Under The Olive Tree

The Weight Of Family Tradition

The words struck her like a physical blow. She gripped the arms of her chair and stared at her father in disbelief.

You cannot be serious.

I have never been more serious about anything in my life. The wedding will take place in three months. Vittorio will arrive next week to formalize the engagement.

No. Elena rose to her feet, her whole body trembling. I will not marry a stranger to save your business. I will not be sold like one of your barrels of wine.

Giovanni’s expression did not change. You will do your duty to this family, Elena. Just as every Marchetti woman has done before you.

And if I refuse?

Then you will no longer be a Marchetti. You will have nothing. No family. No home. No inheritance. You will be alone in the world with only your paintings to keep you warm.

Elena stared at the man who had raised her and saw nothing but cold determination in his eyes. This was not a negotiation. It was a sentence.

I need time to think, she whispered.

You have until Vittorio arrives. After that, there will be no more thinking. Only doing.

Elena turned and fled from the study, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall.

Elena did not stop running until she reached the garden behind the villa. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded against her ribs. The tears she had held back in her father’s study now streamed freely down her cheeks.

She collapsed onto a stone bench beneath an old fig tree and buried her face in her hands. The sobs came in great waves that shook her entire body. Everything she had feared on that long train ride had come true. She was not a daughter to her father. She was a commodity. A bargaining chip to be traded for money and influence.

The garden was quiet except for the hum of bees and the distant songs of birds. This had been her sanctuary as a child. She had spent countless hours here sketching flowers and dreaming of the life she would one day live. Those dreams had included love and passion and freedom. They had never included a stranger from Rome who viewed her as part of a business transaction.

Elena?

She looked up to find Rosa standing at the edge of the garden path. Her childhood friend had changed in the years since they last saw each other. Rosa had always been pretty, but now she was beautiful in a quiet and unassuming way. Her dark hair was pinned back, and she wore the simple dress of a household servant.

Rosa, Elena said, quickly wiping her eyes. I must look terrible.

Rosa hurried forward and sat beside her on the bench. You look like someone who has just spoken with your father. I take it the conversation did not go well.

He wants me to marry a man I have never met. A businessman from Rome named Vittorio Conti.

Rosa nodded slowly. I know. The whole household has been talking about nothing else for weeks. I am sorry, Elena. I wanted to warn you, but your father forbade anyone from speaking of it outside the family.

Three months, Elena said, her voice hollow. I have three months before I am expected to stand at that altar and promise my life to a complete stranger.

Rosa took her hand and held it tightly. Perhaps he will be kind. Perhaps you will learn to love him.

And perhaps the sun will rise in the west tomorrow. Elena laughed bitterly. My father does not care if Vittorio is kind. He cares only about money and the survival of the Marchetti name. I am nothing but a means to an end.

They sat in silence for a long moment. The afternoon was fading toward evening, and the golden light was deepening to amber. Somewhere in the distance, workers were singing as they returned from the vineyards.

Tell me about this Vittorio, Elena finally said. You said the household has been talking. What do they say?

Rosa hesitated. I do not wish to make things worse.

Things cannot possibly get worse. Tell me the truth.

He visited two months ago to finalize the arrangements with your father. He stayed for three days. Rosa paused and chose her words carefully. He is handsome enough, I suppose. Tall with silver at his temples. He dresses beautifully and speaks with great charm.

But?

But there is something cold behind his eyes. The way he looked at the servants made me uncomfortable. Like we were furniture to be used and discarded. Rosa shuddered slightly. And there were rumors from Rome. Whispers about his first wife.

Elena turned sharply. He was married before?

She died five years ago. The official story is that she fell from a balcony. But some say she was pushed.

A chill ran through Elena despite the warmth of the evening. And my father knows this?

Your father knows only what he wishes to know. Vittorio Conti has money and connections. That is all that matters to him.

Elena stood abruptly and paced across the garden. Her mind was racing with desperate thoughts. She could run away. She could return to Florence and disappear into the city. But her father's threat echoed in her memory. No family. No home. No inheritance. Nothing.

There must be another way, she muttered. There must be something I can do.

You could speak to your mother, Rosa suggested. She has always been sympathetic to matters of the heart.

My mother has never defied my father in anything. She would only tell me to accept my fate.

What about your brother? Tommaso has influence.

Elena shook her head firmly. Tommaso is worse than Father in many ways. He cares only about honor and tradition. He would probably escort me to the altar himself if he thought I might try to escape.

The mention of her brother brought fresh worry. She had not seen Tommaso since arriving home, and she dreaded that reunion. They had never been close. Where Elena was curious and artistic, Tommaso was rigid and traditional. Where she questioned everything, he accepted the old ways without hesitation. He was their father’s heir in every sense of the word.

Where is Tommaso now? she asked.

In the village, I think. He spends most evenings at the tavern with the other men. Rosa stood and smoothed her dress. I should return to the house. Your mother wanted me to prepare your room, and there is still dinner to serve.

Will you eat with me later? After the family has finished?

Rosa smiled warmly. Of course. Like old times.

Elena watched her friend walk back toward the villa and felt a small measure of comfort. At least Rosa was still here. At least she had one ally in this house of tradition and duty.

She remained in the garden until the sun began to sink behind the western hills. The sky turned brilliant shades of orange and pink, and the first stars appeared in the darkening east. Elena had always loved this time of day, when the world seemed suspended between light and darkness. Now it felt like a metaphor for her own life.

Eventually she made her way back inside. The villa was warm with the smells of cooking, and she could hear the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Her mother intercepted her in the hallway outside the dining room.