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Is that some kind of red herring to throw everyone off?
It's just so hard to tell, in the kind of world I live in, and with La Strega as a grandmother.
Am I really his wife?
Lorenzo offers his hand, and I don't hesitate to take it even though I still have no idea if he's spoken the truth or not.
What's the difference, anyway?
If I'm not really his wife now, I will be sooner or later, and oh!
His fingers have finally twined with mine, and I end up unexpectedly catching my breath. Is it normal to feel instantly and unbelievably hot, just because it's my first time to have my hand held by a man who isn't my flesh and blood?
And the way brute strength practically oozes from his grip—-
It should terrify me, shouldn't it?
But it doesn't.
Because there's one last thing about his grip that I notice.
And it's what makes me blink fast and hard.
Don't cry, you idiot.
Because no one would care why I'd be doing it.
The moment I shed a single tear in this crowd, I might as well as proclaim myself as the Marchettis' weakest link.
So don't you dare cry!
Because the truth is best kept a secret, anyway.
Some things, we don't care if the whole world knows.
But then there are other things...
Things like how Lorenzo is holding my hand so, so securely remind me of the times my oldest brother held my hand when we were young, and all we had were each other because everyone else wanted to kill us.
Like now.
(Where are you, Giancarlo?)
Those are the things the world doesn't deserve to know.
(I want my big brother back, God. Please!)
My heart suddenly feels like it's about to implode with pain.
If we knew for sure Giancarlo was dead, it would hurt us, but it wouldn't break us.
Death is just a doorway. My whole famiglia knows what's waiting on the other side, and it's where we want to go.
But this, though?
This is different.
(Because Giancarlo is alive!)
