When Greg and Livia returned from their meditation by the lake, they summoned the family to their impressive suite. The panoramic windows slid seamlessly into the walls, merging the living room and terrace into one vast open-air space suitable for a summit. Livia had ordered appetizers, arranged on the coffee table indoors to keep them out of the sun, while pitchers of lemonade—and a bottle of limoncello—were set out for drinking. Livia ushered everyone in like a proper hostess. Dressed in her Marimekko dress, she looked not sad but properly bronzed, as if the reflection of the sun's rays off the water had restored her to health after the calamitous wedding rehearsal dinner that would have sent a lesser woman running to a sanitarium to convalesce. Patrick and the kids were already peeling from sunburn and were in need of their own regeneration, but not Livia; it was as though she slept in a hyperbaric chamber.
Clara arrived first, dragging Palmina behind her. Livia's parents appeared next, followed by Patrick, and then the kids, who clung tightly to his side, perhaps afraid they were about to be grounded for weeks. Emory snuck in last and pulled the door softly closed behind him.
"Emory?" Greg asked once he spotted the new arrival through the crowd, surprised to find that their party had grown by one in the brief time he had been on the lake. Emory waved sheepishly, as though he were intruding.
"In the flesh." He winked at Patrick, who had just experienced every inch of that flesh.
"Does this mean?" Greg pointed to him, then to Patrick, and back to Emory again. Clara's head turned with the same question.
"We're doing a soft relaunch," Patrick said. "Let's not everyone make a big deal. We don't need to draft a press release, or alert the Passages page in *People*."
"But it is a big deal," Greg said. Patrick was moved by the genuine happiness his brother mustered in a moment when other things were potentially falling apart. Greg then hugged Emory and enthusiastically introduced him to Livia and her family. Grant high-fived his uncle, then immediately crossed to investigate the "snappetizers," borrowing an old word of Patrick's. Even Clara gripped Patrick and Emory tightly.
"Well done," she whispered to Patrick as he peeled her off him so she wouldn't smear his shirt with her wedding makeup. "I shouldn't be the only one having great sex in this magnificent hotel."
"I beg you, stop talking."
"Great, animalistic sex. Come on, I'm dying to tell someone."
"Buy a diary," Patrick pleaded as he squeezed between the kids and a wall to get away.
"So you are the mysterious Emily!" Lorenzo trumpeted when they had finally made the rounds. Emory looked back at Patrick, who scrunched his nose; it was easier just to go with it. Emory greeted the Brassos warmly before his gaze fell on Palmina. She, too, had her face done for the wedding, and her enormous earrings were back. Her hair was swept up in a faux-hawk that made her look more in vogue than ever, irritating Patrick to no end.
"And you are Palmina. I've heard so much about you."
"All bad, I hope," Palmina murmured as her mother whacked her on the arm. Emory laughed.
"I can already tell I like you."
Patrick stepped in to curtail this budding enthrallment. "Okay, that's enough introductions."
Grant pushed himself into the center of the room. "Where Palmina lives there's a sea cave where the water inside is blue."
"All water is blue," Patrick insisted. Honestly. They didn't need to be impressed with all things Palmina.
"No, but like really blue. What's it called?"
"The Grotta Azzurra," Palmina replied.
"Grotta Azzhoo—" Grant attempted before giving up. "All there is where GUP lives is Central Park."
Palmina looked at the boy with great pity. "Central Park is so plebeian."
Patrick turned to Emory to say, *See what I'm dealing with?* But Emory had already turned his attention to Livia.
"I don't mean to intrude on your family meeting. I just wanted to say a quick hello and I'll leave you all to it. Patrick, meet me downstairs when you're done?"
Livia turned to Patrick for an explanation.
"The kids called him," he said, holding his hands up to proclaim innocence. "I had nothing to do with it." Maisie shot daggers his way, thinking he could only get her in more trouble where Livia was concerned, but Grant was pleased to get credit.
