Adriana Trigiani - Brava, Valentine

“Pity is always a woman’s downfall when it comes to men,” he says. Then he walks away from me.

“Please try and understand.” I follow him.

“ Va bene ,” he says with resignation. He goes to the far side of the roof and looks out over the West Side Highway. We stand in silence for a very long time.

“I wish you’d yell at me,” I say.

“You were being kind. That’s something to admire.”

“I don’t feel very admirable right now.” The kiss was bad enough, but I feel worse about the ring in his coat pocket. The Christmas I dreamed of is slipping away.

“It was a mistake,” he says.

“A big one. I don’t love Bret. I don’t love any man as much as I love you. I want to spend my life with you. Every day of it.”

Gianluca takes my hand. “You’re cold,” he says.

“Please. Just yell at me. Let it out. Get it over with. I did something wrong. I hurt you.”

He kisses my hand. “I forgive you,” he says simply.

“Why?” I can’t believe he’s calm. If the situation were reversed, I would be throwing ceramic pots off the roof in a blind and jealous rage. “How can you forgive me?”

He takes my face in his hands. “Because I love you.”

And then he kisses me. He pulls me close, and whispers in my ear, “And I trust you.”

And there it is. Trust-the elusive goal, the foundation of true love and Gianluca’s gift to me on this Christmas Eve, given freely and without reservation. He believes me. He knows what I say is true. Trust was the secret of my parents’ reconciliation, the balm that will heal Alfred and Pam going forward, and for me? Trust means I can be secure in the knowledge that no harm will come to my heart. Trust means we will figure out a life plan that includes his dreams and mine. Trust means I have someone who loves me and is on my side even when I fail, come up short, or do something rash. Gianluca proved that tonight. I can trust him because he knows to trust me.

“Oh, Gianluca, let’s go.” I hold him close. “They’re waiting for us in Jersey.”

“I don’t like the Feast of the Seven Fishes.”

“You don’t?”

“I want my Christmas Eve with you. And only you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I tell him.

He holds me. “There is only one way to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything. I’ll even paint your house.”

“That’s not necessary.” He laughs.

“What can I do?” I ask him.

“Marry me,” he says.

I take a deep breath. “You know, I read an article once…”

Gianluca rolls his eyes.

I continue, “A man never asks a woman to marry him unless he’s certain she is going to say yes.”

“I like that article.” He smiles and takes my face in his hands. “But I would rather have the answer from you.” Gianluca pulls me close. He already knows the answer, but the gentleman that he is, the man that I love and know him to be waits patiently and trusts that my answer will be the right one.

“Yes,” I tell him. “I will marry you.”

He kisses me, as Greenwich Village spins indigo and green and Christmas red around us.

At last the midnight blue sky opens up, and the moon, a milky pearl, pushes through. Silver light dances on the water of the Hudson River in a shower of sapphires.

“What do you think of my river now?” I ask him.

He looks over the wall, past the highway, and down the Hudson. “I like your river,” he says. “I like it very much.”

I dedicate this novel to my sister Lucia Anna “Pia” Trigiani whom I have idolized since the day I was born. Pia is gifted, but down to earth. She is wise, but never condescends. Pia throws great parties; she’s an elegant hostess, but she is also an attorney, which means she knows how to clean up a mess. Wherever Pia works or plays, she brings people together and makes a family. I have always counted on her for the big stuff and the little things, too-in all matters, Pia has never let me down. As life goes on, I realize what a rare thing this is, and so, because I could never possibly thank her enough-Pia, this one’s for you!

At HarperCollins, I am published by a stellar group of people led by the discerning Jonathan Burnham. (Nobody fights harder to get every detail exactly right.)

Lee Boudreaux, my editor of enormous strength and taste, is the writer’s gift that keeps on giving, sentence by sentence, book by book. Lee’s right arm, Abigail Holstein, is talented and kind, a rare combo. Leslie Cohen designs beautiful tours and gets the word out with style and grace. Christine Boyd dreams up marketing schemes and we all follow happily. Virginia Stanley keeps me front and center with my beloved librarians and it’s a good thing because my mother was one! The jacket art, perhaps more impor tant than good teeth, is designed by the brilliant Archie Ferguson and the dazzling Christine Van Bree.

Also at Harper’s, my evermore gratitude to the hardworking and diligent: Brian Murray, Kathy Schneider (she moves heaven and earth and crates of books), Michael Morrison (the champion), Angie Lee, James Tyler, Kyle Hansen, Tina Andreadis (you want a Greek girl running your press), Katherine Beitner, Jocelyn Kalmus, Cindy Achar, Lydia Weaver, Miranda Ottewell, Michael Siebert, Emily Bryant, Doug Jones, Carla Clifford, Kathryn Pereira, Alexis Lunsford, Jeanette Zwart, Andrea Rosen (special market queen), Josh Marwell, Brian Grogan, Kate Blum, Carl Lennertz, Carrie Kania (tops in trade paper and accessories), Jennifer Hart (delight with an Internet bullhorn), Stephanie Selah, Alberto Rojas (clone him), and Meredith Rusu. Allison Saltzman of Ecco provides advice and guidance-always appreciated! Sandi Mendelson and Cathy Gruhn at Hilsinger Mendelson are dynamic, fun, and work harder than ten men.

At William Morris Endeavor, where the work ethic rivals those of Italian stone masons, Suzanne Gluck represents me with smarts, panache, and understanding. The tireless Nancy Josephson has been my agent and friend since I was young, and she gets the 3:00 a.m. call, because she’s amazing and because she’s the only friend I have who is still up and on her BlackBerry at that hour. My thanks also to Global Graham Taylor, beautiful Michelle Bohan, Sarah Ceglarski, Caroline Donofrio; Cara Stein (perfection), Alicia Gordon (her mother should be proud), Natalie Hayden, Philip Grenz (his mother should be proud), Erin Malone, Tracy Fisher, Elizabeth Reed, Eugenie Furniss (my UK angel), Claudia Webb, Cathryn Summerhayes, Becky Thomas, and Raffaella de Angelis (who will get you published in countries you’ve never heard of and then you want to visit).

In Movieland, thank you Diane Nabatoff, Larry Sanitsky, Claude Chung, the Sanitsky Company, Lou Pitt, Julie Durk, Rita McClenny, Richard Thompson, Susan Cartsonis, and Roz Weisberg.

Thank you, Michael Patrick King, for your wise counsel as we keep the faith.

Everybody needs a brass section: thank you, Elena Nachmanoff and Dianne Festa, for all you do, and all you are!

The world of Buenos Aires, Argentina, unfolded in Technicolor through the eyes of Osvaldo Cima, Irwin B. Katz, Diane Smith Rigaux, and Dr. Armand Rigaux. Thank you for your guidance and valuable input.

My everlasting gratitude to my teachers of the Wise County public school system, and beloved librarians, Mrs. Ernestine Roller, Mr. James Varner (the bookmobile!), and Ms. Billie Jean Scott, who recommended books I treasure and reread to this day. Ms. Faith Cox, a great educator, has always been a wise mentor, and good friend.

Thank you, Costanzo and Antonio Ruocco of da Costanzo, Capri, Italy, for your craftsmanship and knowledge in the art of shoemaking. The Italian translations were provided by Dorina Cereghino-Hewitt, and further Italian pizzazz from Gina Casella. My grandfather, shoemaker Carlo Bonicelli, was the inspiration for this series of books.