Elisabetta blinked, shocked. Her heart leapt to her throat. She hadn’t seen this coming.
“Elisabetta, I love you, and I’ve loved you all my life. My feelings have only grown stronger, every day. I know I can make you happy.” Marco smiled down at her, his dark eyes shining and his expression intense with emotion. “I love you, I appreciate you, and I treasure all that is wonderful about you and always have, even from when we were little. I promise to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Nothing would make me happier. I would be the luckiest man in the world if you would accept this ring, and say yes to my proposal.”
Elisabetta listened, astounded. Other couples were starting to look over, realizing they were witnessing a marriage proposal. They began to gasp, smile, and talk to each other excitedly, as if awaiting her answer with Marco, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to hurt Marco or embarrass him, though he didn’t notice them, his gaze focused only on her, reflecting the devotion he had always shown her.
“Elisabetta, I know you struggle, always on your own, and you don’t need to do that anymore. I have a real job and I can provide for you. We can make a family, you and I, and we can withstand all the troubles that the war, or hard times, or anything else may bring us.”
“But what about your family?” Elisabetta blurted out, stalling. “Did you discuss this with them?”
“No, and I don’t have to. My parents will get used to the idea, and if they don’t, we’ll leave them behind. You and I will live together in our own place, and if they don’t like it, that will be their problem, not ours.” Marco dropped to one knee, looking up at her with a heartbreaking smile. “Will you marry me?”
“Marco, I, uh, didn’t expect this.” Elisabetta watched his expression darken, and she hated to hurt him. She did love him, but she didn’t know if she wanted to marry him, not yet. She was just getting used to seeing him again. She was trying to take care of Nonna and work. She remembered when she had dreamed about becoming a columnist or a novelist. She still had those dreams, somewhere inside her, and she wouldn’t be able to fulfill them if she decided to get married.
“Elisabetta.” Marco kept looking up at her, though a frown popped onto his forehead. “You love me, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if I feel ready for—”
“I understand.” Marco looked pained, but his expression remained loving. He rose from his knees, still holding her hands, and pressed the engagement ring into her palm. “I understand, this caught you unawares. We haven’t been seeing each other enough. I’ve been working too hard and haven’t given us the time that we deserve.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Elisabetta rushed to say, though her heart hurt.
“Keep the ring until you’re ready. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Are you sure?” Elisabetta asked, but when she heard herself, she realized that it wasn’t the correct question at all. She was the one who was unsure. She didn’t know if it was only a matter of time. And she didn’t know if she should take the ring. But it was already in her hand.
“When you’re ready, just say the word.” Marco kissed her softly.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Rosa
December 1939
It was a sunny, if chilly, day and Rosa felt relieved to be back on Italian soil. Her heart lifted to see the palm trees lining the Tiber, a sight she had missed in rainy London, and the Thames didn’t compare to this river, pea-green and sun-kissed. She walked down Lungotevere de’ Cenci, passing people on the sidewalk, loving the musical sound of her native tongue and noting the emotionality of her countrymen, who gesticulated as they spoke. She hadn’t realized how different Italians were until she lived in London, and though she loved David and their circle of British friends, she was happy to be home, even in the circumstances.
Rosa had left London on an embassy flight, lucky to get a ticket to Rome, as travel was restricted. David was serving in the RAF, and she had been following the news of the Race Laws at home, which were systematically stripping Italian Jews of their citizenship, profession, and property. She sensed her parents needed her, even though their letters never said so.
Rosa reached the entrance to the Ghetto and passed the small white church of San Gregorio della Divina Pietà, an ancient church that had significance for Jews, especially poignant now. In the 1500s, the Ghetto Jews had been forced to attend Mass there every Sunday, as part of the campaign to convert them. The church’s ivory fa?ade showed a painting of a crucified Christ, above a biblical inscription intended as a tongue-lashing to Ghetto Jews: “I have stretched out my hands all day to a rebellious people, who walk in a way that is not good, following their own devices, a people who provoke me to my face continually.”