She accepts this with the gravity of a child who understands the sacred rules of birthday wishes.
Antonella sets the cake on the table beside me. Her hand brushes my shoulder—light, casual, intimate. The touch grounds me the way it always does.
"You hate it," she whispers, leaning close.
"Yes."
"But you're not leaving."
I look at her. At the smile she's trying to hide. At the way her eyes shine with something that might be tears or might be laughter.
"No," I admit. "I'm not leaving."
Pietro approaches, still wearing his ridiculous polka-dot hat. He doesn't remove it. Doesn't acknowledge how absurd he looks.
"Happy birthday, brother."
"You look like an idiot."
"We all do." He gestures at Lorenzo and Nico. "Antonella's orders."
I glance at my wife. "You ordered my brothers to wear party hats?"
She shrugs, completely unrepentant. "Lily helped."
"I picked the colors," the child confirms. "I gave Uncle Pietro the green one because it matches his eyes."
Pietro's eyes are brown. The hat is neon green with orange polka dots.
I almost smile.
Lorenzo steps forward, his pink-striped hat somehow making him look more dignified rather than less. "Forty years old. How does it feel?"
"Like thirty-nine with more grey hair."
"The grey suits you," Antonella says. "Distinguished. Remember"
"She's lying," Gianna calls from across the room. "She told me yesterday you look like a silver fox."
Antonella's cheeks flush pink. "Gianna."
"What? It's true."
Oliver laughs. Nora hides her smile behind her hand. Even Nico's mouth twitches.
I look around the room at these people. My family. My wife's family. The strange, complicated web of relationships that somehow became mine.
Valentino stands near the door, arms crossed, no hat on his head. He meets my eyes and nods once. He's the only one who escaped Antonella's party hat mandate, probably because he threatened violence.
Smart man.
"Cut the cake," Lily demands, tugging on my sleeve. "I want the piece with the most frosting."
Antonella hands me a knife. Our fingers brush during the exchange.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
She understands. She always understands.