But Livia was nothing if not gracious. "If the kids called you and they want you here, then you are part of the family and I want you here, too."
"Let's get you some antipasto," Giana offered, and led Emory to the bountiful spread. "You've had a long flight. You must eat." It was clear from the look on his face Emory was enjoying the Brassos; how much of his enjoyment stemmed from it annoying Patrick was as yet undetermined.
That morning they had followed their plan. Clara cornered Greg early and had given him a good talking to, and Palmina likewise had taken Livia aside. They did their best to reassure them that the kids were just that—kids—and while they were an important consideration, perhaps they shouldn't be the only consideration when they had proven to be so resilient. Both Greg and Livia listened to their respective siblings politely before stating firmly that they, and they alone, would make any final decision. Meanwhile, Patrick had done his best to make headway with Maisie, but her general discomfort led to her standing her ground, lest she expose even more vulnerability by allowing a public change of heart. As lifeguards in this situation, Palmina, Clara, and Patrick had jumped into the riptide with both feet and were now in danger themselves of being swept out to sea.
"Greg," Patrick tried, making one last-ditch effort. But Greg held a finger in front of his lips to shush him.
"Why don't you all sit down." Livia gestured at the tufted sofa and chair. Palmina took an awkward seat on the sofa's arm next to her parents, and Patrick for the first time saw the vulnerable girl underneath her queer swagger. Giana fussed with the food, arranging everything to look presentable as Lorenzo swatted a buzzing fly. Emory procured two chairs from the terrace's dining table for him and Patrick, and Grant hopped on Emory's lap, looking more like a ventriloquist's dummy than ever. Maisie receded into the far corner next to a potted plant, not wanting anything to do with this torture. Greg took Livia's hand in his and they stood facing the gathering. Emory, realizing he was the only one holding food, discreetly handed his plate to Patrick, who slid it under his chair.
Greg began. "First of all, I want to thank Lorenzo and Giana for their incredible hospitality this week, not to mention the generosity and the kindness they have shown my children. That I won't ever forget. And Patrick, Clara, Maisie, and Grant—"
"And Emory!" Grant excitedly exclaimed.
"And Emory," Greg agreed. "I thank you for putting your own lives on hold and traveling all this way to celebrate with us. All of it means so much. But we have come to a..." His voice cracking, he turned to Livia for strength.
Livia pursed her lips stoically. "We have decided that now is not the time to get married."
The room sat quietly with this news. Even Lorenzo, who never met a passing thought he couldn't express boisterously, could only mutter to himself softly. Patrick glanced at Maisie; instead of relief, he saw genuine anguish. As much as she thought she wanted this, victory, now that it was at hand, apparently was not so sweet. He then turned back to Greg and read bona fide heartbreak on his brother's face. And so he broke the silence.
"Bullshit."
Everyone turned to Patrick, appalled.
"No, I'm sorry. That's bullshit."
"Patrick," Greg cautioned. "Let's not get into a repeat of last night. The decision has already been made."
"And it's wrong! Once again I am right, and the rest of you are behaving like morons."
"GUP," Maisie protested. But Patrick was having none of it.
"No, Maisie, that's not ableist. Being an idiot is not a medical condition. I'm talking garden-variety, actors-who-don't-know-not-to-read-the-stage-directions-out-loud type of imbeciles here. Get serious."
Emory swallowed uncomfortably, then tried to cut some of the tension. "No, no. Back off, everyone. I saw him first."
Palmina laughed her throaty laugh. She liked this Emory character, too.
"Maisie, I know this is what you wanted, but I need you to open your eyes and your heart and remember the love languages I taught you. *Silent All These Years.* Livia has been nothing but silent since you first met as she endured your chilly embrace. *The Finer Things*? Oh my god, have you seen this hotel? It's nothing but the finest! Even my room, which yes, I know—*piccola*. But still, wow. And she wants to share them all with you. A tour of the Villa del Balbianello? A once-in-a-lifetime shopping trip to the Prada flagship store, where she shared a few of her favorite things? And she picked up the bill? *Don't need no credit card to ride this train.* Hello!"
