they were very different women, francesca and herself. she saw it in the way the other carried her own figure, the way her dresses wrapped around her body so very modestly and even the sad smiles that sometimes slipped between one of her words and the other. she was beautiful, all the way stunning, and had a soul of a deepness that eleonora couldn’t help but wish to read into like a book. the vespasiano matriarch hadn’t ever been that delicate, that much was known.
an excerpt of the epilogue of her life : oldest of her siblings, once the disgrace on her family’s lineage, the woman learned early on her years that this role would never belong to her. no, she wasn’t made for ruling or holding the last word, not in her family house and most certainly not in her married life. her mother had three other children after her; two boys, one little girl. eleonora looked after her like a little doll; dressed her up, cleaned her, fed her, took her out to play and taught her all the things she learned. how to behave, mostly, for even in all her years she couldn’t convince herself that there were things she simply shouldn’t do. when a disease took her little ludo from her, that’s when she first noticed how very well grief seemed to suit her.
her first chapter only ever began with the introduction of his figure, tall and clad in black, the ever so charming giorgio vespasiano. oh, he was a man of a single kind. nora liked to think they were drawn to each other for a reason; she liked the mystery, the danger, and he liked the defiant pair of beautiful eyes that spoke back to his remarks. giorgio looked at her like a man stares into the abyss before jumping, and she loved it when the man called her mio enigma when she laughed and kept her head high after he offered to turn her life into a fantasy. oh, she loved that man; for who he was, and for the way he loved her without asking her to be less of herself. giorgio allowed her to believe she wouldn’t be his number two, not like she was her brothers’ number two, not like she’s been her entire life. in their household, eleonora would be number one - as long as in their household only.
giorgio had business of his own; it wasn’t unknown to the public that the vespasiano family wasn’t one you’d like to mess with, but that’s not what the woman was doing. she was becoming it. that surely couldn’t be as violent as crossing ways with that dreadful name. her first pregnancy gifted her with two children; giorgio wasn’t around when they were born, so very busy on his way out of town and towards one of his business matters, but made sure to hurry back home as soon as word was out that eleonora would have his children. a little girl was the first one she delivered, and she came into the world without crying, without noise. it was almost as if that whole thing was familiar, and looking into those little eyes, nora saw familiarity too. she’d call her ludovica, like her little ludo before, and watch her grow the way she couldn’t watch her little sister do. moments later, a little boy came into the world. that one, giorgio would call dante. when her husband arrived, she had both their children asleep in her arms, hair glued to her face very much like the proud smile of a new mother. ( which one is our first born, tata? ) he asked vividly, caressing the babies’ heads with both of his hands. she’s been there before; she’s taken the toll of a woman who’d never be allowed to be first. looked into his eyes, ( it’s your decision . ) — and he announced dante as their oldest child, proudly, loudly, and no one would ever deny it. into her daughter’s ear, eleonora would whisper; you’re my number one, tatina. always you.
she supposed her days were marvelously doomed to such thing, then. looking after their children, making them clothes, hugging her man from behind and enjoying the scene of them together in the mirror before he left once again. what he did was his business, but his business were hers too. that was her family, her name, her blood. ( careful, my darling – what is all of this about ? drowning me in agony ? ) and he’d turn around to face her, hold her face in his hands and kiss her so passionately that he’d believe she had forgotten about her worries. she swallowed them everytime, but the taste of her concerns never left her tongue. he left for weeks, sometimes a month, and always came back as galantly as when they met back in their days. he came back like the winner he was, like a champion bringing the woman he loves a trophy he earned to make her proud, and eleonora was glad to accept it, no matter how stained in blood it was.
he disappeared for a month, but always sent his brother to look after his family. nora called him giorgio’s middle man - served him a coffee so strong he always thought there was a drop of bourbon in it, and the woman never denied it. they’d laugh about it, and sometimes, only sometimes their eyes would linger together for more than just a moment. secretly, he’d tell her about whatever his brother was doing, and she’d listen and collect thoughts, quietly denoting all of the steps of his plans that could go wrong. one afternoon, she locked the door to giorgio’s office after they entered the room. and what happened then, her and giorgio’s children playing outside, in that room that smelled just like her husband – she could never forgive herself. and she tried to, year after year.
when giorgio came back at the end of that month, she seemed to be sick already – but, undeniably, of a sickness she knew all too well. he fell to his knees as soon as he saw her figure, knowing that glow on her skin had one meaning only. kissed her stomach so passionately for she was the perfect woman that just kept on gifting him with heirs, and god, how he loved her. nora cried and he wiped her tears thinking they carried happiness. they carried the guilt of a woman who’d look into the mirror from that day on and see nothing but a monster.
bernardo was born in the spring, and for the first time in forever giorgio refused to leave her side from the moment she started to feel like their child could be due. he was there all along, holding her hand as their twins stood in the corner with joint hands and curious eyes. eleonora never told him; she’d pay for it with her life, there was no doubt, and perhaps her own guilt could be enough torture to make her pay. that, and the fact that she could never gather the courage to let her husband know that child he so vividly adored could not even be his own.
her guilt allows her to do nothing but be the mother of his sons to this day; and she excelled at it, that is for sure. that quiet figure in the corner, always observing, always making notes and always with that little tilt of bitterness behind all words. but she melted right away whenever her children, now practically grown ups, would call her mamma and lay their heads over her legs like they did when they were little. she spends those days in the corner of the living room, lights a candle for her husband and one for each of their children, and lets it burn out as she whispers prayers while embroidering into the most difficult fabrics. when a bad thought crosses her mind, she bites on her cheek and pinches her fingertips with the needle until they go. and when her husband comes home to kiss her, hair turning grey from the springs they’ve spent together, she kisses him so passionately that it convinces herself it’s all been a terrible bad dream.
