The Blue Dress Sisters

CHAPTER 49: THE FOLDS OF YOUR BLUE DRESS

"No," Delilah quickly answered. "I wouldn't marry another man just for that. The truth is, during all the time I spent at my grandmother's house, I felt that Giacomo and I developed a beautiful bond. He was the one who helped me escape, along with Maria, the maid. He really earned a place in my heart. So, when I accepted his proposal, it was because I knew Massimo wasn’t my destiny. And at least I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a kind man who I truly appreciate. Plus, I was sure that with time, I could come to love him unconditionally. And that’s exactly what happened. Over these two years of writing to each other, we got to know one another and love each other deeply."

"So, you're happy and completely sure you want to marry him?"

"I am, Gis."

"Now tell me, who do you love more? Massimo or Giacomo?"

"What kind of question is that?" Delilah huffed indignantly. "It's a totally different kind of love. Massimo is... my childhood, my youth, my best friend. A safe, beautiful, and precious place in my life. My soulmate, my Spaghetti. My first love, my first broken heart, my first... kiss."

A strangled gasp escaped Gisela’s throat.

"Did you really kiss him?"

"Shh, lower your voice!"

"Did you kiss him before or after he became a priest? Were the rumors true that Fátima had seen you?"

"Gisela!"

"Sorry, it’s just that these topics excite me so much." Gisela bit her lip, putting her hands on her chest with a dreamy expression. "Have you kissed Mr. Francomagaro too?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Delilah, have you really gotten over Massimo completely? I mean, if he showed up the day of your wedding and asked you not to marry, what would you do?"

"Stop reading so much Shakespeare, Gisela," Delilah teased, mocking her friend's wild imagination with a little laugh. "That’s absurd!"

"These things happen in real life too, Delilah. If you want, I can write to him that you're getting married. I bet that if he hears about it, he’d come to your wedding as a special guest. Or maybe as a priest to marry you."

"Just so, in the middle of the tension, he can suddenly shout: 'I object!'" Delilah dramatically mimicked the gesture she imagined Massimo would make.

They both laughed out loud, imagining such a scene. When they stopped, Gisela moved to the cabinets and rummaged through her clothes for something she had hidden.

As soon as she found it, she walked toward Delilah with her hands behind her back.

"Since you’ve forgotten about Massimo, I suppose you won’t mind reading this." She handed her a crumpled, dirt-stained piece of paper.

"What is this?" Delilah asked.

"Don’t tell me you don’t remember it, because I won’t believe you."

"Where did you find this?"

"I took it that morning as soon as I saw you go back to your room. And I won’t lie, I’ve read it."

Delilah fell silent.

Would it be a good idea to know the contents of that letter? Was it okay to stir those feelings after so much time? She wondered as she slowly opened the envelope, almost as if delaying enough to regret it.

Just seeing that cursive handwriting made her shiver, thinking about Massimo’s hands writing each of those words. She took a deep breath before reading in her mind.

Patata Piccolina,

I don’t know when I’ll see you again or hear any news about you. I don’t even know if there will be a next time.

That’s why I didn’t say goodbye. And I don’t regret it. I don’t want to say “goodbye forever” again. I refuse to say goodbye to you.

You probably hate me right now for leaving the way I did. And I don’t blame you.

Forgive me, Patata, for making the decision for both of us. Forgive me for not letting you choose.

I have to confess, not hearing you immediately reject Mr. Francomagaro’s proposal made me wonder if perhaps I wasn’t considering your feelings. Maybe I assumed you still loved me when you’d already stopped.

The mere possibility that your answer could be “yes” was driving me mad. And I couldn’t bear to stay and witness it.

If you’re reading this, I’m probably far away by now. I have no plans to return, at least for the moment. I will continue down the path I’ve chosen. I have a duty to God and to the people who need me.

And I’m certain you will choose what’s best for you. You are one of those who fight for their convictions.

Never, under any circumstances, forget that I love you. I always will, no matter the life I’ve chosen or the one you have chosen. I don’t even need to have you to love you—I will love you anyway.

Even if ten, twenty, or a hundred years pass, I won’t stop loving you. Even if you marry, have children, or become a nun, I will still love you. Even if you commit a crime, end up in prison, or stab a dagger into my chest, my feelings for you will never change.

And do you know why I’m so certain of this? Because I’ve always loved you.

I couldn’t tell you the exact moment in my childhood when I began to fall in love with you. There isn’t a specific day when I realized it. All I’ve ever known is that I would feel the same way about you for the rest of my life.

My deepest admiration for your jokes, your clumsiness, your butterfingers, the times you fall but stand back up with your head held high. For the times you break but manage to piece everything back together. For your laughter, your bravery, your generosity. For your ghost stories and mischievous adventures. For your intelligence, which I envy.

I adore the ground your feet walk on and every place your hands touch. I adore the ribbon on your hat and the folds of your blue uniform dress, so worn out from your adventures. I adore the sleeve where your tears gather.

I love you more than you think, Delilah, and I want you never to doubt it. You will always be my most beautiful memory, my other half. My Patata Piccolina.

Yours,
Spaghetti.

When Delilah finished reading, her face was streaked with tears. Her damp eyes could barely focus on the words smudged by dirt and age.

"He’s an idiot," she whispered in a broken voice.

"Why? He wrote the most romantic things I’ve ever read."

"That’s why!" Delilah protested, wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her dress. "How could he write such things right before leaving forever? Was it his evil plan to make sure I’d never forget him? Not even the villains in books are this cruel."