Emory whispered to Grant. "The Prada flagship store? Is that true?" Grant, however, merely shrugged. Greg, meanwhile, looked thoroughly baffled. What were these lessons Patrick had been teaching the kids?
"And *Making Love Out of Nothing at All.* Putting off her own wedding at the last minute to build a relationship with you. Maybe you haven't spent enough time with Livia to see it yet, and yes—seeing is believing. Even I was slow to come around. But she wants to take a vow to join your family in front of God and everyone until death do you part." The God stuff was perhaps a little over the top, but Lorenzo, finding his mojo, gave him a spirited thumbs-up. Maisie looked down at her shoes.
"Patrick," Greg said again. "These lessons seem well intended—"
"Because they are! But the one thing I didn't get to say about love is how rare it can be. And what a miracle it is to find it once. But to find it twice?" Patrick held out his hand for Emory, who happily offered his in return. "Maisie, Grant. We all loved your mom. I dare say even Livia loves your mom because of the love she had for your dad and because she brought you into this world."
"It's true," Livia said quietly, leaning into Greg.
"Just as your mom and I loved Joe. But now they are both gone. And they both want us to be happy. I know this in my bones." Patrick scanned the room to see if this was sinking in. "Do you remember Guncle Rule sweet sixteen?" He hoped that was the right one—it had been such a long time. "I want you to really live. And change is the biggest part of living."
Grant slipped off Emory's lap and crossed to his sister, pinning her arms to her side with a tight hug. "It's okay, Maisie. You're just scared because we're the last survivors of a lost civilization that was you, me, Mom, and Dad. We know all the traditions and the jokes."
Everyone's jaws dropped in amazement, except for Greg's, who instead caught Patrick's eye. *I thought he was asleep,* he mouthed.
*I know,* Patrick mouthed back.
"But we can teach Livia about our ways. About birthdays and Christmas."
"Ease up on the presents," Patrick cautioned before his nephew could ruin the moment by opening a registry.
"We can rebuild our civilization. And make booby traps with spears and poison darts, and a giant boulder that can roll down from the attic if anyone tries to attack—"
There it was. Patrick stepped forward and covered Grant's mouth with his hand. "Nailed it, kiddo. Right up until that Indiana Jones bit."
Grant wriggled free of Patrick and pumped his fist. "I'll bet you thought I was sleeping, huh?"
Patrick was too stunned to answer, his mind already racing to think of what else he and Greg might have absentmindedly discussed in front of the boy.
"Magic! I'm training myself to sleep with my eyes open and be awake with my eyes closed." Patrick tried to imagine the résumé that listed those as special skills.
"What an excellent use of your time."
Livia stepped forward. "It's true, Maisie. I really would like to learn. I know you're the keeper of your family's memories. So I am going to need your help. Your father and I still very much want to get married. But we've agreed we need to do a better job of including you in the planning. And that maybe it should all happen closer to home."
"My home?" Maisie asked tentatively. She might be better able to wrap her head around a wedding in Connecticut.
"Our home," Livia said as Greg embraced her.
Maisie took a conciliatory step away from the wall and toward the group. "I would like that," she said. She still looked like she hoped the floor would swallow her, and it was only a small step. But it was one giant leap for Maisie-kind.
"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Giana asked of her daughter, hoping perhaps that this was enough in the way of reconciliation to put things back on track. "We are here all together. In this stunning hotel. Surrounded by the most breathtaking view."
"We have all this food!" Lorenzo added. "And the wine. Oh, so much wine."
"Someone should get married today," Giana pleaded.
Maisie's thin voice broke through everyone murmuring their regret. "It should be GUP."
Grant, however, was on another track entirely. "Can we get an Italian greyhound?" he asked Livia. "A dog like that might help you feel more at home."
