That was when I noticed Giulia half hidden in the doorframe, her eyes so soft my own heart skipped a beat. She cradled Simona against her chest, who still looked sleepy.
“Happy birthday, birthday boy,” she said as she walked in. “How about cake?”
Giulia lit three candles on top of a cake, which was sprinkled with what I learned was funfetti. Daniele’s eyes became wide as he took in the cake. I lifted him on one of the chairs so he could get a good look at it. “You have to blow out the candles and make a wish.”
Simona tried to lean away from Giulia to touch the candles, and her face scrunched up in frustration when she couldn’t. “Do you need help?” Giulia asked Daniele as he blew out only one candle with his first attempt.
“You’re three, a big boy. You can do it,” I told him.
He gave a small nod and blew even harder. Both candles snuffed out this time.
“Good.”
Giulia beamed as she cut the first piece of the cake. When she pulled it out, its colorful layers became visible.
“Wow,” Daniele breathed. I froze, unable to believe what I’d heard. One simple word, the first word Daniele had spoken in my presence in months.
Wow, indeed.
I had to agree with him, not just because of the rainbow funfetti cake. Giulia set down a plate in front of me and sank down on a chair with Simona on her lap, who used the moment to shove her fingers into Giulia’s cake slice.
Giulia’s laugh rang out like a bell as she snatched up Simona’s tiny hand and put it in her mouth to lick away the buttercream before wiping the remains off with a napkin. I couldn’t stop staring at her.
She noticed, her expression morphing from embarrassment to confusion. She felt her face as if she expected there to be more cake then brushed out her bangs in the nervous gesture she often expressed. I couldn’t believe I’d focused on what I perceived as wrong with Giulia—like her bangs, her quirky dresses, her age—when I first met her instead of realizing what was good. And there were so many things that even the small annoyances faded into the background. Giulia was perfect for my kids and me. Maybe because of her age because she was still youthfully optimistic, naively reckless, and daringly unconventional.
She wasn’t what I’d wanted in a wife, but hell, if she wasn’t exactly what I needed.
“Is Dad a bad man?”
I almost fell off the ladder, my breath lodging in my throat. Daniele had said one or two words at the most in the two weeks since his birthday, and now he chose the morning before Christmas Eve for a loaded question like that. I waited for my initial shock to fade before I hung up another ornament on our Christmas tree. Then I slowly climbed down.
Daniele sat among the boxes with Christmas decorations, which I’d bought because I worried Gaia’s old things would bring back too many hurtful memories, while Simona ripped apart the silver tinsel that she discovered in one of them.
I sat down beside Daniele, searching his face. He was spinning a red ornament on the floor, watching it with a little frown. Loulou had dashed off the moment Elia had carried the tree into the living room this morning and refused to go anywhere near it. “Who’d tell you something like that?” It couldn’t be something he had decided for himself. He was too young.
“Mom.” His voice was a fluttering whisper and my heart ached hearing it. He still didn’t look at me, only at the ornament.
“What did she say?”
“That Dad’s bad. That he hurt Andrea and that made Mom sad.”
I bit my lip, trying to decide what to say. I bid my time by taking a piece of tinsel out of Simona’s mouth, which led to an angry cry, but I was too distracted to react. Put off by my lack of reaction, she fell silent.
Daniele lifted his eyes, meeting my gaze head-on. He trusted me enough to ask me this question, a question that must have weighed heavily on his thin shoulders in all these months. The truth was out of the question. And if I was being honest, I wasn’t sure how to answer his question truthfully. All I knew was Daniele deserved a happy childhood after everything he’d gone through. Lies were a slippery slope that eventually made you stumble. “Your uncle betrayed your dad. He ran away because he didn’t want to be punished for his mistake. That hurt your mom very much. She wasn’t herself after your uncle left her. That’s why she didn’t know what she was saying, Daniele. Your dad does everything to protect you and Simona because he loves you. He’d never hurt you or your sister.”
“He didn’t hurt Mom?”
