A/N: YOU GUYS! I had a tidy little epilogue all plotted out, hoping to finally put an end to this story that has been hanging over my head for a whole year. And then I go and finish it out, and your comments turned this into a WHOLE NEW story. Eek. I wasn't going to write about their return home, for instance, I was going to set this in the future. And now it has now taken on a life of its own; I had to go on and fully flush out the brand new life around the bend ;).
So, we're up to 8,000 words of "Epilogue," thanks to you, dear readers, I hope you're happy – and I'm not quite finished. I think I'm going to keep it attached to this one, but the format is a little different, the timeline jumps around quite a bit. Not sure how far I'll go with filling this in (pleaaaase feel free to chime in with your thoughts, apparently I'm highly suggestible at the moment). I keep thinking I'll skip over one bit, and then I can't help myself and go on and fill it in. But I hope you'll enjoy the ride. Stay tuned! I'm back in the game now...and again I'll say, patience is the hallmark of a true WTB fan, so thank you for sticking with this story. But I'm hoping to reward you with a more satisfying conclusion than our writers did in S8. They did us sooooo dirty. So I've decided I'm gonna just write whatever I wanted to see happen now!
Micelli estate, Palermo, Summer 1992
The late afternoon Italian sun cast a luminous glow upon Angela's oversized black sunglasses and sunhat as she threw her head back and laughed, a glass of white wine in hand.
She was mesmerizing; he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. To him, she looked like Grace Kelly, radiant and carefree, basking in the Italian sunshine.
"Oh, I don't think anyone in Brooklyn would have approved of me off the bat, Mrs. Rossini. We were from different worlds. It's all very understandable that you felt the way you did," she said graciously, reaching over and lacing her fingers through Tony's. He took her hand and kissed it, then traced a lazy pattern along her arm, still delighted in his fortune that this magnificent woman had somehow agreed to become his wife.
"Unfortunately for you, Mrs. R., by that Thanksgiving she was already in the same league as Meryl Streep for me. No other woman could compete with that."
"Not even Francesca," Mrs. Rossini tsked, a little sadly.
"Especially not Frankie," he grumbled. "Watch yourself, Mrs. Rossini or you're going to get a one-way ticket off the island."
"Oh Tony, she's just teasing. That's all water under the bridge now. Frankie's happily married. So are we. It's okay," Angela said, giving his hand a squeeze.
"It isn't funny," he growled self-consciously. A part of him had never forgiven himself, and it remained a sore spot with him after all these years.
Jonathan sidestepped the fresh pots of lavender Tony had planted around the pool for their summer stay and climbed onto the diving board. Angela marveled at how much he looked like a grown man these days; it seemed like just minutes ago he was begging her to bring his pet snake on his first flight to Italy. The last vestiges of his boyhood shone through as he cannonballed into the water, spraying everyone at the table.
"Jonathan!" Angela exclaimed, brushing her sundress off.
Jonathan emerged, spitting water and slicking back his hair. "Sorry, Mom. I couldn't help it." He dove back under, clearly not terribly riddled with guilt.
"Yeah, he couldn't help it Angela. He's sixteen, what do you want from him?" Tony teased, getting up to mix Mona a drink at the bar cart. Angela rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself.
She watched Jonathan shake the water from his face as he emerged, looking out on the horizon at the lemon and orange trees Tony had planted, still in awe of what Tony had built in four short years.
She thought back to their first night home, and the whirlwind few years that their arrival in back the states set off. If she had only known then how incredible this new life would be, she wouldn't have fretted so much about the time they spent waiting. In the end, their timing had been perfect.
Four years prior - early June, 1988
"Kids? Mona?" Tony called as he opened the door to their home.
"Mom! Tony!" Jonathan flew in from the kitchen and hugged his mother, then Tony.
"Hey buddy boy, where's Mona?"
Mona emerged in an apron, her hands held in the air. "Right behind him; sorry you two, but I'm elbow deep in assembling my lasagna."
"Oh eh, eh yo. Lasagna? That's my department Mona." He gave her a gingerly hug, her arms sticking out straight to keep his shirt free of pasta sauce.
