Page 43 of Marry Me Not
There’d always been something off about Cosimo’s relationship with her. Maybe now that we were warming up to each other, he’d finally tell me what that something was.
I found him in the corner of the room, a line of people already waiting to greet him. His gaze found mine, and something flashed inside it. Not warmth, but maybe relief. I couldn’t be sure. The line of mourners stretched halfway across the room. I slipped into place beside him and turned a polite smile on the next person who approached.
An hour into the wake, most of Gino’s political and professional contacts had left. The people still here—the men who’d worked for him, family, and friends—were succumbing to nostalgia, encouraged by waiters who took seriously their job of keeping everyone’s glasses filled with red wine.
“Without Gino, I would’ve never gotten a chance to do what I was meant to,” Anthony, one of Cosimo’s cousins who was about my age, said. From our conversation, I’d gathered he was a struggling fashion designer. “He believed in me, unlike some other people here.” His gaze slid to somewhere behind me. “I’ve been trying to dress the women in this family for three years. None of them are interested. I think it’s because I once critiquedVita’s Annabel Wang. Annabel is a brilliant designer, but she hasn’t had anything interesting to say since her Summer 2010 collection.”
“I’d love to check out your stuff,” I told him. “And my friend Mia is a stylist. Maybe I can introduce you two?”
Anthony’s eyes lit up. “You’re just precious. Let me give you my card.” He pulled one out of the inner pocket of his jacket, handed it to me, then looked down at his wineglass. “I’m going to get something stronger than this.”
As he walked away, my attention shifted back to Cosimo. He’d drifted a few feet behind me and was now looking intensely uncomfortable as a gray-haired woman half his height spoke to him through tears, clutching her handkerchief in one hand.
I sighed. If there was one thing I’d learned about my fiancé over the last few hours, it was that he really didn’t know how to comfort crying women. At the first sight of tears, he went stiff and looked ready to make a run for it.
To his credit, he hadn’t actually fled from anyone yet. But the awkward shoulder pats he’d been giving mourners all afternoon were excruciating to watch.
The elderly woman’s sobs grew louder. Cosimo took a gulp of his whiskey.
I decided I’d put him out of his misery and walked over to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Cosimo’s fiancée, Fabi. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The woman dabbed the handkerchief under her eyes as she tried to compose herself. “I’m Sarah. I apologize, I’m just– Well, I was Cosimo’s cleaning lady when he was growing up. I worked forGino and Vita for ten years. When I was in a spot of trouble, Gino…” Her voice broke. “He helped me a lot. He was good like that.”
She broke down into tears again. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back. “What did he help you with?”
“My sister had a health issue. She didn’t have insurance, and we couldn’t afford the treatment. Mr. Ferraro overheard me talking to her, and without me even asking, he told me he’d cover it.” She hiccupped. “That kind of generosity is so rare.”
“That’s a beautiful memory of him,” I said. “Have you written that in the guest book? It’s right near the entrance.”
She glanced over her shoulder and blew her nose into her handkerchief. “I’ll go do that. Thank you, dear. And thank you, Mr. Ferraro.”
Cosimo’s response was a grunt mixed with some kind of incomprehensible mumble.
As Sarah walked away, he turned to me. “You could’ve come sooner.”
“I enjoyed watching you showcase your complete lack of emotional range.”
He huffed, clearly amused. “What exactly am I supposed to do in this situation?”
“Offer a few words of comfort. Maybe a hug.”
“I don’t hug.”
Why wasn’t I surprised? Cosimo’s walls might’ve lowered a fraction with me, but the man clearly wasn’t making a habit out of it.
“Well, I’d recommend doing more than those awkward pats on the shoulder.”
“My pats are not awkward. My pats are fine,” he said, sounding defensive.
“You looked like you were touching a porcupine, not a person.”
He shook his head. “Since you’re so much better at this, stay close to me.”
It was an order, not a request, and it rubbed me wrong. “Ask nicely.”
His gaze narrowed. He probably got away with talking like this to most people, but he’d made me a promise, and I was going to hold him to it.
I let a few seconds pass before I shrugged. “All right. I think I’ll go talk to Rafe and Cleo.”
