Page 121 of The Fall Affair

The music began—soft strings carrying an Italian love song Matteo had chosen. The guests turned in their seats as Cassie, Camilla, and Luciana started down the aisle with the groomsmen.

Matteo’s dad offered me his arm. “Thank you for letting me walk you down the aisle. It means the world to me.”

We started together, each slow step feeling like a louder heartbeat until I saw him.

Matteo stood at the archway, his jaw tense as though he was fighting every emotion all at once. When our eyes met, he broke—his lips trembled, and tears fell freely down his cheeks. The sight of it undid me. All the air left my lungs.

This man was the love of my life. And I had finally found my forever home.

When I reached him, he took my hands. “Sei la cosa più bella che abbia mai visto e io… io sono l’uomo più fortunato del mondo.” You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I, I am the luckiest man in the world.

I no longer needed to guess how his words translated. My Italian was fluent now.

The priest smiled, his eyes kind. “Before we begin,” he said, lifting a folded piece of paper tucked into his book. “I’ve been asked to read something very special that was given to me just this morning.”

I looked to Matteo, whose brow had furrowed. He seemed as confused as I was, and together we turned back to the priest.

“It’s a letter. From someone who couldn’t be here tonight, but very much wished to be.”

My breath caught in my chest.

The priest unfolded the paper and began to read.

My dearest girl,

If you’re hearing this, it means you’re standing in a white dress, probably fighting back tears—and I know you’re losing that battle already. Remember, darling: dab, don’t wipe.

Before I bestow the secrets to a happy marriage on you and your handsome groom, I must first confess to a tiny little white lie. I didn’t bring you to Tuscany and force you to spend three months in my old house because you were working too much—well, you were, but that wasn’t the real reason.

You see, I wanted to give you the chance to fall in love with Matteo, like I already have. I adore that man. Truly. He is a good soul—the kind who fixes my leaky gutters and pretends to need my opinion on a new wine blend just so I won’t eat dinner alone every night. They don’t make many like him anymore. Every time he left my house, I thought of you and how you two would be perfect for each other. I may have also checked out his rear end once or twice as he walked away. You’re welcome.

Everyone laughed, including Matteo and me. It brought a bit of much-needed levity to the moment before the priest continued.

So yes, I did a little matchmaking from beyond the grave. Consider it the final part of your inheritance. I always did like to save the best for last.

Now, on to some wisdom about how to make a marriage work. I think I’ve earned the right to share it. After all, I was married to your grandfather for fifty-seven years and managed not to kill him.

First: Don’t listen to the idiots who tell you not to go to bed angry. Nonsense. Sometimes a little anger keeps things exciting in the bedroom. Plus, it’s the best kind of cardio. You’ll sleep like babies afterward and wake up wondering what you were even arguing about.

Be patient. When he starts telling you that story you’ve already heard three times, don’t interrupt—even when you’d rather shove a corkscrew in your ear. Just smile and nod while you’re mentally writing your grocery list. He’s happy, you’re efficient—it’s a win-win.

“It’s fine” never means it’s fine. It means one of you screwed up, and the other should give them a little space, preferably by going to the florist or the jewelry store.

Always keep a bottle of your favorite wine for the hard days and the best ones. I assume Matteo owning a vineyard has you covered.

Remember that passion fades and rekindles. The real magic isn’t in the grand moments. It’s in staying steady and choosing one another again and again. Love is like a garden, some days it’s in full bloom, some days you’ll be stuck weeding. The secret is to keep tending.

And finally: Kiss every day. Dance in the kitchen. And when you can’t agree on something, kiss again until you forget what the hell you were fighting about in the first place.

To Matteo, my dear boy—thank you. I trusted you with my land before, but now I trust you with the most important thing in my life. She’s brilliant and brave, stubborn as a mule, but I promise, she’ll come back to you every time. Love her well, and she’ll make your life extraordinary.

And to you, my darling girl—this will be my last letter. But know this: I’m still here. I’m in the wind that moves through the vines, in the laughter that fills your new home, and occasionally I’m in the storm that rolls in unexpectedly just when you’ve hung the laundry out to dry. You carry me in your heart, and that’s where I want to be for eternity.

Now go. Kiss your man, raise a glass, and live! This was the inheritance I truly meant for you to have.

With all my love,

Nonna