With or without history

Posted on Thu Oct 31st, 2024 @ 2:53pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami

1,715 words; about a 9 minute read

The dream opened like a memory dipped in warmth and golden light. Adrianna found herself in her family’s villa, standing in the grand room where they hosted all the big family gatherings. The familiar laughter and voices swirled around her, along with the rich scents of freshly baked focaccia and simmering tomato sauce and homemade grown basil, mingling in the air. She was wearing a soft, wine coloured dress, one that her mother had picked out for her.

The family villa stood proud and timeless, its stone walls covered in a cascade of ivy, with crimson and golden vines weaving a living tapestry across the façade. Tall, arching windows filled each room with light and framed the sprawling view beyond: a sea of countryside stretching as far as the eye could see. Rows of vineyards, meticulously cared for by generations, blanketed the rolling hills, their leaves catching the sun's warm glow. Olive trees dotted the landscape, their silver green branches swaying in the gentle breeze. In the distance, the faint outline of the mountains stood sentinel, framing the rustic charm of the land that held her family’s history. Inside, the villa was just as rich in character, each room infused with the scent of aged wood, fresh herbs, and the earthy warmth of the hearth.

As she looked around, she noticed her brothers gathered in clusters around the room, each one with that mix of charm and mischief that always filled her heart with both pride and exasperation. Giovanni and Franco were laughing together by the window, glasses of wine in hand, while Marco and Enzo were teasing their youngest brother, Matteo, near the buffet table. It was a scene she knew so well—her family, noisy and comfortable, filling every inch of space with love and warmth.

The villa's grand room was the heart of the home, a spacious, sunlit area filled with warmth and life. At its center stood a massive dining table, crafted from rich, dark wood worn smooth by decades of family gatherings. It stretched almost the full length of the room, easily accommodating Adrianna’s large family and still leaving room for guests. Above, a wrought-iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its candle-like lights casting a warm glow that mingled with the sunlight streaming in through the tall, arched windows. Along one wall, a generous buffet table was laden with platters of fresh antipasti, rustic loaves of bread, cured meats, and bowls of vibrant salads and pasta. Ornate silver serving trays displayed roasted vegetables, cheeses, and olives harvested from the family’s groves, inviting everyone to gather and indulge. The room was alive with colors and scents, the earthy tones of the food and décor harmonizing with the rich burgundy and gold accents woven into the tapestries and cushions scattered around. Every detail spoke of history, culture and hospitality, a space built to welcome and embrace, echoing the warmth of family traditions.

Tanina, Adrianna's mother, moved gracefully around the buffet, her dark curls bouncing as she arranged dishes with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. She looked so much like Adrianna—her twin in all but years—that guests often did double-takes. As one of Adrianna’s brothers, Marco, attempted a stealthy reach for yet another handful of olives, Tanina’s hand shot out with lightning speed, swatting his away with a sharp but playful tap. “Basta, Marco,” she chided, her eyes flashing with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Marco laughed, rubbing his hand as though truly scolded, but Tanina's lips curled into a knowing smile, her timeless face radiating both affection and authority. Tanina then looked over to the doorway as it opened to a guest.

Adrianna followed her gaze, drifting to a figure near the doorway, a face that didn’t quite belong in this dreamscape of her past.

Vance stood there, hesitating, a slight look of awe softening his usual serious expression. He wore a tailored jacket, something that suited him but felt slightly out of place on a man she was used to now seeing in a Starfleet uniform or previously his smuggler’s lucky leather jacket. His eyes met hers across the room, and he offered a tentative smile, almost as if asking permission to be there.

Before she could react, Giovanni, ever the bold one, caught sight of Vance and raised his glass in a mock toast. "Adrianna, chi è questo?" he called, his voice loud and teasing. “Who’s this mysterious stranger you’ve brought to our family table that may or may not have pushed me in a river along with a Klingon clown?”

Vance took a step forward, clearing his throat and nodding to her brothers with a polite but slightly nervous smile. He knew that her family meant the world to her, and also knew from her stories that her brothers were very protective of her. “Vance,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m… Adrianna’s… friend.”

