Chapter 21: The Fourteenth

Nico's POV

On the morning of March 14, I stood behind the kitchen door of my family's villa in the grey suit.

Two hundred people took their seats on the other side.

The head cook had pinned a sprig of basil on my lapel. She said it was for luck, and then she cried on my shoulder and left a floury handprint.

"Stop that," I told her. "You'll ruin the suit."

"It's already ruined," she said. "Look at you."

Through the swinging door I could see the long terrace under the white tent, rows of gold chairs, and the arch of white roses at the end.

The guests wore their best. Every one of them thought they were here for Renzo.

Gianni sat in the front row on the left. He had a fresh carnation and a shut face.

Nonna Pia sat beside him with the Date Book in her lap, small and straight in her black cardigan.

She did not look at the kitchen door. She did not need to.

The groundsman put his head in from the garden side.

"He's up there," he said. "Your brother. He's gone green."

I looked.

Renzo stood under the arch in a dark tuxedo with his hands clasped in front of him. He kept touching his cuffs, and then stopping.

The gold links were gone. Both sleeves were bare.

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