and lowered himself to one knee. “Look. I wait now. I will wait for you, as long as it takes. I believe that someday, you’ll love me the way I love you. Not yet, maybe not when the baby’s born, but someday. And I can wait.”
Elisabetta felt a wave of love for him, and Marco held her gaze, put his hand into his pocket, and produced the diamond ring he had offered her before. The gem caught the light, aglow.
“Please keep my ring this time. Please be my wife. I love you with all my heart.” Marco met her eye. “Will you marry me?”
And Elisabetta answered, her heart soaring, “Yes.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-ONE
Maria
January 1944
Maria thought the wedding meal looked perfect, rigatoni with pomodoro sauce, then grilled lamb with roasted potatoes and fresh carrots, with fresh parsley, basil, and tomatoes from Elisabetta’s garden. Only immediate family was present, and Maria had been pleased to host in the dining room at Bar GiroSport, which had been closed for the day, this time for a happy occasion.
Rosa wore a nice blue dress, sitting next to Emedio, who had performed the ceremony at the church, which had been beautiful. Emedio had blessed the meal and poured sparkling wine into the glasses, but no one was quite sure who was giving the toast, as Elisabetta had no parents and Beppe was gone.
“Excuse me.” Maria rose, smoothing down her fancy dress. “I thought I should say something. Someone should, on this day. I’m not one for toasts and speeches. I never made one in my life. But I think someone should speak, from my generation.” She paused, composing herself. “Beppe didn’t like speeches, either. I know what he would have said today, but I won’t say that. He would have kept it short. I can’t keep it short, but I can keep it simple. I’ll say what I think, and that’s all I can say.”
Everyone looked up at Maria, and their smiles were encouraging. She probably should have discussed this with them before, but she hadn’t known if she would have the courage when the day of the wedding came. As it turned out, she didn’t, but she stood up anyway.
“I look around the table on this happy occasion, the wedding of two wonderful young people, Marco and Elisabetta. They love each other. We’re so happy for them. We love Marco and we welcome Elisabetta to our family.”
Marco and Elisabetta smiled, perfect together. Marco was so handsome in his dark suit and tie. Elisabetta looked radiant in the wedding dress that Maria had given her, which she had worn when she married Beppe. Elisabetta had been proud to wear it, and Maria had been happy that her new daughter-in-law had felt that way. The past had been forgiven.
“The Mass was beautiful, Emedio. We are grateful for God’s blessing on this marriage. We are happy today.” Maria paused, mustering her confidence for what came next. “Yet, I look around the table and I see eyes with tears. Smiles that shake. Our hearts are broken, deep inside. We suffer. So many of the people we love are missing. Beppe. Aldo. Massimo. Gemma. Sandro. Nonna. Ludovico. Serafina. Friends and neighbors. People we loved very much. People we have lost. We are missing them. They are not here, but we are. We don’t have to pretend this occasion isn’t bittersweet.”
Maria noticed Rosa look down, trying to stay in emotional control. Rosa was living in the Vatican, but Massimo had yet to return from the labor camp, and there had been no word of him.
Maria cleared her throat. “Not all of you know me well. I’m always in the kitchen. I’m in the kitchen at the restaurant or I’m in the kitchen at the apartment. I guess I never leave a kitchen, whether downstairs or upstairs.”
Everyone chuckled, which Maria hadn’t expected.
“I’m not a fancy chef or a pasta professoressa like our Elisabetta, my wonderful new daughter-in-law.”
Elisabetta smiled up at her.
“And Bar GiroSport is a bar, not a restaurant. I was hired as a cook because I worked for free.”
Everyone chuckled again, which made Maria happy. She realized that giving a speech was just talking to people and telling the truth, a notion that gave her the courage to continue.
“I mean to say, I’m only a normal cook, like every mother, every woman. And every day, before every meal, I open the refrigerator and I see what I have. I’m always missing ingredients I really need and really want. I’m missing