"You know what you need? A pool," said Stephanie, flipping onto her stomach so her front and back would tan evenly.
Lorenzo leaned over and trailed his fingers up her spine with his lazy smile. "Nah," he joked, "when they get hot they just go to the next block and jump in Prospect Park Lake."
"All the time," Antonio said dryly.
"Or you can swim laps in that giant bathtub upstairs."
Stephanie craned her neck toward Lorenzo and said, "Babe, can you scoot back? You're blocking the light."
He obeyed only after he had met Antonio's gaze and rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Antonio sat back too, though with the August sun directly overheard there was little chance of him getting in the way of Stephanie's tan. She was stretched out on a towel directly on the patio, while Antonio was in a chair at the table, looking out over the back yard. Lorenzo was closer, sitting cross-legged at Stephanie's side and toying with her half-used bottle of sunscreen. They had elected to plop down onto the patio as soon as they had arrived, leaving their overnight bags in the middle of the parlor: apparently Stephanie had taken the train in from Philly wearing nothing but her bikini and a maxi dress. As she put it, Antonio and Constance were her only friends who actually had a back yard, and she wasn't going to waste any time that weekend in taking advantage of it.
Down in the yard, Josie was doing the same thing, laying out on the old quilt Antonio had brought down for their makeshift picnic while her mother and little sister bustled around the grill nearby. Catstance was winding around Cecilia's ankles as she tutted over the quality of the burgers; Sophie was stealing grapes from the fruit salad her girlfriend Kaavya was assembling whenever she turned her back. Antonio bit back a smile when Kaavya finally caught her and lobbed a strawberry at her as punishment, earning a shriek and a cry of, "Kaavi, this is my new dress!" Cecilia watched the girls too with that look Antonio now knew was pride, pride in her daughters-and in their families. He had been on the receiving end of that look himself a few times, though it still made him nervous.
A moment later Frank emerged from the bushes at the back of the lot with a triumphant grin on his face and a wild rose in each hand. He made his way over to the bench where Aloysia was sitting with Frida and tucked one of the flowers behind her ear with a flourish. With her long, dark hair and large eyes the addition of a rose made her look like a flamenco dancer on her day off. She grinned at him and readjusted it to better accentuate her face. Antonio had gotten used to the presence of pop sensation Aloysia in his family a lot more easily than he would have guessed before he met her. That icy, composed creature he had seen in red carpet footage and music videos over the years was just a persona, a coping mechanism for a shy woman with a wicked sense of humor. He could see why Frank liked her so much, what Frank had always seen even before they had met. The two of them brought out the best in each other, musically as well as personally. They hadn't made an official announcement yet, but Aloysia had already asked Frank to be her guitarist on the tour she was planning for next year: the Syncopated Tart tour. Frank's idea.
His brother stooped before the bench and offered Frida the other rose, watching those chubby little hands reach out for the bloom with the same warm expression that was always lingering in his eyes nowadays. Frida waved the flower around and babbled at it while Aloysia pulled Frank into a kiss. When they broke apart he looked up at the patio, caught Antonio's eye, and winked at him. Antonio shook his head fondly, resting his chin in his hand. He'd had no idea his brother was such a sap before Frida was born. Frank held up one finger and went to the back of the yard again, the overgrown bushes eventually blocking him from view.
"Antonio, honey, what kind of cheese do you want on your burger?" Cecilia called.
He sat up straight at the sound of her voice as he always did, though Constance's mom hadn't been a threat to him in a long, long time. In fact, that day she had come to his office had been exactly a year ago now. "Uh, swiss, I guess," he answered vaguely, hoping his voice would carry through the hot summer air without him having to match her volume.
"We've only got cheddar and jack."
"Cheddar, then."
Frank reemerged from the back of the yard and took the stairs up to the patio two at a time, stepping gingerly over Stephanie's legs.
"What are you-?" Antonio started to ask, but before he could finish the question his brother brought out a fistful of roses from behind his back. He slid one behind each of Antonio's ears, one into his shirt pocket, and then began looping the rest through the elastic that was holding back his hair. "Frank..."
