Snatched Two Husbands, But They Both Remember the Fire Chapter 15

Snatched Two Husbands, But They Both Remember the Fire Chapter 15

Summer. Sophia’s flowers opened. She sent some. Wrapped in white paper. With a card. Just a drawing of a flower. Better than last time.

Alessia looked at them. “Is this… making up?”

“No,” I said, putting them in a vase. “She’s just done fighting.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Making up means we both let it go. Her being done means she’s the only one who let it go.”

“And you?”

“I let it go a long time ago.”

Rocco and Luca never did figure out who was first husband.

Not because they couldn’t fight it out. Because Alexander refused to pick.

“Figure it out yourselves,” he said in a family meeting. “Fight. Winner takes all.”

“And if we tie?” Luca asked.

“Then it stays like this,” Alexander smiled. “She can afford both of you.”

That night, they sat in the garden for hours. Whiskey on the table between them. Ice melting in the moonlight.

Nobody knew what they talked about.

Alessia tried to listen. Rocco hit her in the head with a rock.

But she said she heard words. “Rotating.” “Every other week.” “Holidays.”

“They’re making a schedule?”

“Don’t know,” she said, rubbing her head. “That’s just what I heard.”

Next morning, breakfast was different.

Rocco sat on my left. Not across.

Luca on my right. Same as always.

Still not much air between them. But not a whole table’s width anymore.

“Is it odd weeks or even?” Rocco asked.

“Even,” Luca said, cutting his egg. “Odd weeks you cook. Even weeks I cook. Yesterday was Monday. So you’re off today.”

“So I don’t have to cook?”

“No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Luca put down his fork.

“Because you’re in my seat. I couldn’t sit there, so I sat here.”

Rocco looked at his chair. Then at Luca’s usual spot. He didn’t move.

“I like this seat.

“That’s my seat.”

“So find another one.”

“I don’t want another one.”

“Then stand.”

Luca took a breath. Picked up his plate. Moved to the other side of the table. Sat down. His face didn’t change. But he switched to a sharper knife.

Rocco’s mouth went up a little. He took a piece of bacon from my plate. Ate it. Drank his coffee.

Luca watched. His face like still water. But his hand on the knife went white at the knuckles.

I pushed my plate to the middle.

“You want some, take it. Don’t steal.”

“Wasn’t stealing,” Rocco said. “I was asking.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“No,” he said. “I asked the bacon.”

“What’d the bacon say?”

“It said yes.”

I looked at Luca. His head was down. His shoulders were shaking. At first I thought he was mad.

Then I heard it. Quiet. Like wind in bamboo.

He was laughing.

Luca was laughing. Not the polite, put-together laugh. Real laugh. Eyes into half-moons. Little wrinkles on

his nose. Face all lit up.

I don’t see Luca laugh like that often.

Rocco looked at him. Then away.

But his mouth went up a little. Hardly anything.

The garden was full of roses. Red, pink, white on every branch.

“Boss!” Alessia from outside. Over the lawnmower. “The roses on Long Island opened! You wanna go?”

I looked at Rocco. At Luca.

“Go?”

Rocco finished his coffee. Put the cup down.

“Whatever.”

Luca wiped his mouth.

“Okay.”

I smiled. Got up. Opened the door.

Two sets of footsteps behind me.

One heavy. Like a drum. One light. Like a pen on paper.

One on the left. One on the right.

Long Island was what Sophia said.

Roses everywhere. A white stone path through them. Cats sleeping in the bushes.

Sophia stood in the middle. Light blue dress. Hair in a low ponytail. Watering can in her hand. Thinner than before. But her eyes had color.

She looked at me. Then left. Rocco. Then right. Luca. Then back at me.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t cry. Just put the watering can down. Nodded.

“Big sister.”

“Yeah.”

“Flowers opened.”

“I see.”

Rocco looked at a tree. Luca looked at boats on the water.

Sophia’s eyes went to Rocco. Just for a second. Then away.

“Tea?” she asked. “Just made it. Earl Grey. A little honey.”

“No. Just standing for a minute.”

“Okay.”

She picked up the watering can. Kept watering.

