Page 132 of Broken

Today, I wonder if it would do us good to be here a little longer than planned.

When I shake hands with the priest, he smiles sadly at me then appears taken aback when Savio entirely evades his touch.

If it weren’t a funeral, I’d have laughed, but as it is, I smile back at him. “It was a beautiful service, Father,” I murmur in French that should be better considering I’m married to a Frenchman, own property on the Côte d’Azur, and have kids who speak it like natives. Sue me, I’m lazy—they all translate for me!

“Thank you, Madame Martin,” he replies politely, still puzzled as to why Savio won’t touch his hand. “Giuseppe was a very good man. It’s a true shame he passed so young.”

I wouldn’t say Giuseppe was young. At eighty-five, I thought he was the opposite of young, in fact, but it was a damn shame that old age didn’t take him and some dick driving his sports car too fast around a bend and crashing into him ripped his life away.

Though we hadn’t been truly vengeful in a long time, and had gotten lost in raising our family, I’d admit to my hackles stirring at the prospect of the stupid dick behind the wheel of the sports car walking off with barely a scratch while Giuseppe lost his life.

I smile politely at the priest then tug on Savio’s arm. He’s wooden and unresponsive, but at my prompt, he ambles along like the big, friendly giant he isn’t.

When the girls cluster around us, Diana’s eldest and our youngest grabbing each other’s free hands in loose knots, I watch as Roman takes Lilith’s and Lola’s too.

He’s so somber that it’s overwhelming to see. He was close to Giuseppe. Losing him is going to be difficult, especially since he isn’t close to my dad, who doesn’t understand his quiet ways.

Roman and Giuseppe used to whittle wood together, for Christ’s sake. Dad couldn’t sit still long enough for a commemorative portrait of him when he hit his last promotion.

As we silently trudge down ancient paths that have seen a million footsteps before us, old buildings and history surrounding us like we’re back in Rome—a city that I’m sad it’s unwise to revisit—I murmur once the girls wander ahead with my parents, “I like it here.”

Savio cuts me a look, his eyes wary because he recognizes me in this mood.

“That’s handy considering we have property here,” is his dry retort. His voice creaks, though. Like his larynx is rebelling.

“I think we should stay longer.” I eye Roman, taking note of how close he is to his grandmother.

Lilith is a lot older than my mom and she’s frail. The idea of her being alone doesn’t sit well with me.

He reads between my lines as only he can. “You want to move?”

“Your mother won’t do well by herself.” At his silence, I prod, “Lilith could come and live with us on the property.”

We have a farm here too. I like being self-sufficient and appreciate even more having people do the running around for us. I’m not a green-fingered person, but I love the open space for Savio and know he enjoys being outdoors.

“We can stay for a while,” he rumbles.

He’s going to take his father’s loss hard, as is his right, but that tone always makes me want to fix what hurts him.

If he’s protective of the kids and me, I’m the same. But in this, there’s nothing I can do except show him I love him and how much I want to make things better for him.

Maybe he knows what I’m thinking because in the shadow of themairie, ancient with honey-colored walls and a charming clocktower that peals with the hour, he tugs me closer to him and presses a kiss to my temple.

“I’m supposed to be the fixer,” he rasps.

My smile curves freely. “I can do some fixing when my man needs patching up.”

His eyes darken at my words.

My man.

Mine.

They’re powerful labels for him, holding a strength that’s borderline tangible. As always, I see them work their magic.

He’sonlya man, but what he is belongs to me.

That reminder grounds him, and when he nods and says, “Staying longer will be good for us,” I know I did the right thing by binding this man with earthly ties and cosseting him within my wings.

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