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“It’s okay. You know, I kind of like your stepfather. I have no idea what he thinks about me after the barf-fest, but at least we sort of bonded. Right?”

Slash kissed the top of my head, but it worried me he didn’t answer my question. “We only have a little longer to get through dinner and then we’ll call it a night. Think you can manage?”

“What else could go wrong?” I asked and then covered my mouth. “Nope. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“I’ll be watching you, so if you need to escape earlier, just tap your nose as we planned, and I’ll make up an excuse, okay?”

I wanted to leave immediately, but I knew that would be impolite and draw attention to us, something I loathed more than sticking around. I figured if Oscar could suck it up, so could I. Plus, I would feel bad abandoning Oscar, in case something happened to him again. “Okay. Thanks.”

We had just seated ourselves when thedolce, or dessert, was served along with coffee and adigestivo, an after-dinner liqueur that I recognized as limoncello. I avoided that, given the shaky condition of my stomach. Mia informed me the dessert waszabaione, a whipped light custard made with egg yolks, sugar, and a sweet wine and served in a dessert glass. It looked delicious, but I didn’t feel like eating, so I poked and pushed it around, pretending to taste it. I noticed Oscar was doing the same when I glanced at him. He gave me a little smile, which made me feel that maybe we had made a connection of some kind, as strange as it was.

After another forty minutes or so, the table was cleared, and we were invited to retire to the lounge for a nightcap. I signaled to Slash that I was done, and he rose from the table to retrieve me. Everyone was milling about the room, laughing and chatting, so I thought it the perfect time for us to slip out. We headed for the exit but stopped when we ran into Father Armando.

“You promised me a minute to speak after dinner,” Father Armando said to Slash.

“I did, but Lexi is tired. Perhaps we could do this tomorrow?”

“It’s important to have a word with both of you tonight, but I promise to be as succinct as possible.”

Slash looked at me uncertainly, but I nodded. “I’m okay, Slash. We can do it.”

“Thank you,” Father Armando said. “I know a place we can speak privately. Please follow me.”

We trailed him out of the dining room, past the lounge, and into an unoccupied room that appeared to be a small interior office. A desk with a computer and a chair occupied one side of the room while a couple of bookshelves overflowing with books, boxes, and folders lined the other wall. Father Armando waved us toward a few chairs, and we sat down, looking at each other.

“Emilio, before you say anything, I have to thank you for whatever part you played in securing this venue for Gio and our family,” Slash said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to him, especially after all he’s been through to get married in the church. He’s thrilled to have this opportunity.”

Father Armando placed his hands on his knees, smoothed his cassock. “Yes, about that. I must tell you, I had nothing to do with changing Mr. Zachetti’s mind—well, at least not directly.”

“How’s that possible?” I asked. “A few days after I mentioned to you that we’d been turned down to visit the castle, his staff called to say Mr. Zachetti had changed his mind. No way that’s a simple coincidence.”

“You’re correct. It’s not a coincidence.”

“Then what is it?” Slash asked.

Father Armando shifted uncomfortably in his chair and avoided eye contact with Slash. “Well, I may have mentioned it in casual conversation with…a certain someone.”

“What certain someone?” I asked, looking between the two men.

Slash closed his eyes. “You didn’t.”

“I did, but I didn’tmeanto,” Father Armando confessed. “I was just updating him on the plans for Gio’s wedding and the topicmayhave come up. What happened afterward was entirely up to him.”

“Wait, are we talking about the pope?” I asked. “You told the pope I tried to get us into Zachetti’s castle?”

“As I said before, Imayhave mentioned it, and hemayhave taken it from there.”

“I didn’t think Zachetti was a practicing Catholic,” Slash said. “Why would he entertain any request from the pope?”

“First of all, because he’sthepope.” Father Armando looked pointedly at Slash, and a slight flush crossed his face. “Secondly, it wasn’t a request. Not exactly.”

“Whatexactlywas it, Emilio?” Slash asked.

Father Armando paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “As you know, the pope does not wager, gamble, or participate in any kind of betting.”

“Of course not,” Slash agreed.

“He may, however, have entered into a gentlemen’s agreement.”