Chapter Eight

And so began my “love letters” to Dante in the form of Instagram posts. Over the following weeks, we shared at least one photo a day, along with a caption about love…some notable, others not. We didn’t directly come out and ask questions or have any sort of conversation. We didn’t need to. The photos we shared said everything we wanted. We spoke in a language only we could interpret. My world finally seemed a little brighter knowing Dante was out there, thinking of me just as my thoughts were consumed by him.

But, just like everything in my life, I knew that brightness would eventually grow dim. And it did on a Friday in August as I drove to my parents’ house for my mother’s weekly dinner party.

As I came to a stop at a red light a few miles from their house, my phone dinged with a new notification. When I reached into my purse and grabbed it, I saw Dante had tagged me in a new Instagram post. I grinned, thinking he must be missing me a little bit more than usual today, considering this was his fourth post. But when I saw the photo he tagged me in, my heart fell, a chill enveloping me. I had been dreading this, wondering about it, but didn’t have the courage to ask. Now I wished I had, if for no other reason than to be able to say a proper goodbye.

It was a beautiful image, one hand lying on top of another. The one on the bottom was more feminine, obviously belonging to someone who had lived more years. The other was younger, more masculine, one I still occasionally imagined wrapped around my own hand. My breath caught when I read the caption.

“The valiant never taste of death but once.” — William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar. RIP Mama.

I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my quivering chin as my eyes welled with tears. Dante said she had three months. It had only been two. I didn’t want to believe she was gone.

Looking up from the photo, I glanced at the cars surrounding me. People talked animatedly on their phones or tapped their steering wheels impatiently, continuing on, as if the world were the same as it was just moments ago. But I knew it would never be the same. Not for Dante. Not for his family. And not for me. It didn’t matter that I’d only spent a few hours with his mother. She’d opened her heart, her home, her life to me, knowing who I was, knowing my family, but still welcoming me. My world seemed a little sadder, a little darker, a little less forgiving now that Gabriella Luciano was no longer in it. I could only imagine how Dante was coping with the loss.

I instantly recalled the image of him resting his forehead on hers as they shared a moment in her house in Italy. I was grateful to have been able to witness their love, a love I thought only existed in the movies and on television. Their connection gave me hope that I’d have something similar with my own child one day. I’d forever be grateful to Gabriella for opening my mind and heart to the possibility of having a family, something I never wanted before.

I returned my eyes to my phone, tempted to shoot off a direct message to Dante, but stopped myself. Part of me liked the idea that we weren’t speaking directly to one another, that we chose to bear our hearts, our souls, through photos of the world around us. What inspired us. What brought us joy. What caused us pain.

When the light turned green, I quickly shoved my phone back into my purse and stepped on the gas, losing myself in my thoughts as I continued driving toward my parents’ house. How was I supposed to respond to this news? Should I get on a flight to Italy? I didn’t have the money for that, and my credit card was maxed out. Was this fate’s way of telling me to swallow my pride and ask my father for a loan? I doubted she’d want me to do that, not when the coin landed on heads for a reason. She wouldn’t send me back here to free myself from my parents’ shadow just to grovel for money. As much as I wanted to wrap my arms around Dante and offer him the comfort he needed, I had to put my trust in fate. If I were meant to go to Italy to be with him, fate would make it happen.

Resolved, I wiped my cheeks, then pinched them so it didn’t look like I’d been crying. The last thing I wanted was to give my mother any ammunition to use against me, although I no longer had any desire to go to the dinner party and listen to everyone drone on about the latest gossip.

As I drove, I glanced to my right, noticing a Catholic Church I never had in all my years of driving this very road. I quickly slammed on my brakes, my tires squealing as I veered into the parking lot. I found a spot and killed the engine, sitting in silence for a moment. I had asked for a sign. Perhaps this was it. I wasn’t even sure if this was allowed, if you could just walk into a church anytime you wanted, but I felt compelled to be here.

Smoothing the lines of my dress, I stepped out of the car and walked across the lot toward a set of stairs leading up to a pair of large wooden doors. I paused at the bottom, craning my head to peer at the cross on the steeple. The breeze picked up, my hair blowing in front of my face. I could almost smell the same sweet aroma that was in the air at Gabriella’s house in Italy. It was probably just my brain playing tricks on me, but part of me liked to think she was here with me, telling me I was on the right path. Her words the night I met her resounded in my mind, as if she were whispering in my ear…

What is meant to be will be.