“No,” I whispered. It was the truth and a lie. A lie that would help our family heal. Some lies we told others to protect them or ourselves; others we told ourselves for the same reason. Today’s lie was a bit of everything.
“You?”
“He doesn’t hurt me either.”
Simona crawled toward the tree and made a move as if to drag herself to her feet with a branch. I jumped to my feet and quickly snatched her away then carried her over to Daniele. “Will you keep watch over her?”
He nodded, and I put her in his lap. He hugged her to his body, and she seemed content for the moment. “You see,” I said softly. “You want to protect Simona, and I want to protect you, and your dad wants to protect all of us.”
After I was done decorating, the kids and I went into my paint room. As had been our routine over the last couple of weeks, both children got brushes, watercolors, and paper so they could entertain themselves while I finished the painting I’d started for Cassio. It was almost done. I wasn’t quite happy with the spray on the waves rolling onto the beach. They needed to appear more vivid. I wanted Cassio to smell the ocean air and feel the refreshing breeze when he saw it. He had a photo of the exact same view in our bedroom, but I hoped he’d love a canvas.
Loulou sniffed at the door, but she kept running over the paper and through the paint pots, spreading colorful pawprints everywhere, so she wasn’t allowed inside anymore.
Daniele dragged the brush over the sheet, creating blue lines, as if he, too, was painting the ocean.
I put down my brush and walked over to him. He didn’t look up as I sank down beside him. Simona hit the floor with her own paintbrush over and over again, splattering paint everywhere. My overalls and bare feet were already covered in a myriad of colors. Daniele had returned to his quiet self after our conversation this morning, pondering what I said. I wished I could glimpse into his head.
“Your dad would love a painting of the ocean for Christmas. Why don’t you give it to him?”
Daniele dipped the brush into the blue paint and continued drawing jerky lines. “Okay,” was his soft reply.
“Nothing would make your dad happier than spending time with you and hearing your voice again.”
Kissing Daniele’s temple, I rose to my feet and returned to my canvas.
We hosted Christmas Eve dinner for the family. Luckily, Sybil cooked most of the feast. Even Ilaria and her husband came over with their kids. Mia was still heavily pregnant. I had a feeling she’d get a Christmas baby, and I could tell that she desperately wanted to give birth. Mia’s and Ilaria’s kids were more boisterous than Daniele, but they got along well, despite Daniele’s selective muteness. When we settled at the table for dinner, one topic was definitely off-limits: Gaia. I didn’t mind. Too much of her presence still lingered within these walls.
Mansueto watched Cassio and me like a hawk. He was obviously protective of his son. “When are you going to bless us with another grandchild?”
I choked on a piece of roasted asparagus.
Daniele looked between his dad and me. I wasn’t sure if he understood. At least, Simona was busy squishing baby carrots in her hands.
“I’m blessing you with a grandchild any day now,” Mia said pointedly, patting her round belly.
Mansueto waved her off. “And I’m delighted about your son, but what about you, Cassio?”
Cassio set down his fork and knife slowly. A vein throbbed in his throat. I touched his leg under the table. I didn’t want a fight at Christmas dinner. “I have two small children. That’s enough.”
“You should keep your young wife in mind.”
This wasn’t about me. Maybe Mansueto worried that Andrea was indeed the father, not Cassio. Continuing the bloodline was something deeply ingrained in every mafia man, so it was astonishing that Cassio hadn’t done a paternity test the moment he’d found Gaia dead.
“I’m happy with what we have,” I said quickly.
Cassio touched my hand, gratefulness flashing in his eyes.
“Now, but what about in a few years?”
“Father,” Cassio said sharply. “That’s none of your business.”
Mia turned to me. “I hear you paint?”
I could have hugged her and gladly took her up on the topic change, even if Mansueto obviously wasn’t going to drop the topic anytime soon.
It was difficult to suppress my annoyance during dinner, so I was relieved when everyone left eventually. Father kept nagging me to take a paternity test. This was another subtle hint that I might not have an heir yet. After I’d brought Simona to bed, I found Giulia in the doorway to Daniele’s room. “Daniele wants to be tucked in by you tonight.”