Page 103 of Deception

Ciro taps the pillar behind me, announcing my presence before he steps back, wandering off a short distance.

The woman glances up, her tan skin and golden hair accenting a round, pretty face. Her eyes lock on mine, a sort of surprise and sadness shadowing the deep green. Her smile, though…

It lights up the shady confines of the gazebo.

“Oh, my…” She swallows, tears filling her eyes as her hand shoots to her mouth.

“It’s you,” I gasp, an image flashing through my head of a photo my brother sent of his wedding. They eloped in the States. My mother never let him hear the end of it.

“You're her, you're really her.” She sobs through her hand.

I can’t make my brain work right. The shock. The impossibility of this encounter.

“I-Isabella Rossi,” I hear myself say.

“Angelica Rossi.” She thrusts out her hand and I take it.

There's a moment frozen in time, where we just stare at each other, our hands intertwined. Then she looks down, beaming. “And this, is Gigi, Giorgina.”

“Your hair is pretty, lady,” Gigi grins.

“Th-thank you,” I stifle a sob. “I’m…”

“Your Aunt Isabella,” Angelica finishes for me. Gigi bounces over to wrap her arms around my legs. I can barely move. Gigi loses interest in hugging me in a second, bounding back to her crayons.

“How?” I manage to choke out.

Angelica looks back at me, gazing into my eyes for a few seconds before we embrace, throwing our arms around one another. It’s the instant closeness of family, of shared loss.

“He really is gone?” I ask, still clinging to her. It dawns on me that I have secretly held out hope, some abstract idea that he might be alive.

“Yes, he is.”

“I need to know how.”

“Sit, sit. I'll explain that soon, I promise. It's just so wonderful to finally meet you. He told me so much about you.”

“I was supposed to come visit you, meet you.”

“I know. Things have been complicated since then. Otherwise, I would have reached out.”

“And your daughter, I mean…”

“Giorgio wanted to surprise you with the news I was pregnant. I named her after him.”

“I'm so sorry.” I stare at the miracle sitting next to me, absorbed in her coloring. “She's beautiful. She must be?—”

“She'll turn three next month.”

I spin back to Angelica. “His birth month, too?”

“I know. It was hard and special.”

Pieces fall into place, my situation and hers. It suddenly occurs to me what she's doing here, the meaning behind this. I still have to ask.

“What are you doing here?”

“That is a bit more complicated.”

---