Chapter 21: The Vow

On Thursday night, at eleven, Cesare put the primer down on the bed.

He said he had one more thing to learn.

"You have a speech tomorrow," I said. "Four sentences. You know them."

"This isn't for tomorrow."

He sat on the edge of the mattress in his undershirt.

The lamp threw a gold stripe across his scar.

He looked, for the first time since I'd met him, shy.

"The courthouse," he said. "A man in a suit read me some words and I said yes."

"You did."

"I didn't understand half of them. I was thinking about whether you'd bolt."

"I nearly did."

"I know." His mouth twitched. "I'd like to do it again. Properly. In his language. Mine."

I sat down beside him.

"You're not going to ask me anything, are you?"

"No. I'm going to tell you."

He took my hand and turned it over.

He looked at my palm, where I had once written *votiamo* in ink.

Then he began.

"*Margherita.*"

His accent was bad.

The words came out slowly, one at a time.

"*Io non ti ho scelta perché eri sul mio tavolo.*"

I did not choose you because you were on my table.

I felt my throat close.

"*Ti ho scelta perché sei rimasta.*"

I chose you because you stayed.

"*Quando ho avuto paura, sei rimasta.*"

When I was afraid, you stayed.

"*Quando non capivo, tu sei stata le mie orecchie.*"

When I couldn't understand, you were my ears.

He stopped.

The lamp hummed.

"*Ti prometto,*" he said, and his voice cracked on the second word, "*che imparerò ogni parola.*"

I promise I will learn every word.

"*Anche le brutte.*"

Even the ugly ones.

He lifted his eyes, and they were wet and black and steady.

"*Sono tuo,*" he said. "*Se mi vuoi.*"

I am yours.

If you want me.

I didn't trust myself to say anything in either language.

So I put my hand on his cheek, and kissed him.

I kissed him for a long time, with my fingers in his hair.

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