The room fell silent for a moment, and Adrianna’s father, Dario, seated at the head of the table, narrowed his eyes in that familiar, assessing way. Vance, to his credit, met the gaze head-on, though Adrianna could see the flicker of nerves in his eyes.

“Well, Vance,” her father said slowly, leaning back with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re a friend of Adrianna’s, you must be either brave or stupid.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, softening the statement with a glimmer of approval.

Franco laughed, clapping Vance on the shoulder. "Anyone who can deal with Adrianna must be made of tough stuff. Welcome, amico mio. Please, join us."

Vance relaxed, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he met each of her brothers in turn, shaking hands, sharing polite nods, and even joking back with Giovanni, who, with his usual charm, had started regaling him with embarrassing childhood stories about Adrianna.

She felt her cheeks flushed bright red, rolling her eyes as Giovanni continued, but she couldn’t help but watch Vance, her heart fluttering with an unfamiliar mixture of pride and vulnerability. He was so at ease, laughing with her family, blending into this chaotic world she had never imagined he’d be part of.

Somehow, the evening shifted, and Dario, perhaps fortified by a little too much wine, stood, raising a glass in a way that commanded the room’s attention. “Vance,” he said, his voice booming and filled with that paternal weight only a father could possess. “I have watched many men try to win the approval of my daughter. None have succeeded. Though that may be our fault…”

Adrianna's brothers chuckled, whispering to each other, recalling previous interests and friends being scared off. Soon, however, a hush fell over the room, and Vance looked at her father with an intensity that mirrored his own, his eyes steady but filled with a reverence that softened the edges of his normally hardened exterior.

“But you,” her father continued, his gaze serious yet warm, “you have my permission—if you’re brave enough—to marry my Adrianna.”

The words hung in the air, surreal and beautiful. Adrianna’s heart pounded, her breath catching as she watched Vance’s face. A glimmer of something soft and unguarded flickered in his eyes, and he turned to her, his expression unreadable but filled with a depth she could feel in her bones.

“Thank you, sir,” Vance said, his voice low and earnest. He reached out, taking her hand in his, and in that moment, everything felt clear and unspoken, like they both understood the gravity of what her father had given them.

The warm glow of the dream began to waver, like a candle struggling against an unseen wind. The villa faded into shadows, the celebratory claps and cheers of her family echoing into a hollow silence that pressed in on all sides. The grand room’s vibrant colors dulled, melting into murky shades as if drained of life. Adrianna’s heartbeat quickened, sensing the dream slipping into something darker, more uncertain. Then, out of the thickening haze, Vance’s smile dropped, his face cast in shadows, eyes unrecognisably distant. He looked at her with a cold detachment, a stranger’s gaze that chilled her to the core. He opened his mouth, his voice a low murmur that sliced through the silence, “but, sir, who is Adrianna?" The words hung in the air, heavy and surreal, unraveling everything she thought she knew.

The scene began to blur in a dark and haunting vignette. The room fading around them, but the feel of his hand stayed, solid and warm. She wanted to hold on, to stay in this moment forever, but dreams have a way of slipping away, leaving only the lingering warmth of what could be, but the fear of what was her current situation. She wanted to go back to the moment before he forgot her, before her fantasy turned to a nightmare.

And as she awoke, Adrianna could still feel the phantom weight of his hand in hers, the quiet promise hanging in her heart that one day, perhaps, they could have this for real but for now the cruel reality of the situation was that he was not hers– Vance was not even his own.

A single tear slipped from her eye. The dream had felt so real, to have reality come crashing down on her felt like torture. That said, one thing had become clear: she evidently did want to wait for Vance, perhaps even try a relationship with this Vance, even if it meant they didn't have a history that he knew.

Adrianna reached out and grabbed her PaDD. She simply wrote a message to Vance. “I will wait for you– no matter how long it takes, or even if you never return to me, amore mio. I can love no other person. My heart belongs to you, cazzone.”

Before sending it, she hesitated. Adrianna couldn't press send. The feeling that she was trying to push her way back into his life and memories—

She switched her PaDD off without sending the message. Her brown eyes looked up to the ceiling of her quarters and sighed.

Why was fate and life so cruel?

 

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