Before I stepped foot on that plane to Rome, I never understood why people followed religion or believed in what I considered to be ridiculous ideas, such as fate. It seemed like just an excuse to put all accountability for your actions on some higher power, to not be held to answer for your own failings or misgivings. But it made sense now. Sometimes life just sucked and you wanted to believe there was a reason for everything. Sometimes you needed to allow a higher power to take the wheel for a minute. Sometimes you just needed to be reminded that the universe was a huge place and you were nothing more than a tiny speck in it.

I continued up the stairs, then pulled one of the doors open and walked inside. Silence and serenity instantly surrounded me. Gone was the noise of cars, honking horns, and yelling voices. In here, it was just me…and God. I couldn’t say goodbye to Gabriella in person. But I could do it here, and I knew she’d hear me.

I stepped farther into the church, which was empty, apart from a few nuns praying in the pews. One of them must have sensed my presence because she did the sign of the cross and slowly rose. When she emerged into the aisle, she genuflected before the altar, then turned around, heading toward me.

I considered leaving, thinking I may be intruding, but I felt compelled to do this, to light a candle for Gabriella.

“Good evening, dear,” the woman said kindly. She wore a dark habit, a wooden cross hanging from her neck. She had thin lips and dark eyes, little wisps of white hair visible from under her head covering. “Have you come for confession?”

I opened my mouth and shook my head as I peered at her, my brow wrinkling. “I’m sorry. I’m not Catholic. I just…” I paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I just learned someone I cared for passed away. She was Catholic, so I wanted to light a candle for her. I think she would have wanted me to do that.”

The nun reached out and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. “Of course. Come with me.” She kept my hand enclosed in hers as she led me into the sanctuary and toward a stained glass window depicting the first station of the cross. Below it sat a devotional area, just like at Dante’s church in Italy. But only a few candles had been lit here, unlike in Italy where many had been burning, even early in the morning. This was yet another reminder of the different cultures we grew up in and came from.

I paused as we approached the area, then knelt on the cushioned kneeler in front of me. The nun handed me one of the long matches and I struck it. A flame immediately sparked to life. I held it up to one of the wicks, watching the flame dance in front of me as I lit the candle.

“Do you mind if I light a candle for your friend…?” The nun’s eyebrows rose.

“Gabriella,” I said, then nodded, giving her permission.

“What a beautiful name.” She joined me, striking a match, lighting yet another candle.

“She was a beautiful person, a beautiful soul.”

She simply nodded, then folded her hands in front of her, leaning her head on them, mimicking the pose I found Dante in that day in Italy. “Would you like to pray with me?” she asked when she sensed me studying her.

“I don’t know how,” I answered honestly.

“That’s okay.” She gave me an encouraging smile. I placed my hands in front of me, mirroring her pose, closing my eyes. “Eternal rest grant unto Gabriella, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” She paused, then added, “Amen.”

Unsure what else to do, I repeated, “Amen.”

I lifted my head, staring at the candles for several more minutes. The chill I felt when I first learned of Gabriella’s passing had miraculously been replaced by a feeling of warmth and comfort. I hoped this was her way of letting me know she was okay, that she wasn’t in pain anymore, that she would look out for Dante until our paths finally crossed again.

Drawing in a long breath, I slowly stood, meeting the nun’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“Of course, dear.” She raised herself to her feet. “Our door is always open.”

I nodded slightly, then began to turn, but stopped myself, facing her once more. “Do you mind if I take a photo of the candles? She was my friend’s mother. They’re in Italy. I just… I just want him to know I was thinking about him. That even though I couldn’t be there to say goodbye in person—”

She placed her hand on my arm, cutting me off. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, pulling my phone out of my purse. Making sure to capture the moment as best as I could, I snapped a photo of the two candles we lit.

Once I was back in the car, I steered it in the opposite direction of my parents’ house. I didn’t want to be around them. Not tonight. Instead, I found myself pulling into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant in Woodland Hills and headed into the bar. Enjoying a glass of wine probably didn’t sound like an appropriate way to cope with someone’s passing, but I knew enough to know Gabriella wouldn’t have wanted me to mourn her. She would have wanted me to do something to celebrate her life. And what better way to do that than to have a glass of wine and good food?

