Brava, Valentine

Gianluca takes my hand. “You’re cold,” he says.

“Please. Just yell at me. Let it out. Get it over with. I did something wrong. I hurt you.”

He kisses my hand. “I forgive you,” he says simply.

“Why?” I can’t believe he’s calm. If the situation were reversed, I would be throwing ceramic pots off the roof in a blind and jealous rage. “How can you forgive me?”

He takes my face in his hands. “Because I love you.”

And then he kisses me. He pulls me close, and whispers in my ear, “And I trust you.”

And there it is. Trust-the elusive goal, the foundation of true love and Gianluca’s gift to me on this Christmas Eve, given freely and without reservation. He believes me. He knows what I say is true. Trust was the secret of my parents’ reconciliation, the balm that will heal Alfred and Pam going forward, and for me? Trust means I can be secure in the knowledge that no harm will come to my heart. Trust means we will figure out a life plan that includes his dreams and mine. Trust means I have someone who loves me and is on my side even when I fail, come up short, or do something rash. Gianluca proved that tonight. I can trust him because he knows to trust me.

“Oh, Gianluca, let’s go.” I hold him close. “They’re waiting for us in Jersey.”

“I don’t like the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

“You don’t?”

“I want my Christmas Eve with you. And only you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I tell him.

He holds me. “There is only one way to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything. I’ll even paint your house.”

“That’s not necessary.” He laughs.

“What can I do?” I ask him.

“Marry me,” he says.

I take a deep breath. “You know, I read an article once…”

Gianluca rolls his eyes.

I continue, “A man never asks a woman to marry him unless he’s certain she is going to say yes.”

“I like that article.” He smiles and takes my face in his hands. “But I would rather have the answer from you.” Gianluca pulls me close. He already knows the answer, but the gentleman that he is, the man that I love and know him to be waits patiently and trusts that my answer will be the right one.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I will marry you.”

He kisses me, as Greenwich Village spins indigo and green and Christmas red around us.

At last the midnight blue sky opens up, and the moon, a milky pearl, pushes through. Silver light dances on the water of the Hudson River in a shower of sapphires.

“What do you think of my river now?” I ask him.

He looks over the wall, past the highway, and down the Hudson. “I like your river,” he says. “I like it very much.”

Acknowledgments

I dedicate this novel to my sister Lucia A

At HarperCollins, I am published by a stellar group of people led by the discerning Jonathan Burnham. (Nobody fights harder to get every detail exactly right.)

Lee Boudreaux, my editor of enormous strength and taste, is the writer’s gift that keeps on giving, sentence by sentence, book by book. Lee’s right arm, Abigail Holstein, is talented and kind, a rare combo. Leslie Cohen designs beautiful tours and gets the word out with style and grace. Christine Boyd dreams up marketing schemes and we all follow happily. Virginia Stanley keeps me front and center with my beloved librarians and it’s a good thing because my mother was one! The jacket art, perhaps more impor tant than good teeth, is designed by the brilliant Archie Ferguson and the dazzling Christine Van Bree.

Also at Harper’s, my evermore gratitude to the hardworking and diligent: Brian Murray, Kathy Schneider (she moves heaven and earth and crates of books), Michael Morrison (the champion), Angie Lee, James Tyler, Kyle Hansen, Tina Andreadis (you want a Greek girl ru

At William Morris Endeavor, where the work ethic rivals those of Italian stone masons, Suza

In Movieland, thank you Diane Nabatoff, Larry Sanitsky, Claude Chung, the Sanitsky Company, Lou Pitt, Julie Durk, Rita McCle

Thank you, Michael Patrick King, for your wise counsel as we keep the faith.

Everybody needs a brass section: thank you, Elena Nachmanoff and Dia

The world of Buenos Aires, Argentina, unfolded in Technicolor through the eyes of Osvaldo Cima, Irwin B. Katz, Diane Smith Rigaux, and Dr. Armand Rigaux. Thank you for your guidance and valuable input.

My everlasting gratitude to my teachers of the Wise County public school system, and beloved librarians, Mrs. Ernestine Roller, Mr. James Varner (the bookmobile!), and Ms. Billie Jean Scott, who recommended books I treasure and reread to this day. Ms. Faith Cox, a great educator, has always been a wise mentor, and good friend.

Thank you, Costanzo and Antonio Ruocco of da Costanzo, Capri, Italy, for your craftsmanship and knowledge in the art of shoemaking. The Italian translations were provided by Dorina Cereghino-Hewitt, and further Italian pizzazz from Gina Casella. My grandfather, shoemaker Carlo Bonicelli, was the inspiration for this series of books.

Thank you to the world’s best assistant, Kelly Meehan, the fabulous Molly McGuire, and our diligent intern, Allison Van Groesbeck. Jean Morrissey is a crack copy editor and without her, I’d be lost. Jake Morrissey offers endless and free advice, and I hope I’m always smart enough to take it. My love to all my Saint Mary’s sisters around the world with whom I share memories and a lot of laughs.

A

Bravo and grazie mille: Dolores and Dr. Emil Pascarelli, Kate Benton Doughan, Sharon Hall, Adina and Michael Pitt, Cate Mage