Over the course of the afternoon, I learn what an invasion is.

Women drift through the house, Adamos all, whether by birth or marriage. They come in groups of three or four or five, stay a little while, and then slip away again. Some of them are outgoing by nature, others more reserved, but all of them pull me into their greater whole.

Familia. Family. Old and young and in between, they weave invisible bonds among themselves and me and my daughter. Gentle strands, of solidarity and understanding and support.

Sisters. Grandmothers. Cousins. An unbreakable network of love, forged over a lifetime ... and over an afternoon of tea and cookies and cake.

By the time the last of them kisses me goodbye and goes out the door, I know my life has been changed forever.

I’m awed, humbled, grateful — and absolutely terrified.

I’ve never had a family. I don’t know how. What if I mess this up? Destroy the priceless gift I’ve been given?

Dante and I aren’t a sure thing. We’ve barely met. Anything could go wrong.

When Dante arrives to pick me up, he takes one look at me and says, “You’re stewin’ again.”

I can’t deny it. He gives his mother a kiss. “I need to get my girl home.”

My girl.

Home.

Something sharp inside me fractures … but in the wake of the stabbing pain comes a sudden wave of peace.

Taking care of Sophie means taking care of me. Suddenly, I know what I need. When Dante starts to usher me toward the door, I stop him. “Can you just …”

Tentatively, like a child learning to walk, I edge toward him. When I’m close enough, I put my arms around him. Lean against his chest.

And hold on.

As soon as I touch him, he pulls me close and bends his head to mine. I’m sheltered in his arms, completely protected by a fortress of warm flesh and solid muscle. We stand there a long time, as the broken pieces of my past knit themselves together.

Finally, I turn my head toward Carlotta, who’s standing nearby holding Sophie. “You were right.”

She comes to us, hands my daughter to Dante, and folds me into her arms. “I am so very glad my son met you.”

Now I’m about to blubber like a baby. I can’t speak, but words aren’t needed. Carlotta reads what’s on my face and smiles her benediction. A kiss for Sophie, and she sends us out into the golden summer evening.

We don’t speak on the drive home, but Dante holds my hand the whole way. At the house, BeeBee greets us with frantic barking that sounds like more than happiness to see us. “She seems upset. Is she warning us about something?”

Dante watches her dance in frenzied circles around my daughter, somehow accomplishing this without ever bumping into her. “I think she’s unhappy that we all went away — especially Sophie — and left her here.”

My heart squeezes. “Could we maybe bring her with us tomorrow?”

“I suppose. Hell, Rico brings his dog, because she has separation anxiety; she wrecks the house if she’s there by herself. If BeeBee’s at home, she can go outside whenever she wants, and all we have at work is pavement. But maybe she’d rather be with her people.”

Her people. I get another warm glow, but his comment reminds me that I still haven’t met his other brother. “Is Rico older or younger than you?”

“Older. By two minutes.”

I gape at him. “You’re twins?”

“Yep.”

“There are two of you?”

He grins. “We’re different in a lot of ways, but physically, Rico and I are pretty much a matched set.”

“Holy cow.” I make a note to take BeeBee over to the garage tomorrow as an excuse to meet Rico.

* * *

After dinner and Sophie’s bathtime, after she’s asleep in her crib, Dante and I pick up where we left off this morning, me on top in the big bed. He lets me ride him until I come, and then he rolls us over and powers into me until we come together.

Later, snuggled in his arms, sleep wrapping itself around me like a warm blanket, I wonder how my life could have gotten so perfect in less than forty-eight hours.

As if.