After I placed my order with the bartender and a glass of wine appeared in front of me, I pulled my phone out and opened the Instagram app, trying to come up with a caption that properly conveyed what I wanted to say. I stared at the photo of the candles, unsure how to put my feelings into words. Sometimes simple was better. Sometimes you just needed to speak from the heart. So that was what I did.

“Thank you for showing me what love looks like. Your light will always shine in my heart because of that.”

I studied it, hoping it was good enough, then tagged Dante in the photo, posting it. I put my phone on the bar and took a sip of my wine.

“Ellie?” a voice said.

I turned to my left, seeing a man with dirty blond hair, sky blue eyes, and a perfectly tailored suit approach the bar. “Quinn?”

“It is you,” he breathed, taking the empty seat next to me. “I thought it was, but the hair threw me for a loop.”

I laughed slightly, toying with one of my locks. “I changed it back to its natural color.”

“Nice,” he said, signaling the bartender. “It looks good on you.”

“What are you doing here? Woodland Hills is a bit far from O’Connell and Greene, isn’t it?” I asked after he placed his drink order.

I met Quinn my first month as an associate at my old law firm. He was opposing counsel on a case and had proven to be quite the worthy adversary. However, he was still no match for my tenacity and drive, not to mention the fact that I routinely worked eighty-hour weeks because I didn’t like being home with Brock. Despite representing clients with opposing viewpoints, we formed a friendship.

“I quit about a year ago and started my own firm in Encino. I got tired of someone else telling me which cases to take and making me ask some of my clients to mortgage their houses just to pay our legal fees. I was just out here for a meeting.” He nodded in appreciation as the bartender placed his beer in front of him. “How about you?” he asked hesitantly after taking a sip. He’d probably heard I was fired. Everyone seemed to know about that, considering getting fired from Sullivan, Sullivan & Grace was the equivalent of being blacklisted, as I’d learned over the past several weeks.

“Oh, you know…” I smiled sweetly. “Stood my politician fiancé up at the altar, so now no law firm will touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

He slowly shook his head, his lips pinching together as they formed into a small, sympathetic smile.

“No one seems to care I have a law degree from Georgetown and worked at one of the top law firms in the state. I’m still not qualified for their open positions.” My voice oozed with sarcasm before my contrived smile fell, my expression becoming despondent. “Maybe it’s a sign I’m not supposed to be doing this.”

The atmosphere between us grew thick as I stared at all the bottles of liquor behind the bar, not really seeing anything. I’d never actually admitted that to myself before. While I’d grown extremely frustrated with the fact that not one single firm had called to set up an interview, I still pushed forward. How much longer could I do this? Maybe I needed to look elsewhere, do something different before I ended up flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant. I just didn’t know if I was good at anything else. I’d never done anything else. I never trained for anything else. This was the plan for my life since day one. What was I supposed to do now?

I toyed with my wine glass, swirling it on the bar, straightening my shoulders. I didn’t want Quinn to pity me. He’d successfully broken away from one of the top law firms in the state, even though he was only five years older than me. I could do the same. Maybe running into him was fate’s way of telling me I should just start my own practice.

“I can’t pay you what you’re used to making.” Quinn’s voice cut into my thoughts.

I practically choked on my wine as I shot my wide eyes to him. “Wait. What?”

“And it’s definitely not as glamorous as Sullivan. There’s no monthly stipend or company car. Your office will probably be no bigger than a bathroom, and you’ll be handling a lot of workers’ comp and social security cases. It’s a job, though.”

I studied him, wondering if I heard him correctly or if my mind was playing tricks on me. “What exactly are you saying, Quinn?”

He laughed slightly. “Ellie, you’re a brilliant attorney. You take no prisoners in negotiations. I was going over my firm’s caseload earlier and came to the conclusion I need to add another attorney. It just so happens you’re an attorney who needs a job. What do you say?”

I blinked repeatedly, my jaw becoming slack as my brain struggled to tell my mouth to move, my voice box to vibrate and make sound.

“Ellie?” he asked.

I quickly snapped out of my stupor and hopped off my barstool, flinging my arms around his neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!” I squealed in an uncharacteristic move, but I had no idea how else to express my overwhelming gratitude to this man. Dante believed everything happened for a reason, including his daughter’s death. Maybe fate gave me a reason to skip my parents’ party so I’d run into Quinn.

“Does this mean you’ll take the job?” He chuckled.

I stepped back, releasing my hold on him, a huge smile on my face. “When can I start?”