Page 38

J ulia and Gianluca had an outside table at the restaurant, which was small, chic, and overlooking the Arno.

It had a magnificent view, and they watched the sun dip below the Florentine skyline, painting the clouds gold and orange.

Round amber lights glowed on both banks of the river, and the water was a liquid mirror reflecting the graceful arches of its ancient bridges and buildings.

The setting was romantic, or would have been if they were in a romance.

“A medium ?” Gianluca asked, his dark eyes flaring in surprise. His curls moved in the gentle breeze, and he had on another cool patterned scarf over a gray shirt and black blazer. Candlelight danced across his handsome features, and Julia noticed women at the other tables glancing over.

“Yes. She communicates with the dead. She’s even been used by Scotland Yard. Poppy’s going to see if she has time for me.”

Gianluca sipped his Chianti. “So how does a medium help you find your family? Assuming Rossi was your biological grandmother?”

“I think the idea is that she can help me communicate with Caterina and Rossi.”

“Well, I’d go see her, totally. I’d try anything.”

“Agree,” Julia answered, though her first thought had been of Mike.

“Oops, I said the wrong thing again.”

Busted. “No, you didn’t, but why did you say that?”

“I can tell I did,” Gianluca answered softly, and Julia didn’t know what to say. She felt touched that he could read her so well, but guilty that she was with him, rejoining a world that didn’t include Mike.

“By the way, I buried the lede.” Julia wanted to get back on track. “I found hair in the underground cell, and Poppy’s going to get it tested for DNA, so we can see if I have any in common.”

“Incredible!” Gianluca’s eyes rounded behind his glasses. “That’s, like, the answer. Where did you find the hair?”

Julia caught him up, telling him about how Caterina showed her the underground cell, and they hashed it out over a tasty appetizer of gnocchi with pesto and fresh mint.

She opened up to him, grateful to have him to talk with, and he listened to her in an encouraging way, saving his questions until they shared an entrée of seabream with olive oil, roasted fennel, garlic, capers, and olives.

“Julia, let me get this straight. You saw Caterina in your living room? Like, a blue shape?”

“Yes.” Julia braced for skepticism, but Gianluca leaned forward, clearly intrigued.

“I don’t doubt you. History is full of reports of visions and connections with the spirit world, even with God.

Think of Mary seeing the Angel Gabriel, who tells her she will bear Christ. And Julian of Norwich, an English mystic who saw Christ. There were others, too.

Locally, Gemma of Lucca spoke with her guardian angels, Jesus and Mary.

Nobody says she was crazy. She was beatified. ”

“But I’m no saint.”

“They weren’t, either. They were normal women.” Gianluca warmed to his subject. “My favorite account is of Saint Lutgardis of Aywières. She had a vision of Jesus, and He asked her, ‘What, then, do you want?’ And she answered, ‘I want Thy Heart.’ Jesus responded, ‘I, too, want Your Heart.’”

“It’s beautiful.” Julia felt surprisingly validated.

“Historians read it as an expression of divine love, but I read it to mean that all love is divine. It elevates the notion of love itself.”

Julia listened, liking the way his mind worked. He made sense, but his rationality was bound up with emotionality.

“What is it about love that inspires legends, opera, books, poetry, and the greatest music in the world? It just can’t only be earthly, like between two people in bed.

It’s because the emotion is bigger, and higher, than earth itself.

” Gianluca spread his arms. “Love connects us to the divine. We talk about soul mates, but I believe it, literally, and everything has a soul. That’s why everything is connected, heaven and earth, all of us. ”

Julia felt it strike a chord. “That’s what I like about astrology. The connection, to everything.”

“I get that. Julian of Norwich held a hazelnut, saying, ‘It is all that is made,’ meaning the entire world.” Gianluca put up a hand. “Sorry, end of lecture, again. Want a gelato before I take you home? I know a great place.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to take me home.”

“Why not?” Gianluca signaled to the waiter for the check. “Is Piero coming?”

“No, I drove myself in Rossi’s Ferrari.”

“ What? ” Gianluca asked, his eyes popping.

Night had fallen, and the sky shimmered like a Raphael-blue cupola of tiny lights.

The air had a warm softness, wafting off the Arno with a pleasantly briny odor.

Julia finished an icy chocolate gelato as she walked with Gianluca along the riverbank.

Lovers, families, and tourists strolled the promenade, but it wasn’t that big a crowd, and she let her guard down, thanks to the wine and something else. She felt safe with him.

Gianluca finished his waffle cone. “We’re going to the next bridge down. I want to show you something.”

“Great.”

Gianluca looked over, his dark eyes flashing with amusement. “You know, my staff is abuzz about the woman I stole books for.”

Julia laughed. “Oh no! How long can I keep them?”

“As long as you need. I run the interlibrary loan cartel.” Gianluca checked his phone. “Here we go. Look.”

Julia leaned over to Gianluca’s phone, showing a painting of a man in a red cap and a black robe, walking on a bridge over the Arno and meeting three women at the corner.

The woman in the center was tall with dark blond hair, wearing a flowing white dress.

“I should know this painting, but I don’t. ”

“This is Dante and Beatrice by Henry Holiday, painted in 1884. I know it because Florentines are raised on Dante. It’s the first time Dante sees his beloved Beatrice.” Gianluca stopped walking. “See, they’re meeting on this spot?”

“Really?” Julia looked around, astounded. They were standing on the same corner as in the painting. “ This is where Dante fell in love with Beatrice?”

“Exactly.” Gianluca smiled. “We’re on the Ponte Santa Trinità. He and Beatrice were fourteen years old, and it was love at first sight. Florence is the city of love at first sight.”

Julia smiled. “That’s a love story.”

“It’s the love story. Dante loved her his whole life and when he wrote Paradiso , he named her as the Angel that leads him to heaven.

It’s what I was saying at dinner, about love being divine.

Maybe that’s what love at first sight is, two souls recognizing each other.

” Gianluca smiled. “I believe it because it happened to me. I felt it the moment I saw you. I’m falling in love with you. ”

Aw. Julia didn’t know what to say. A warm rush of happiness suffused her, filling her heart, but her next thought was of Mike.

“I know you’re in mourning, I understand that.” Gianluca gazed at her softly. “But do you think you could ever have feelings for me? I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Suddenly a large group of men surged toward them, all wearing the same blue hoodies as the man who’d killed Mike, like a nightmare army.

Julia’s heart began to thunder. Tears of fright sprang to her eyes. She was back in Philly, reliving Mike’s murder. The hoodie. The knife. The blood spurting from his chest. She edged backward, trying to get away.

“What’s the matter?” Gianluca grabbed her as the men surrounded them, swarming the bridge, drunkenly jostling them. He held her until they passed, searching her face in bewilderment. “Julia, what’s happening?”

“Those men—” Julia’s heart pounded so hard she thought it was a heart attack. She felt dizzy, even faint.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gianluca said, taking her away.