The Love, Lust and Lies Series
Maytina Bianchi
The scent of lemon trees stuck with Maytina Accardi as a comforting memory. In Ortona, Italy, where she was born and raised, the air was thick with it. She remembered running through the cobblestone streets, the imposing Aragonese cathedral, built in 1452, a constant landmark in her peripheral vision. The castle, scarred but proudly standing after being rebuilt following the ravages of World War II, represented resilience, a quality Maytina exemplified throughout her life.
Maytina knew the exact scent of Nonna’s Sunday sauce before she even reached the door. It clung to the air, a warm, comforting promise of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and basil, a scent that had permeated her life since she was a babe cradled in her mamma’s arms. Being an only child in a traditional Italian family came with its own unique weight and privilege. There were no siblings to squabble with, no shared secrets whispered in the dark. Instead, Maytina was the sole recipient of a tidal wave of affection, expectations, and traditions.
Her parents, Nico and Simona, doted on her. They showered her with pretty dresses, ballet lessons, and all the love a child could possibly need. But it was her Nonna Lucia and Nonno Gio her grandparents who truly steeped her in the rich broth of their heritage. They taught her to knead dough for pasta until her small hands ached, to identify the constellations in the night sky with stories of ancient gods, and to understand the unspoken language of the family, conveyed through gestures and knowing glances.
Maytina excelled at everything she put her mind to. Straight A’s in school, a natural grace on the ballet barre, and a voice that soared when she sang. But beneath the surface, a subtle pressure simmered. Being the only grandchild came with the unspoken expectation of carrying on the family legacy. Nico, a carpenter like his father, hoped she would inherit his skill, crafting intricate wooden details. Simone dreamed of Maytina becoming a doctor, a beacon of success in their small Italian American community. , Lucia’s eyes twinkling, simply wanted her to marry a “good Italian boy” and fill the family table with children.
Maytina, however, felt pulled in a different direction. She loved the traditions, the food, the stories. But her heart yearned for something more, something beyond the familiar comfort of her family’s embrace. She dreamt of traveling, of seeing the world beyond the familiar streets of her neighbourhood, of discovering her own place in it.
One day, rummaging through Nonno Lucia’s attic, she discovered a dusty box filled with photographs. Images of her grandparents as young immigrants arriving in America, their faces filled with hope and a touch of fear. There were pictures of her parents as children,
playing in the very backyard she now occupied. And then, a photo tucked away in the corner captivated her. A woman with fiery red hair and a mischievous grin, leaning against a car, a camera hanging around her neck. On the back, in faded ink, was written: “Aunt Loredana, the adventurer.”
Maytina had never heard of Aunt Loreana.
Intrigued, she showed the photo to Nonna Lucia. A shadow crossed her face, a brief flicker of pain. “Loreana,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “She…she chose a different path. One that wasn’t for us.”
Maytina pressed further, sensing a story hidden beneath years of silence. Slowly, reluctantly, Nonna Lucia revealed that Loreana, her sister, had left the family decades ago, chasing her dreams of being a photographer. She had wandered the world, sending occasional postcards before disappearing completely.
The story of Aunt Loreana ignited a spark in Maytina. This was the missing piece, the validation she craved. It was a reminder that choosing a different path didn’t mean abandoning your roots, but rather, growing beyond them.
When it came time to choose a college, Maytina applied to a school with a renowned art program, miles away from home. The news was met with a mixture of pride and apprehension. Nico worried about her safety. Simone envisioned her struggling in a competitive field. And Nonna Lucia, though saddened by the distance, saw the fire in her granddaughter’s eyes, the same flame that had burned within her sister, Loreana.
On the day Maytina left, Nonna Lucia pressed a small, worn leather-bound journal into her hands. “This belonged to Loreana,” she whispered. “Maybe it will guide you.”
As Maytina drove away, the scent of Nonna’s Sunday sauce faded in the rearview mirror. She knew she was leaving a part of herself behind, but she was also carrying something precious forward: the love of her family, the weight of their traditions, and the courage to forge her own path, a path that, like Aunt Lorana’s, would be uniquely hers, woven from the threads of her past, and the vibrant colours of her future. She was Maytina, an only child, raised in a traditional Italian family, and she was finally ready to tell her own story.
Maytina skipped across the college quad, the beautiful summer air doing little to quell the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She was late for her class, a class she usually adored, but lately, it was more about the dark-haired, olive-skinned boy sitting two rows ahead of her .
That boy was Tullio Bianchi.
He was as Italian as a gondola ride in Venice. His clothes were impeccably tailored, his gestures were dramatic, and his words rolled off his tongue like warm olive oil. He was everything Maytina wasn’t expecting , boisterous, and steeped in tradition.
They met, as most college romances do, over a shared project. and while Maytina meticulously researched and outlined the movement, Tullio provided the passion, the fire, and the anecdotes about his Nonno, who remembered seeing the futurist manifesto in his youth.
It wasn’t long before late-night study sessions morphed into late-night talks about everything and nothing. They walked hand-in-hand through the golden-hued campus, their laughter echoing in the crisp air. Maytina fell head-over-heels in love with Tullio, his warmth a stark contrast to the cool logic that usually governed her life.
