Page 44

I remained seated but gave her a nod of dismissal. After a moment of hesitation, she wheeled away the blood, leaving me alone with my thoughts in that cold, cold room. So cold it reminded me of the mortality of the man who was getting my blood.

Whether I remained here—whether I left to pursue my PhD after finishing my thesis—his body would join the others in the graveyard. But he would continue to fight for at least another month. What would I do after that?

∞∞∞

I stirred the soup in front of me, long gone cold. I had taken a few bites of themacco di fave, and the fava bean soup was delicious as everything else I had been served. My portion sizes had lessened to account for my waning appetite, and I felt more obliged than ever to try to finish what I had. But unfortunately, today was one of those days where neurosis had nestled into my stomach and made the thought of eating unbearable. I plopped my spoon into the bowl and ran my thumb across the bite marks on my wrist, strangely comforted by the familiar grooves, the remnants of that feeding in the aviary, as sweet and electrifying as the feeling of when I had signed the contract renewal.

A plate descended from above, carried by a set of tiny hands. I glanced behind me at Lucia, who was grinning broadly, first at me and then at the plate. It had a few truffles on it—my favorite. No matter how full or nauseous I was, I couldn’t resist the little treasures.

“Don’t worry, signorina,” Lucia told me, stealing one for herself. “I know you’ve been having late-night snacks. I won’t hold your appetite against you.”

I gave her a small smile but didn’t outwardly acknowledge her comment. She was entirely correct, as the charcuterie boards I devoured each night were meals in and of themselves.

While clearing away the bowl ofmacco di fave, Lucia whistled a tune I didn’t know the name of—some local folk tune I would hum when she wasn’t there. By the time she returned with cleaning supplies, I had already finished the remaining four truffles. Raspberry-vanilla with white chocolate. How she could predict the exact sort of flavor profile I was craving was a mystery.

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” I asked, reaching for a washcloth. “I heard you were asked on a date when you were in town the other day. Signora Carbone is a gossip.”

I realized what a pretty blue Lucia’s eyes were now that her face was so pink. I also realized how booming her voice was now that she spoke so softly. “I had to turn it down. I can’t leave the premises until you are asleep, signorina.”

I shrugged. “Tell the others I told you to fetch me some more paint.”

“So late at night?”

I wiped down the tables, but because of Signora Carbone and Lucia’s thoroughness, there were only a few crumbs. “I’m a silly American. I didn’t know any better.”

She fidgeted with her apron. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I insist.” I shoved the washcloth in my pocket. “And since you were already out and about, you ran a few errands for me. You know, fetching me some cuttings, dropping off some letters, grabbing some spring water.”

Lucia sighed softly, and her eyes darted around as the cogs in her head turned. That was one of my favorite things about Lucia. She couldn’t hide her thoughts even if she wanted to.

She paced toward the windows. Night had fallen, but the purplish hue in the sky showed it was still young. Still plenty of time to make it to town and either meet this mysterious belle at a bar, or text her once she could get reception. Then she looked down at her clothes, held out her uniform, and stared pointedly at the dirt in its creases.

“You’re about my size,” I offered. My wardrobe was filled with countless clothes, most of which I hadn’t picked out myself. They seemed to appear as if by magic.

She smiled and shook her head. “I have my own dresses, Signorina Cora. And I think Duca de’ Medici would be angry if anyone but you wore yours. Anyway, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a small smile. I finished the rest of the sentence in my head.And I just want to be alone.

“O-okay!” Lucia could barely conceal her excitement; she appeared on the verge of literally jumping for joy. She looked at me once again as though to confirm permission, and I gave her a nod. With only a, “Thanks!” she gathered up my dishes and hurried off toward the maids’ chambers, leaving me alone.

For as quickly as she had dashed away, the door behind Lucia shut softly. And as quiet as the noise was, it seemed loud to me. I kept repeating my conversation with Duca de’ Medici over and over, scouring every sentence I had spoken and every sentence he hadn’t, until eventually, I couldn’t handle mulling on the subject any longer.

Reading proved to be a fruitless activity with my limited focus, so I tried to track down every crumb and scrub every inch of that table. Once I completed that task, I watched as Lucia’s tiny car disappeared deep into the horizon and its sputtering became inaudible.

I continued to stare out the window after that, hoping to see any movement, but not even the grass was fluttering. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. I glanced at my watch and was satisfied to see it was just late enough for Duca de’ Medici to begin his playing. Now, if nothing else, I could focus on something other than the way the chocolates felt heavy in my stomach. With more hope than I had felt all day, I rushed off toward his room.

Chapter 22: Gia nella notte densa

The door was closed. I stared at it, stunned, then finally opted to knock a few times.Rap rap rap. Even after a few seconds of waiting, there was no response. Another pause, another round of knocking. Still nothing.

After taking a deep breath, I peeked my head in to see the room was shrouded in darkness. The usual lantern was nowhere to be seen. There was no scent of pastries to overshadow the room’s standard fragrance. And most of all, there was no music to be heard.

I hadn’t realized how much I loved this part of the day until it was swept out from under me. I let the door fall shut.

I mentally flipped through various activities, but nothing seemed like the correct replacement. With nothing but the old standby of taking a walk, I crept out into the courtyard between the main abbey and the dining hall. It was a cool night, at least by Sicilian standards, and a gentle wind caressed my face, carrying with it the fragrance of blooming flowers. Despite how sweet the fragrance was, there was some complexity in its undertones, some distinctly musky sourness. Flowers, yes, but they were older blooms, only days away from falling.

The bittersweet realization that the seasons were changing behind my back struck me. How long had it been since I had walked through the gardens at night? Goose bumps pricked along my arms when it came to me—the last time was the night when I had heard my sister’s voice.