The Thistles of Rose

31 • Nurturing

The afternoon sun beams through the patio doors. Aurelia is sound asleep in her bouncer as Marco and I sit on the couch, going through the checklist for the wedding. I found it quite unusual when he came up to me today and asked about my progress. I didn't think he would be interested in it.

"Guest list?" Marco asks, keeping his eyes trained on the iPad.

He's been quite rigid, today. He's not been himself and I'm concerned but I don't want to pry. Marco will confide in me if he wants to.

"Luca finally confirmed it. He wants the wedding to be quite small, which is understandable," I respond, resting my elbow on the back of the couch. I sit facing him with my leg crossed under the other which was, honestly, quite hard to do in these jeans.

"Cake?"

"The tasting session is booked for Monday at 4 pm," I say.

He glances over at me with a hint of a Marco smile, "I'm coming to that."

There's something not right with him.

"Venue?" He continues.

"I can do it at one of the hotels, but it's not what I want. I want it to be in like a traditional mansion with a really beautiful garden, seeing as it is going to be summer. I just need to look around a bit more."

"Have you not thought of doing it back in Italy?" Marco queries.

"I did but, do you want to take this baby on a plane?" My eyes flit to my sleeping daughter.

Yeah, we would take our private jet but I don't want to go through that stress of dragging her along and her adjusting to a different country. She'll still be quite young then: she'll be nine months old.

"Fair enough," he shrugs, sitting back on the couch. "Your dress?"

"Oh, that's done. I did that ages ago."

Marco suddenly sits forward, with curious eyes. "Who saw it?"

"No one. It's a complete surprise." I zip my mouth closed with a small smile on my lips.

"How did you decide?" He continues to ask questions, monotonously.

I can tell his mind is wandering elsewhere but he's trying so hard to stay rooted in reality with me.

Okay, I've had enough. It's been playing on my mind ever since he sat down. It's aching me to know that he's hurting about something on the inside and I can't help him unless he tells me.

I snatch the iPad from him, shutting it off. Marco turns to me in protest but my concerned gaze freezes him.

"Are you okay, Marco? You don't seem like yourself today," I place my hand over his, rubbing my thumb over it comfortingly.

It's almost as if the second I asked that, he pulls his emotions to his sleeve like he was waiting for me to address it. I don't blame him. He did say before that I'm the only one who properly sees him.

"It's February 1st, today. The day Aunt Chiara died," his words fade at the end as he looks up at me with tears lining his brown eyes, "and Luca's birthday."

That vicious arrow shatters the glass target over my heart, pinning down my breath. The tear that slips from Marco's jovial eyes shackles it and runs my throat dry.

I had no idea. Why didn't I know this?

Luca's mom died this day and he was taken as a captive. All on his birthday.

Luca, my broken darling. That's why he gave Aurelia and me an extra long hug this morning before he left for work.

"Marco," I whisper, heartbrokenly for the trauma these two young boys had to endure.