Water in the sun. On the leaves. Down the stems. Drops at the tips. Falling.

“Sophia.”

She turned around.

“You’re doing good.”

Her eyes went red. From the corners all the way. Bit her lip. Turned back to her flowers.

Water came out of the can faster. Like someone crying.

I stood there for a while. One cigarette long. Rocco didn’t smoke. Just stood.

Then I turned. Walked back down the white stone path.

Behind me, the watering can hit the ground.

Then Sophia crying. Not loud. The kind you can’t stop. From the back of your throat.

I didn’t look back.

“Let’s go,” I said. “Home.”

“Okay.” Two voices. Almost at the same time.

The car went back through the golden evening. The sea orange like juice.

“Catalina.”

Rocco’s voice.

“Yeah.”

His hand opened. In his palm, a piece of candy. Strawberry. Pink wrapper.

“Where’d you get that?”

“In the car. From whoever was here before.”

“You sure you didn’t buy it?”

His ears went red. Didn’t answer.

I took it. Opened it. Ate it.

Sweet.

Strawberry sweet. Little bit sour.

Up ahead, the estate gates. Open. Luca on the porch. A cup of tea in his hand. Waiting. He waved.

Rocco’s ears weren’t red anymore. But his mouth was still up.

Alexander called. Said he was coming for dinner. Wanted Luca’s pasta. My soup.

“Big sister,” he said on the phone. “Every weekend. I’ll come. I’ll just sit behind you three and watch. I won’t talk. That okay?”

“Call before you come. So we have an extra plate.”

Quiet on the phone.

Then his voice. Light.

“Okay. Every weekend.”

“Every weekend? You’re not busy?”

“Busy or not. You only have one big sister.”

I hung up.

The moon was full.

The world didn’t change because anyone came back.

But some things were different.

Rocco said *like* now. His ears still got red. But he didn’t run.

Luca made extra food. Left it in the warmer. For whenever Rocco came home.

Alexander came for dinner every weekend. Sat between the two men. Told stories about the Families. Laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

And on a white doorstep in Long Island, flowers every week. No name. No card.

But she knew.

She put them in the window. Said quiet, to no one: *Thank you, big sister.*

The world was the same. New York. The Families. The game.

But everyone was learning. To let go of the heavy things. To be soft. To love the small moments.

I looked out the window.

Moon all over the estate. White stone path. Green garden. Dark trees. Everything silver.

Quiet. Soft. Like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

Behind me, Luca’s voice. “Dinner’s ready. I made your favorite soup.”

Out the other window, smoke. Rocco on the porch. New cigar. Looking past the garden. Past the gate. Past the whole city. Looking for something.

Or someone.

He looked back. Through the glass. Our eyes met.

He smiled. Real.

The moon on his face.

He walked toward me. Opened the door. The night wind came in.

The white tablecloth moved. The flowers in the vase shook. Like dancing.

“Catalina.”

His voice. Low. Behind me.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He put out his cigar. Came inside. Sat next to me. Quiet. “Just saying your name.”

Luca put the soup on the table. Sat across.

“Who’s doing dishes?” he asked.

“You guess,” Rocco said. “Loser does it.”

“Bet what?”

“Bet which soup she drinks first.”

“Not fair. She always drinks yours first.”

“Bet which pasta she eats first.”

“She always eats mine first. Seafood. She likes seafood.”

“…You win.”

Luca smiled. Took off his apron. Folded it.

Rocco’s face went dark. But no yelling. He picked up his spoon. Put it down. Picked it up.

Then he took my soup bowl. Scooped some soup. Brought it to my mouth.

“Drink.”

I drank.

“Whose was it?” he asked Luca.

“Hers.”

“Obviously.”

“I mean. She’s ours.”

Rocco’s hand stopped. Then he kept drinking his soup.

After that night, no one said that word again. They didn’t need to. Chapter 15

Moonlight over the city.

From the skyscrapers of Manhattan. To the red brick in Brooklyn. To the little white house by the sea in

Long Island. Light on every corner. On every story. On every person being loved.

Nobody knows about tomorrow.

But tonight is good. The moon is bright. The roses smell good.

The people I love are right here.

That’s all there is.