“You need to have a look at what’s inside.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Will it take long? We’re supposed to be getting married soon.”
He carried the box to her bed and placed it on the white coverlet. “I want you to see this before we do. I think it’s important…for you. For us.”
It was in that moment, when he sounded so distant and grave, that she realized how much she loved him, and how much she wanted to be his wife, and how very much she wanted a happy future with him.
She realized in that moment that she could lose everything, and didn’t want to lose everything. Gio didn’t love her, but he was good to her, and kind. Fearless and strong.
Deep down she hoped—believed—she could get him to love her one day. That one day they would both be happy, together.
“Why do this now?” she whispered. “You must have a reason.”
“I do.”
“It can’t be good. From your expression, it’s not good.”
“I just need you to know what I know. And then we will marry, and we will raise Michael together, and all will be well.”
But he didn’t believe it, she thought. And that was what terrified her.
“Please,” Gio said, tapping the box.
Rachel crossed the room and sat down on the bed. As she lifted the box, Gio moved away, going to stand at the windows. She glanced at his rigid back, and then opened the box. The lid was hinged and when lifted, she saw the interior was filled with envelopes and papers.
Rachel carefully lifted the paperwork out and scanned the envelopes and printed emails, shivering as she recognized her sister Juliet’s handwriting. The letters and cards and emails were all from Juliet to Antonio.
She took the top envelope. The date on the postmark was December 31. She looked behind that one. The postmark was December 25. The envelope behind that one was postmarked December 18.
The letters went all the way back to May 19, the day Antonio died.
Pulse racing, insides churning, Rachel reached for the letter at the very bottom, the one postmarked May 19, and opened the letter and began to read.
My dearest Antonio,
How dare you leave me? How dare you go? I need you so much. I don’t know how to do this without you. I love you too much. I have always loved you too much. We both know it.
It frightens me that I love you more than life itself. And now you’re gone without even a last goodbye and it’s not fair. You’ve never been fair. You swept me off my feet and made me believe in love and miracles. You seemed like a miracle.
You allowed me to dream and hope and believe, and now you tell me that you’re sick, and dying, and you should have told me first. You should have told me before I gave you my heart and soul.
Rachel’s hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t see the next line and she paused, glancing blindly up. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“You will,” Gio said.
Gulping a breath, Rachel returned to the letter.
I don’t know how to raise this baby without you. I didn’t want to be a mother. I wanted to be your wife, your woman, your lover. And now I’ve a child but not you.
You have broken my heart.
You have broken me.
Yours forever and ever,
Juliet
Rachel’s hands shook as she folded the letter back up and slid it into the envelope. A tear fell and she knocked it away as she returned the envelope to the bottom of the pile. She couldn’t bring herself to read more.
“Why did you bring these to me?” she choked.
“They are all like that.” Giovanni spoke from across the room.
Rachel drew a deep raw breath and then another. “You’ve read them all?”
“Not all. Maybe a quarter, if that. It didn’t feel right to continue reading when they were not meant for me.”
“When did you read these? Have you had these all this time?” Rachel struggled to stop the tears but they kept falling.
“Mrs. Fabbro brought the box with her when his Florence home was closed. She used to work for him in Florence, and when the letters arrived from Juliet, she’d put them in this box. She gave me the box several days ago, and I finally had a chance to go through the letters last night.” He hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep afterward.”
“You should have woken me.”
“But then you wouldn’t be able to sleep, either.”
Her eyes continued to burn. She blinked. “She really loved him.”
“Yes. I didn’t believe her, but I do now.”
“She wasn’t as shallow as you thought.”
Gio was silent. “There is something I haven’t told you. I need to tell you.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, expression grim. “Antonio loved your sister, too. He didn’t leave her because he didn’t care. He left her because he didn’t want her to see him die. He left her to protect her from the ugliness of his death.”