PROLOGUE
Standingon the balcony of thee Juliet Capulet in dear Verona was a dream come true. As much as I know the house below me has no link to Shakespeare’s tragic lovers, it does not diminish the emotional pull to the greatest love story ever told. Surely you buy into the commercialism of modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but you cannot help but feel compelled to believe in the power of love and how it can truly fulfill your life and yet at the same time destroy your very ideals of it. I look down at the sea of people below me and wonder of their stories. Are they going through a breakup? Are they about to be engaged? Are they on their honeymoon? What would Juliet have to say of all these incredible stories being told to her? Would she be thrilled, or would she be crippled under the pressure and weight of being an icon of true love? The ache inside felt like a jagged piece of glass splintering the edges of my heart.
My palms began to sweat as tears threatened to invade my eyes. I carried him here with me. I feel his presence beside me on the stone balcony even though it’s just a figment of my lovestruck soul. This must be what she felt that fateful day. The twinge of a love so strong and as fateful as a poison dose. I can almost feel her spirit around me begging me to listen to what I feel in my heart. I cannot allow the location to deafen my thoughts pounding so fiercely in my head. The thought to get home.
I enter the crowd of tourists scouring over the cobbled streets of Verona. I watch as they struggle to take the perfect photo with the balcony I was just on as others pose with the statue of Juliet below it. All these people brought here under the idealism of the true love of Romeo and Juliet just as I was. In truth Juliet and Romeo never existed and William Shakespeare never visited Verona. In truth the story of love is masked with twentieth century idealism. However, it proves the story of these fated lovers is powerful amongst the generations.
No one believed more in the words of Juliet and her Romeo than my Nonna Carlotta. She believed there was one person written in the stars, fated for another. The familiar pang of grief hits my heart as his ice blue eyes remain tattooed in my memories. I should stop there and hit rewind on my life and start at the very beginning.
My name is Amelia Quinn, and I was born in Brooklyn to my parents Mia Petruchio and Charlie Quinn. My mother died shortly after I was born, and my father took me and my maternal grandparents to Florida to help raise me. I would love to say we weren’t your typical Italian Irish hybrid family, but alas that’s what we are. The unspoken rules within our family included be loud, nothing to emotional can’t be worked out without a good slice of tiramisu, and never talk about my grandparent’s life in Italy.
The mystery surrounding their childhoods was as taboo as spirits and demons in the home of religion. I never pressed the subject because I could see in my Nonna’s eyes the unbearable pain they experienced together was too painful to even speak of. My Nonno Armando would give my Nonna a knowing glance of sincerity as an unspoken conversation transpired, telepathically, between them. My father was a good little puppet and did as he was told. To his and my grandparent’s credit, they did the best they could without my mother’s guidance, and they did phenomenally. But I am always stricken with the guilt of them losing their daughter and my father losing his wife. The only one who understood my plight was Nonna. She held my hand as I cried for my mom and told me stories of her daughter as a child. I saw my grandmother as invincible, someone formidable and never emotional. But, that all changed the day she held my hand as she fell asleep for the last time. Tears streamed down her wrinkled face as the breath caught in her throat.
“You are so beautiful and strong. Your mother will be so proud of you,” she said in a quiet hush.
“Nonna, say hi to Nonno for me,” I said, tears welling in my eyes.
“We will be together. I will be fine. You are my diamond, Amee,” she murmured quietly.
“I love you,” I whispered breathlessly, the breath catching deep in my throat.
She gave me a small smile and squeezed my hand with all the strength she could muster. Before I knew it, Nonna took her last breath with me beside her. That was the day I lost the remaining piece of my mother.