Only Greg registered what Maisie said. He turned to Livia for confirmation, but she was focused solely on Grant as he continued pleading his case. "Maisie," Greg interrupted, covering Grant's mouth with his hand. "What did you just say?"
The color drained from Patrick's face when her words finally sunk in. "Maisie didn't say anything."
"Yes she did," Clara said, coming around.
"I only heard something about Italian hounds."
"That's because you have auditory recency bias," Maisie charged.
Livia turned to Patrick, concerned. "Is it serious?"
"Is it fatal?" Palmina asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Lorenzo and Giana exchanged glances.
Emory jumped in to put them all at ease. "Sadly, made-up diseases rarely are."
Patrick turned to the kids. "It is not made up... Kids, are you just going to let that hang there?"
Maisie stepped forward. "We think launts are better than guncles." She extended her hand to Patrick. "Could you hand me a plate?"
Without thinking Patrick reached for a plate from the table, but he snatched it back before Maisie could take it. "For the last time, there is no such thing as launts!"
Maisie threw her arms in the air. "OH MY GOD, HE'S CURED!" Patrick spun in a tight circle as a dog might as everyone laughed at his expense. "You heard exactly what I said. All the things you said about Livia, they're true about Emory, too. He keeps silent when you are at your most ridiculous."
"Like right now, for instance," Emory teased, uncertain where this was going.
"And when Grant and I stay with you, you and Emory make the bed with eight-hundred-thread-count sheets. Even though we have no idea what that means. Finer things."
Patrick turned to Emory for backup. "It's a guest room, not a barn."
"You do everything together, as you have the same favorite things. And he dropped everything to fly over an ocean to be here for us when we needed him most. You love spending time together, and you mope around when you're apart."
"I do not mope..." Patrick protested, covering his eyes. This wasn't happening. Now it was him hoping the room's floor would suddenly open.
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Maisie challenged with newly gained confidence.
This was such obvious payback, Patrick should have seen it coming; he'd walked himself right into this trap. All eyes were on him, including Emory's. "No, I said a soft relaunch. Soft."
"What if we made it hard?" Emory smirked. It caused Patrick to do a double take. Patrick scanned the room looking for someone—anyone—to rescue him from this tight corner, or at the very least point the way out.
"Patrizio," Palmina began. "Giving the teenagers hand jobs is fine for a while, but is it really a life?"
Emory's head spun like an owl's. "I'm sorry, giving teenagers WHAT?"
"Hand JIVE. Jive. And not giving, teaching." Beads of sweat gathered on Patrick's forehead. "I need to lie down."
Palmina stood, and then one by one so did the others until only Emory remained seated. Patrick closed his eyes and breathed deeply, reminding himself how sad he'd been the past few months. Palmina's words from their very first encounter rang through his head. *You'll never know what you want until you know for certain who you are.* It was the one thing this moment had going for it: Patrick had never felt more like himself.
*Fuck it,* he thought as he opened his eyes. "Carpe diem," he muttered. And then since Maisie's SayHi app was set to Italian, he said, "That's Latin for seize the day." He dropped to one knee and groaned when his kneecap hit the floor.
"Did you just groan?" Emory asked.
"Give me a break. My knees are old."
"They're not old," Palmina opined. "They're wise." She then dropped her bravado and tugged on her earring, exposing the hidden soft spot she had underneath. She gestured encouragement for him to follow through; he had already confessed that this was his dream wedding, it was up to him now to make that dream come true.
"Emory." Patrick inhaled and the scent of cypress trees brought great calm. "I have all these rules for others and my life is best when I apply them to myself, too. I want to truly live, and that means living my life with you. I don't always deserve you, but I do always love you. And I would be honored if you saw fit to live your life with me." Patrick took one last deep breath, the weight of all eyes on him. "Will you marry me?"
In this fairy-tale world of old European castles and wicked stepmothers (who turned out to be empathetic and kind), could this really be it? Patrick had always been more fairy godmother than Cinderella, but as he waited for Emory's answer he knew he was now ready for his happily ever after.