out of all things, she lives with it. loves her family with a holy devotion, and loves them so much that she has no choice but to do things like this. her man was one of a single kind, yes, but by default men like himself weren’t the brightest. he acted with his temper, refusing to listen to nora when she pointed out there were things bigger than winning. or even, that there were better ways to win. it’s why she acts on her own, this type of treason perhaps worse than the one she’s familiar with. she gives francesca a sweet smile, that almost seems to deform her features. ❝ they seem like boys with their little trucks ; ❞ offers eleonora, a sort of compassionate malice coming from her voice, ❝ they just think of clashing and making a big scene ; then we have to go after brand new trucks for them to play again the next day . ❞ it’s almost like a loving remark, a soft laughter. ❝ lemon pie sounds good , thank you . you seem like a very loving mother ; a very delicate woman . ❞ as displaced as it sounds, it’s the sweetest compliment nora could offer. she had never been like that, and admired it the most. ❝ and your children are a delight . mine are practically men with minds of their own now ; that happened too quickly . ❞ she wasn’t great at keeping a small talk, but even sounding superficial, she meant every word. francesca intrigued her the most, how the matriarch of such different family - a woman of such different costumes - seemed to think the very same as herself. sometimes, it is up to them to take charge of things.
she listened to eleonora’s comical but honest comments with a discreet smile on her face, silently nodding while cutting a piece of the pie for the other woman and herself. “isn’t every smart woman?” not so used to compliments, francesca always preferred to dodge the bullet and offer a humble remark in return, trying not to blush. she knew exactly what people talked about her around town — how much of an airhead she supposedly was, praying like a fool and talking about trivialities while her husband ran around the country —, and that’s why she resigned herself to not expect compliments ever since her first year of being married. the only praise she ever needed was from angelo, and that was something unlacking. still, she couldn’t deny that she liked to hear such words from eleonora. even if they were said for the sake of keeping a small talk while their husbands discussed, they helped to build sympathy for the other woman. truth be told, she didn’t know a lot about her aside from the gossip she heard whenever she had to go to the market by herself. she seemed to be a normal woman, definitely dedicated to her family and her duties as a wife. a woman like herself, busy trying to support her husband's errands and raise their children.
"oh, you say that because you haven't seen my oldest ones!" fortunately, children were a easy topic for her and a safe subject for both of them, considering their situation. before continuing, she gave a last look at the garden, just to confirm that the children were fine. "my first son is taller than me and already acts like the man of the house. he is every day getting closer from being one, i suppose." she said while smiling bitter, incapable of imagine her children as grown ups. "they will be coming soon, i hope. the three of them. we have a rule that they can only leave and arrive home together." she stood up and left the kitchen suddenly, not taking long to come back holding a picture of the said children. the age gap between franco, angela and vittoria was so desprezible that they could pass as triplets, and they surely had done it a couple of times.
she liked to differ her children in two types: the first and the second generation. franco was her first one, her first boy, the one supposed to follow his father's steps, and he was born in the middle of the second year of her marriage. she couldn't describe the chills she had felt when she saw angelo holding their first child on his arms, serenading him and talking about men stuff. she let her husband choose a name, and franco was supposed to be in her honor. eight months later, she returned the favour by calling their first girl as angela. vittoria was the first and only that she had to welcome into the world alone, and their sweetest one. after two years waiting for another one, it seemed clear that they would be the only castiglione kids, and francesca didn't see a problem in that. they had a man, which meant that her job was already done. mostly, she liked how the girls seemed to rule over her son, and how he never let anyone say anything about his sisters. if she raised him right, he would be a perfect family man, just like his father was.
to everyone's dismay, franco got worringly sick when he was almost ten. she had heard about sudden deadly fevers and other things that could only be threatening to a child, but to such a healthy boy? her healthy boy? what she had done wrong? the only thing she could do was stand on the side of his bed, trying to pray the sickness away, and even angelo tried to stay home awhile. it didn't matter how expensive the medicine was or how long her prayers could be, apparently nothing could help franco. after three weeks, her mother-in-law was already talking about a funeral, along comments questioning francesca's abilities as a mother.
at first, she didn't care. she thought she deserved that, for not being capable of healing her child. the child named in her honor. god seemed to be laughing at her, and she had no idea why. her mother in law was right: she was terrible.
angelo wasn't having it, though. after almost a month staying home, he couldn't bare the antecipated feeling of grief among his family when his son still could talk, think and breath, and he made it clear when he sent his mother away and expressed his utter disappointment at francesca for being a completely fool. why are you talking about burying our son when he is alive? you didn't marry me to be an idiot! she had no choice but to recompose herself and start controlling her house again, trying to be the woman she always had been. her son was going to get better. it all would be okay.
franco, indeed, got better, and healthier than ever. the family referenced the long month he spent in bed as his lazy period, and soon he went back to playing with his sisters and following his father in adventures. romeo was born a year later, and she couldn't help but laugh when she saw that, once again, angelo held a little boy on his arms. a sign from god, she'd say. now they had two men. gianna arrived two years later, in a way that between her and her oldest brother there was a twelve years difference. finally, her family was complete. "it happened so quickly that sometimes i wish they were children again. but god knows what he does."