She raised an eyebrow at Tony. "Just because I never cook doesn't mean I don't know how, buster. You may be Italian, but *I* am a former suburban housewife of the 1960s. In my past life, anyway. Trust me, I know my way around a lasagna casserole. Besides, Angela said you'd been eating a lot of fish in Sicily; I thought a lasagna might be a nice change for your welcome home."
She cast a glance over her shoulder at Tony, who was standing right behind her, and touched his chest with the back of her hand. "Tony, before you came along, Mother's lasagna was my favorite Italian dish anywhere. We are in good hands, trust me."
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "In that case I'm looking forward to trying it." Mona's eyes darted between them, her suspicions already on high alert from their spartan communication while gone and their falsetto-pitched, overly breezy reports from the airport.
"You two must have had a good time, hmm? You hardly checked in at all while you were gone."
Angela avoided her gaze and busied herself with undoing her summer scarf and putting down her things. Tony looked around the room, avoiding the comment entirely. "Where's Sam?"
"She's at Marci's, but she should be back within the hour, we expected you a bit later. She knows to be home for dinner."
"Gee, not quite the welcome I was hopin' for. I guess that's teenagers for you," Tony whined.
"Oh, Tony, you know she's excited to see you. Our flight arrived a little early. We made good time," Angela said, patting his arm reassuringly.
"Tell us about Italy, Mom! What did you bring me?"
"Ooh, sweetheart, well I have everything packed away in my bag. How I go and get freshened up and unpack, and at dinner we will tell you all about our trip, and give out our souvenirs?"
"Sounds like a great plan, Ange. Hey Mone, can I help you in the kitchen?"
"Always, kid. Come on, I'll show you my secret layering technique. I do it a little differently than you, but I think it works pretty well."
Tony followed Mona back into the kitchen, tossing Angela a sly, sultry wink over his shoulder. He crossed over to the stove just in time to see Mona returning to her sauce with a self-satisfied smile.
Angela pulled the fork out of her mouth and closed her eyes. "Oh Mother, this is heaven. You haven't lost your touch. It's just as I remember it."
"I gotta say, Mona, I'm impressed. You've been holding out on us."
"Mona kept us well-fed while you were gone. You might be out of a job, Dad," Sam joked.
Tony nervously smoothed his shirt and cleared his throat to speak. "Ah, well, now that you mention that Sam, I uh, I actually wanted to talk to you all about my job." Samantha and Mona shot each other an alarmed look.
"Your job, Tony?" Mona asked, now glaring at Angela through narrowed eyes.
"Uh, yeah Mone. We had a really great trip all around. The wedding was beautiful, as Angela already mentioned. And it was incredible learning more about my family. But the trip also brought up some new and unexpected...possibilities for my career, and, well, I've decided to pursue them."
"Dad...what's going on?" Sam asked, panic rising in her voice as she looked at Jonathan for backup.
"Tony, are you leaving us?" Jonathan looked at his mother, whose expression revealed nothing. Tony stood up to top off the adults' wine at the table.
"Ah, no, not exactly Jonathan. Let me explain. You see, this wine here is from my family's estate in Sicily. I think you might remember that when Aldo was last here, he gave me a little piece of the vineyard. I think at the time he had planned on Maurizio taking it over. Well, it turns out, Maurizio wants to work for his father-in-law. He doesn't want to run the vineyard, he wants to be with this bride. I gotta say, I don't blame him at all, not at all," he shot a quick glance at Angela, "but that leaves only one Micelli left who's of the right age to take it over."
Sam's mouth fell open. "No. Way."
"You, Tony?" Mona asked, her eyes wide. She shot a glance at her daughter, who was yet again avoiding her gaze, trying in vain to get a read on Angela's feelings on the situation.
"We're going to own a vineyard, Dad?" Sam squealed.
Only Jonathan sat quietly, looking like he was about to cry. "Tony, you're leaving us?"
"Ah, well, no, not exactly Jonathan –"
"Wait, are we moving to Italy, Dad?" Sam's excitement turned to confusion as she began to process the gravity of his announcement.
"No, not full-time. You'll still live here in Connecticut. And so will I. I'm going to travel back and forth, Sam. I don't have to be at the vineyard full-time to run it. There is a foreman named Gio who does the day-to-day operations, and I trust him, plus Aldo will still be living there. He's just retiring from running the business. There's a lot of potential, but a lot of work that needs to be done. And after talking to Aldo – and to Angela – I decided, I will be able to run things from here, and travel there for a few weeks a few times a year. Maybe longer in the summers."
