed our cheeks and walked away.
This morning, she was happy, relaxed. I was still on a high from my news and bursting to tell Nonna. But I knew Effie was hesitant since it was early. Still, I couldn’t help but slip my hand under the table and place it over Effie’s stomach, spreading my fingers wide, knowing our child was there. Effie met my eyes and smiled. I returned her happy expression, then picked up my coffee cup, meeting Nonna’s wide gaze.
“What?” I asked.
She looked between us. “Roman,” she breathed out. “You—” She stopped speaking, then looked at my wife “Effie, you are with child?”
I glanced at Effie, panicked. I had given it away. But Effie only smiled. “Yes, Nonna. Roman and I are expecting.”
Nonna was speechless. Then the most extraordinary thing happened. Tears filled her eyes. They ran down her face, unheeded. I was shocked. Before Effie entered my life, I had never seen Nonna cry. Never once. When I told her we were to be married, she had shown emotion, and tears had glimmered. But this news had unlocked her tears fully. She stood, throwing open her arms. “Roman!”
I stood and held Nonna. She cried for a moment, then pulled back and cupped my face, her joy evident through her tears. “So happy! You will be a father!” She turned and hugged Effie, rocking her like a child, speaking fast in Italian, offering blessings and gratitude. She cupped Effie’s face and kissed her forehead. “Such wonderful news.”
“It’s early, Nonna,” I warned. “We aren’t sharing the news just yet.”
“No, but we must take good care of your little mama. A baby in the house. Oh, I have so much to do!” She turned and hurried away, talking to herself. I sat down and looked at Effie.
“She cried.”
Effie nodded, also affected by Nonna’s tears.
“I have never seen her cry until this past while. Not when my mother died, not when my father was horrible, never.” I linked hands with my wife, staring down at her ring. I looked up, astonished. “But with you… You bring such emotions to us all, Effie. Such joy.”
She smiled. “That is a beautiful thing to say, Roman.”
“It’s true. You are the brightest of lights, and you touch all of us.” I brought her hand to my mouth. “Especially me.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
I leaned close and kissed her.
“I love you, Little Tiger. Always.”
EPILOGUE - ROMAN
THREE AND A HALF YEARS LATER
The evening sky was a mixed canvas of yellows, pinks, and purples. The scent of flowers, grapes, and soil permeated the air. I sat at the table, looking across at Nonna. She was holding her favorite girl in the world. My daughter, Gemma Lynn, was snuggled in Nonna’s arms, gazing up at her in fascination. Barely a month old, she was rarely out of someone’s arms. Her birth had been fraught with peril, and for a short time, it appeared we would never get to have her, but thanks to the miracle of modern medicine and a fabulous doctor, she was with us, happy, healthy, and loved.
On my knees, my son turned to me, his eyes so like his mother’s, confused. “Gemmy not talk much.”
I laughed and ruffled his hair. “She will, my boy. Then you’ll be begging me to tell her to be quiet.”
He pursed his lips, which made me grin. He had Effie’s eyes, but he was me. Right down to the stubbornness factor. That was what was keeping him up way past his bedtime, because there was going to be a fire tonight. Which meant marshmallows. His favorite thing. He would sit on my lap, and we would slowly spin the stick around until the marshmallow was puffed and golden. And then no matter how many times I told him to go slowly, he would stuff it into his mouth and yelp at the heat, then do it all over again.