Francesco sipped from the glass of virgin cocktail, a concoction that tasted of disappointment and herbs—a far cry from the rich, robust drinks he preferred. But he understood the reason behind it.
Eleanor, his wife, was pregnant again, and in her current state, she had insisted on a dry christening for their daughter.
Despite the unpalatable nature of the drink, Francesco was willing to endure it. After all, anything Eleanor wanted, he would gladly give her, no matter how unsavory.
The grand cathedral was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and polished wood. From his vantage point, Francesco observed Eleanor across the room.
She held their daughter, Mia, who was just eight months old but already