But a nagging worry gnawed at her. Her Mamma and Pappa. They were good people, loving and supportive, but… predictable. They valued stability and tradition, but their traditions kind that Tullio embodied.
“What if they don’t like him?” she confessed to her friend, Katie, one afternoon.
Katie scoffed. “Maytina, you worry too much. He sounds amazing! Besides, who wouldn’t like a charming guy like Tullio?”
But Katie didn’t know her parents.
The day she brought Tullio home for dinner was fraught with anxiety. She coached him beforehand him and about her father’s penchant for corny jokes.
As it turned out, her worries were unfounded. From the moment Tullio charmed her Mamma with a bouquet of lilies and her Pappa with a hearty handshake and a shared love for classic cars, he was in.
Her Nonna and Nonno, made visit too and they were even more smitten. Tullio, regaled them with stories of his family in Tuscany, his Nonna, a renowned cook, and the rolling hills where they grew their own grapes. He spoke with reverence and affection, instantly winning their hearts.
“He’s a good boy, Maytina,” her Nonna whispered , squeezing her hand. “A traditional boy. You are lucky.”
It was true. Maytina was lucky.
The brief courtship that followed was a whirlwind of romantic dates, family dinners filled with laughter and passionate debates (mostly about the best way to make pasta sauce), and shared dreams of the future. Tullio, true to his traditional roots, asked her Pappa for permission to marry her. Of course, her Pappa, beaming, said yes.
Their wedding was a quintessential Italian affair – a vibrant, joyful celebration of family, food, and love. The ceremony took place in a small chapel adorned with white roses and fragrant jasmine. Maytina, radiant in a lace gown, walked down the aisle on her Pappa’s arm, her eyes meeting Tullio’s, which were shining with love.
The reception was a feast for the senses. Tables laden with antipasto, pasta dishes, and decadent desserts groaned under the weight of the food. Music filled the air as family members, some flown in from Italy, danced the tarantella with abandon.
Maytina watched, surrounded by her loved ones, her hand clasped tightly in Tullio’s, and realized that she had found her place, her happiness, in the unexpected intersection of her own traditions and the passionate, beautiful world of her husband. Mamma, Pappa, Nonna, and Nonno all beamed at the happy couple. They didn’t just like Tullio. They loved him, just as much as Maytina did. And as she danced with Tullio under the twinkling lights, she knew that their love story, like the best Italian operas, was just beginning.
Maytina, known to everyone as May, carried the spirit of Ortona with her even when she and her husband, Tullio, moved seeking a new life in California in the 1960s. Tullio, a gentle soul with a passion for opera, filled their little house with music and laughter. But the music faded too soon. In 1979, Tullio succumbed to illness, leaving May alone Maytina and Tullio were never blessed with children when Tullio passed it left may alone and lonely felt hollow and echoing.
Then came Desiree Beaumont.
Desiree, with her wide, searching eyes and a vulnerability that resonated deep within May’s heart. Desiree hired May as her housekeeper, but their relationship quickly blossomed into something far more profound.
Desiree had been abandoned by her mother, a wound that still bled fresh despite the passage of years. May, in turn, found in Desiree the daughter she never had. She taught Desiree Italian phrases, cooked her comforting meals reminiscent of Ortona and Des’s favourite cheese and onion pie , and offered a listening ear without judgment. Soon, the roles blurred. May was more than a housekeeper; she was a confidante, a guide, a mother figure.
Desiree adored May. She saw in her a strength and the warm embrace of the Italian sun. After May retired, Desiree ensured she was well-cared for, a small recompense for the immeasurable love and support May had provided. May was there through Desiree’s heartbreaks and triumphs. She held her hand during the painful loss of Matt, offering words of reassurance She cheered her on as Desiree built her career, celebrating every success with a fierce pride.
And then there was Staffan. Staffan Tempelton Des’s first husband , a man with kind eyes and a gentle smile, When Desiree and Staffan decided to remarry, it was May who walked Desiree down the aisle, her hand trembling slightly, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. It was more than the beginning of Desiree’s new chapter; it was a testament to the profound bond they shared.
May’s joy reached its zenith when Desiree and Staffan announced they were expecting twins. Two tiny babies, a boy and a girl, Desiree insisted on naming May as one of their godmothers. The honour brought May to tears. Here she was, thousands of miles from her homeland, surrounded by a family woven together by love and circumstance, bound tighter than blood.
May passed away in 2015, leaving a void in Desiree’s life that could never be truly filled. Desiree was heartbroken. May had been her anchor, her guiding star, her chosen mother. She had seen her through her darkest days and celebrated her brightest ones.
But May’s spirit lived on, not only in Desiree’s heart but also in the lives of the twins, whom Desiree named Camitta and Derri. Desiree told them stories of May, of Ortona, of the lemon trees and the majestic cathedral. She taught them the Italian phrases May had taught her, filling their young lives with the warmth and love that May had so generously given.
As Camitta and Derri grew, Desiree made sure they understood the importance of resilience, and the beauty of unwavering love – the very qualities May had given her. a testament to the enduring power of an unexpected family forged in California, Desiree could still see a glimmer of Maytina Bianchi.
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C. Langley
A Spin off from the book; Stardom
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