"Just want you to look nice on your birthday," he teased, popping the last rose behind his own ear and dropping to a seat at the table.
Lorenzo snickered, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him. "You've gotten really weird, Frank."
"It's cute!" objected Stephanie without lifting her head. "Papa Francesco."
Frank just grinned. "Antonio's next," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "How long now?"
"Another month, maybe six weeks." Antonio craned his neck up to the open window on the third floor, shading his eyes against the glow of the sun until he saw Constance leaning on the sill, watching them all with a dreamy expression and her head in her hands.
She saw Antonio looking and smiled, stretching out an arm and crooking a finger. "Come up, Antonioni! I have to show you something!"
The looks on his friends' faces changed suddenly. Lorenzo and Frank glanced knowingly at each other, and Stephanie even said, "Oooh!" like the studio audience in a saucy sitcom.
"Shut up," Antonio grinned, taking the roses out from behind his ears and dropping them in Lorenzo's lap before he went inside. He stepped over Lorenzo and Stephanie's luggage on the first floor, then the hospital bag he and Constance had packed and were keeping on the landing of the second, just in case the baby came early. She was waiting on the top floor, where golden rays of sunlight were beating down through the glass roof, shining in her hair and making her look like the angel at the top of a Christmas tree.
She pushed herself slowly off the window seat, one hand at the small of her back as she found her balance. The breeze from the open window caught the loose layers of her white dress as it bore up the sounds of their friends and family out in the yard. Antonio couldn't resist gathering her into his arms, holding her as close as he could with the baby between them.
She tugged at his ponytail. "This is cute," she said, plucking out one of the roses and sniffing it.
Antonio dropped to his knees and kissed her belly. "Frank," he said. It was explanation enough. "What did you want to show me?"
"I finished the wall."
The wall! Antonio rose to his feet right away, turning around to face the far wall where Wolfgang's mattress used to be. The breeze from outside filtered into the room again, catching the glistening corners of hundreds of photographs. Antonio let out a breath, finding Constance's hand and squeezing it before he moved closer.
Wolfgang. Every photo held a little piece of him. Dozens of selfies from social media, press shots with various members of the Divine Libertines, all the photos Constance had taken in their time together, and even that old newspaper clipping of the two of them as kids at the Padova Boys' Home. There were enough photos to cover the whole wall, surrounding the waiting crib with images of him, of them, of their family.
"Constance..." he breathed.
She slipped her arms around his waist, the baby pressed against his back and her forehead between his shoulders. "Happy birthday, Antonioni," she said, her voice husky.
He took one of her arms and drew her around into a proper embrace, kissing her temple before he said, "Constance... I could stand here and look at it for hours. It's perfect, it's- it's exactly him. I love it. I love you."
"Well, it's more of a gift for all of us," she said, touching her belly. "But there is something else."
"I told you, you don't have to give me-"
"Marry me," she blurted.
Antonio's grip tightened, his heartbeat stuttering. "What?"
"I want you to marry me."
"Are- what? Constance, are you sure? You really want... me?"
"Am I sure?" she laughed, pushing free of his arms and catching his face in her hands. "God, Antonio! Am I sure? I want- I want children with your eyes, I want your smartass jokes, I want your cooking and your hugs and your lips. The way you hum while you work even when you don't realize you're doing it, that look on your face when you're inside me, even the way you get embarrassed in public. I want my Italian prince husband, coming home from that fancy Wall Street job every day, waking up long enough to put your arms around me when I get into bed after a long shift."
Antonio couldn't hold her gaze; his cheeks were getting too hot. He peeled her hands away from his face, looking over her shoulder at the countless images of Wolfgang: smiling, performing, kissing cheeks, composing. His eyes fell on an image from the red carpet of Joey Lange's movie. Constance in her stunning little dress, Antonio in that tailored suit, and Wolfgang between them, his jacket glittering like a disco ball, his arms around both their waists and that enormous grin on his face. 'My girlfriend, Constance Weber,' he had said, 'and my boyfriend, Antonio Salieri.' Antonio couldn't help but smile at the memory of the journalists' stunned faces, probably not too different from the look on his own. As comfortable as Wolfgang looked in that image, it was hard not to think that he belonged in that spot between them. That he should still be there.
