The Colonna Aldobrandi Normanni di Anguillara Sabazia family motto

Letizia and Olimpia had a whole notebook of “potential family upgrades,” and “Vinum Est Veritas” was, hilariously, the least dangerous one. Still enough to scandalize the family for an entire summer season.

"Leti’, do you remember when we were, what—sixteen? And decided my family needed more laughter and Chianti?" Olimpia grinned, tossing a lazy glance her way. "One month after we met—just thirty days of reckless obsession, and suddenly we were plotting a heraldic coup."

And plot they did.

They actually replaced the Colonna Aldobrandi Normanni di Anguillara Sabazia family motto with:

"Vinum Est Veritas. Etiam in Mane."  

Wine is truth. Even in the morning.

“We spent an entire weekend trying to pick it,” Olimpia nudged Letizia’s knee, smirking. “Remember? That scroll of fake Latin mottos—voting like it was Eurovision.”

Letizia laughed. “We were so serious. Like, ‘This is history in the making.’ I still have the shortlist somewhere...”

- “Semper Late, Semper Fabulous” almost won—because, obviously, it described you during debutante season.

- “Veni Vidi Percussi”  was my personal favorite.

- “Luxuria Ante Lucem” was a little too poetic for your family, honestly...

But it was “Quis Custodiet Macarons Meos?” that nearly broke us.  

We came up with it during that painfully boring charity brunch, when we replaced the strawberry macaron cream with nduja and declared ourselves Extreme Pastry Chefs.

And the worst part? They actually liked it. So technically… we failed. They thought it was a daring new recipe from that famous pastry chef—what’s his name—Monsieur Clotaire Delabouchée.  

Nduja-filled macarons? “Très avant-garde,” they said. We were devastated.

That’s why, in the end, Quis Custodiet Macarons Meos didn’t make the cut and  we went with “Vinum Est Veritas. Etiam in Mane.”  

It sounded vaguely intellectual —and it confused the hell out of the entire extended family.

"Your parents—oh my slayed goat—had no idea. For months. They proudly paraded it at events from Cortina to Taormina, wondering why sommeliers were choking on their Pinot Grigio."

"People were crying laughing. That enormous baroness—what’s-her-name— Baronessa Ergene Alzalamira Barbera— the one with gin-tonic breath and a hat like a pink soufflé — nearly passed out."

And then, at that insufferable gala with the theme “Legacy and Lineage”, someone finally explained it to them.

"Your mother’s face, Leti'—she looked like she’d just licked pigeon poop off her new hairstyle. Or like she saw someone carrying a knockoff purse—but worse."

Letizia laughed so hard she snorted.

"I was almost disowned, remember?” Olimpia added, proudly. “And then she said: ‘At least you could’ve used proper Latin.’”

"Honestly,” Letizia said, raising an Energy drink, “it’s one of the proudest things we’ve ever done.”

Olimpia raised her energy drink, grinning like a teenage rebel who never quite outgrew the crown.

“A toast to sixteen-year-old us: messy, genius, mildly evil… and fully in—”

She paused.

The words hovered. In love.  

But she swallowed them like the last sip of her energy drink.

“—in madness.”

The can clinked softly against Letizia’s, sealing the memory like a secret they’d never grow too old to laugh about.