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Instantly, he brightened. “That would be my composition. Speaking of Dante, it’s based on his life.”

I grinned. “You’ll have to show me! I’d like to hear it.”

“No. I wouldn’t dream of sharing unfinished work. It’s only a few songs now, but it will be a symphony, eventually.” He leaned over, gathered the papers quickly, and crossed the room to place them on his desk. “Anyway, I don’t expect you’ll still be here for its completion. You may be mybeniamina, but I’m not forcing you to stay.”

“Who knows?” I reached into my pocket and ran my thumb across my pen I had used since I started writing my thesis back in London. “I have quite a bit of reading to get through.”

Chapter 16: Dolce

True to his word, Duca de’ Medici was practically as clinical as an IV for the next feeding. Even the clothes he chose for me were plain and modest. I felt immense shame after that feeding—shame for using up all the carmine in my portraits, shame for the dreams I had been having that made me wake up with warmth between my legs.

My routine had become transparent to the household. In the morning, there was breakfast, gardening, and my morning bath. Afternoon consisted of lunch, time to research, and tea. Noor and I had grown closer, and I finally felt enough like peers to speak with her on a first-name basis. I became more and more transparent about my work, and soon it was an open secret between us. Then I had my unofficial book club with Duca de’ Medici in the aviary, dinner, and several beloved hours alone.

One night, Duca de’ Medici left the door to his parlor open, with an untouched charcuterie board and sparkling cider. From then on, I would spend the early hours of the morning in his room with a book and listen to the sweet sounds reverberating through that corner of the abbey. Sometimes he played a familiar tune; other times, I heard him stumbling about for hours to perfect a single section of an original piece. Both sounded just as enchanting to me.

I forced another bite ofpasta alla Normaand grimaced. Even with its tangy sauce and delicious capers to tempt me, I hadn’t had an appetite for a while—not before evening tea, when my stomach seemed to be upside down. I looked at thepane siciliano, a sweet, nutty bread I normally devoured by the loaf, only to see it was entirely whole and still steaming. Lucia emerged from the kitchen.

“You need to eat more,” she teased playfully as she took away the dishes, “or Signora Carbone will scold you.”

“I know, I know,” I grumbled.

Signore Carbone had given me more than a few lectures on my duties as abeniamina, and Noor finally stepped in at one point to report my bloodwork was still adequate. After shoveling in a few more bites, I grumbled my thanks to Lucia and rushed off to the aviary.Idylls of the Kingwas already in my bag, waiting for our meeting.

A delicate coo sounded from the corner of the room when I entered. “Hello, Leonore,” I said, as gently as I could, eliciting yet another satisfied coo from the dove.

As the weeks passed, she had become more and more comfortable with my presence. Though she still spooked if I moved too quickly or spoke too loudly, she had clearly become fond of me from afar. On one or two occasions, she even built up the courage to fly close to me. I smiled at the bird, who was peeking her head out from beneath a branch and eyeing me, and I whistled softly as I waited.

“What did you bring today?” I asked the second he walked through the door.

Duca de’ Medici chuckled warmly and unpacked his satchel. “Aren’t you an impatient one? Let me get situated, at least.”

He laid out his belongings slowly, in an organized manner. First was his copy ofIdylls of the King,then a packet of sour grape drops—my favorite candy, I had disclosed one day, as they tasted like the happier days of my childhood. After that, he brought them every day to our time in the aviary, even if he winced with every bite. “I picked a few selections fromTristan und Isoldeby Wagner, starting with the ‘Liebestod,’ of course,” he said, holding up a vinyl.

“Bit on the nose, isn’t it? Choosing that operawhen we’re reading about ‘The Last Tournament?’”

“Pah,” he scoffed, plopping down next to me. “I prefer their story as a full-length romantic tragedy rather than some side plot.”

“I think both are pretty, in their own ways,” I replied with a shrug. Then, once it became too difficult to hold back my enthusiasm, I added, “But I think the full story is so much prettier—just wait until we finish it!”

Duca de’ Medici chuckled. “I’ll give it a chance for your sake. I must admit, though, the reason I picked out the ‘Liebestod’first is more so because I’m quite the fan of a good Tristan chord, and—”

After having watched us from afar so long, Leonore landed on his shoulder.

Duca de’ Medici held out his finger, and the dove quickly hopped onto it with a satisfied coo. “Do you have any millet?” he asked without looking away from his beloved pet.

I was already taking it out of my pocket. I wasn’t sure if Duca de’ Medici noticed, but I had always been prepared for this possibility.

His eyes softened, and one corner of his lips curled ever so slightly. We listened far past the ‘Liebestod,’ well into the opera, as more and more finches gathered around Duca de’ Medici. Eventually, my stomach gurgled audibly, causing Leonore to flutter away.

Duca de’ Medici gave me a sideways glance, and now his lips were curling the other way. “Sorry,” he repeated, an echo from tens of minutes ago. “It’s already teatime for you, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to be distracted.”

“That’s okay,” I said with a small chuckle. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he murmured, handing me my book and giving me a strange look. “I suppose there is.”

Just as I was about to leave, Duca de’ Medici tossed his book aside, shot up, and said, “Wait, Signorina Bowling.”

I looked him up and down, searching for the urgency, then finally asked, “Yes?”