"Antonio?"
But he could hear Dr. Gassmann's voice in his mind, her gaze calm, clear, free of judgement: 'What did Wolfgang want for you? What did he want for Constance? If he could see you right now, how would he feel?'
How would he feel? Well, how did Wolfgang Mozart always feel?
"He loved us," Antonio whispered.
Constance laced his fingers through his, her brows drawing together. "You don't have to answer now," she murmured. "You don't have to answer ever. Nothing has to change, you know that, right? I- you're my Italian prince no matter what, even if we never sign any papers. The things I said, they're still us."
But he hadn't taken his gaze away from the photo, from the blob of ink that had preserved Wolfgang's cheeky smile. Antonio shook his head. "No," he said faintly.
Constance took a step back. "No?"
"No- I mean, no, I want it to change. I want- yes. Yes, I want you, I've wanted to be with you since- since you took one look at me that night at the bar and brought me a wine list."
She laughed again, his favorite melody. "You were the cutest grump I'd ever seen, trying to drink that cocktail like you knew what the hell you'd ordered."
"So let's do it. Let's- let's sign the papers, buy the rings, change our names, whatever we have to do."
She flung her arms around his neck and kissed the spot right below his ear. "The first thing we have to do," she said, "is tell everybody!"
"How convenient that everybody happens to be right outside that window," Antonio pointed out.
"Is it convenient? I hadn't realized."
But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. "Constance!" he chided. "You already told them you were going to ask me!"
"Shh! No I didn't!" she lied, dragging him over to the window seat by one hand.
When their faces appeared in the upstairs window, Cecilia dropped the tongs onto the grill and called, "Well? Do we pop the champagne or not?"
Antonio huffed, eliciting a giggle from Constance. She shot him that wide-eyed look and whispered, "Must be mother's intuition!"
"Must be daughter's big mouth," he grumbled.
One of her hands trailed up his knee. "You love my big mouth."
"Well?" Cecilia repeated.
Antonio leaned over the sill, scanning the upturned faces: Cecilia, Josie, Sophie, Kaavya, Aloysia, Stephanie, Lorenzo, his brother Frank... only little Frida wasn't paying attention, happily gnawing on the rose Frank had given her while Catstance sniffed at the fallen petals. The word came to him again, a word he had used more and more over these past few months: his family. He wrapped his arm around Constance's waist and kissed her cheek before looking back down at Cecilia. His mother-in-law. He took a deep breath. "Pop the champagne!"
A cheer rose up from the group, Stephanie even leaping to her feet and punching the air while Frank pulled Lorenzo into a hug. Antonio scoffed, leaning back inside just as Cecilia shouted, "Then come down here and get your burger!"
But Constance seemed to have other ideas. She pushed him back against the wall and climbed clumsily into his lap, tugging the elastic out of his hair. A handful of crumpled rose petals fell free, drifting to the window seat and the floor. The breeze even carried a few to the far wall over by the crib, over by the countless images of Wolfgang. Winding her arms around his neck, Constance caught his lips in a slow, comfortable kiss. Her tongue met his; one of her hands trailed down his chest, the other up through his long hair.
As Constance lifted his shirt over his head and began stringing a line of kisses from his neck down to his heart, Antonio thought back to the day they had met. Joe's birthday party, a year and a half ago, the day Lorenzo and Stephanie had finally gotten together. The loneliest day of his life. She had been poised, charming, and always beautiful, laughing sweetly at him as he fumbled with his unfamiliar drink. And what if he hadn't let Rosenberg drag him to the bar that night? What if he had never met Constance, never fallen in love, never been taken to the Divine Libertines concert? Frank, Wolfgang-gentle, loving Wolfgang-even being reunited with Lorenzo and befriending Stephanie... it had all started there, all started with an overpriced cocktail and a string of bad decisions. It had ended with this house, this birthday weekend, these friends.
Antonio combed his fingers through Constance's hair and guided her back up into another deep kiss. His fiancée. Their baby. Their family.
He never could have known that that night would turn out like this.