"Well, will you still be working for Angela?" Mona looked again to her daughter, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet while Tony shared his news.
"Ah, no. No, I won't, Mone. I'm still planning to help out around the house, but I'm going to spend my time here taking some business classes, and learning everything I can about running a vineyard. I'm actually planning to tour some vineyards in California next month. They're doing some really innovative things out there, and I think it might be exciting to see if we can modernize some things around the estate," he said, not mentioning that Mona might be needing to stay with the kids again. Angela was planning to go with him to tend to her tortilla chip client who was based there, partly because the visit was long overdue, and partly because she was dying for more alone time with Tony.
"So Tony, what exactly is the plan here? You still live here in the house, helping out, not working for Angela?" Mona's inquired pointedly, but her tone was gentle, tinged with hope.
"Ah, well, I'm glad you asked that Mona," he met Angela's eyes, and then looked Mona, Sam, and Jonathan. "We've all become a family over these last five or so years. And Angela and I have grown very close in that time. And we've decided it's time to work toward...making our situation more permanent."
Jonathan's brow furrowed. "Permanent?"
"Dad, does this mean...wait, are you two engaged?" Understanding was dawning on Sam's face, as she looked frantically between Angela and her father, seeking validation.
"Ah, no Sam, not quite – but, well, kind of –" Tony sputtered.
Angela finally spoke up, gently laying her hand on Samantha's arm. "We didn't want to rush things quite that much, Sam. We only just sort of...took the next step while we were away, so we wanted to settle in a bit here with you all, first. That was really important to us, to adjust to the idea as a family. But it's where we both hope we're headed, Sam."
"Sooner rather than later, we hope," Tony agreed.
"Oh, Angela!" Mona clapped her hands together and leapt to her feet, giving Angela a hug.
"That's great, guys!" Jonathan exclaimed, digging another fork into his lasagna.
"You guys! Sam squealed. "Oh my gosh," she fanned her face with both hands. "This is huge!" She jumped up and hugged her father.
Jonathan looked up at Sam with mock disdain. "Does this mean you're gonna be my sister?"
"Looks like it, squirt," she ruffled his hair and walked over to Angela, who folded her into an easy embrace.
"Is this okay with you, Sam?" she asked her quietly, looking down and meeting her eyes with hopeful sincerity.
"Angela, are you kidding? This is the best. It's what I've always hoped for. This is like, total jackpot. I'm so happy!" she hugged her tight. "So, we live here, but we summer in Sicily? I'm going to need a whole new summer wardrobe. This is HUGE. I need to call Marci!" She started to make her way toward the door and Tony grabbed her arm.
"Hold it, young lady. You need to finish your dinner. We haven't even had dessert. This is family time. Back in the chair," Tony ordered.
Sam groaned and looked to Angela for back-up. Angela shrugged helplessly. "You can take the Italian out of Italy..."
Mona chuckled and caught Angela's hand, examining it. "It looks like you took home a very nice souvenir, dear. This isn't an engagement ring, I take it? It's on your right hand."
Angela blushed. "Ah, no Mother. Not quite. It's called a fede ring. It's an Italian custom that goes back to Roman times," Angela replied.
"It's a sort of promise ring, Mone. It has been in my family for generations. A very long time ago, it was intended for my father to give to my mother."
Sam reached across the table and took Angela's hand.
"It's really beautiful, Angela."
"There's a really cool story about that ring, Sam. We learned so much I didn't know about your grandparents while I was there. You see, this ring belonged to the famiglia, and was meant for my mother, when she was betrothed to my dad before the war began. Back then they were all doing arranged marriages. My mom was Sam's age when she was promised to my dad. But my mother hated my father at first. She said she would never marry him...so the ring stayed in the family safe. But then the war came, and it changed a lot between my parents. But by then, their parents hated each other so they called off the engagement. In spite of all this, my parents became close friends during the war. They were spies, Sam. So many crazy stories I need to tell you about that. But anyway, it took them over five years to get together."
"Like you two," Mona pointed out simply.
Tony's eyes met Angela's, "Yeah, like us."
