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N ight had fallen by the time they reached Florence, and Julia and Courtney got out of the Uber on the corner.

The Oltrarno neighborhood on the other side of the Arno was quieter than the city’s historic center, mostly residential rather than touristy.

Tasteful four-story homes with well-maintained facades lined its cobblestone streets, many too narrow for traffic.

Here and there were artists’ studios and showrooms, closed now. No one was out.

“I’m nervous to meet her,” Julia said, smoothing her hair into place.

“Weirdly, so am I.”

Julia tried to get her bearings. Estrella Studio was in the middle of the block, the first floor of a home with a recessed entrance. “Are you sure we should meet her at her show? It’s essentially her workplace.”

“And you’re essentially her daughter.”

“Court, she gave me up.” Julia felt a pang, an ancient pain, buried deep.

“God knows what the circumstances were.” Courtney frowned, sympathetic. She started walking toward the gallery, then stopped when she saw Julia wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?”

“What if I’m completely wrong? What if it’s just a fluke that I look like her?”

“It’s not a fluke. It’s real.”

“Flukes are real ,” Julia shot back. “ I’m a fluke. My birth is a fluke. Maybe my birth mother’s a fluke, too.”

“Honey, no. You’re just getting cold feet.” Courtney gestured to the gallery. “Let’s go in and see how you feel. You don’t have to meet her. Let the spirit move you.”

“The spirits don’t move me anymore.”

“Look, let’s go in and play it by ear. If you want to leave, we’ll go. If you want to speak to her, you should.”

“But what if she sees me? She’ll notice the resemblance. Then I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?” Courtney flashed her a reassuring smile. “Stuck meeting the woman you waited a lifetime to meet? You’ve been talking about your bio mom since Annie in high school. You went through hell to make this happen. You can’t stop now, like you said.”

Julia got an idea. “I know, I’ll put my sunglasses on. Then she won’t see the resemblance.” She went in her purse, got her sunglasses, and slipped them on. “Better? Now we can get in and out without her knowing.”

“Great, so let’s go in.” Courtney resumed walking, and Julia joined her, futilely box breathing. They reached the gallery, which had whimsical painted tiles embedded in its arched entrance, and a sign on the glass door read, FIAMMA SETTIMI TONIGHT .

“Her full name is Fiamma Settimi?” Julia had expected to see Fiamma, but Settimi came out of nowhere. “So she doesn’t use Rossi. Maybe she changed her name.”

“I wonder if Rossi called her Fiamma.”

“Me, too, so she only changed her last name. I wonder if she knows her real name is Patrizia Ritorno.” Julia hesitated. “Or if I’m wrong and she’s not my birth mother at all.”

“Why don’t you ask her? That’s an excellent conversation starter. Just go with, ‘Are you my mother?’” Courtney smiled, putting her hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

Julia braced herself. “Okay, let’s go in.”

“Atta girl.” Courtney opened the door to admit Julia, and they entered the gallery.

Julia’s heart pounded, and she stalled, scanning the room.

It was long, white, and packed with a sophisticated crowd of about seventy people in flowing dresses, unstructured linen jackets, and an array of scarves and pashminas.

Everyone buzzed in clusters or shifted along the perimeter taking in the paintings, but Julia couldn’t see their faces because the only illumination came from track lighting aimed at the art.

Her sunglasses made it worse but she wasn’t about to take them off. She didn’t see Fiamma.

Courtney crossed to a placard on an easel. “Jules, come here.”

Julia walked over and read the placard:

ABOUT FIAMMA SETTIMI

Fiamma Settimi honors us with her mesmerizing watercolors of the Spedale degli Innocenti, an orphanage for abandoned children.

Babies were left on a rotating drum at its entrance, and the first such baby was a girl named Agata, relinquished on 5 February 1445.

The orphanage is a Florentine landmark, designed by Filippo Brunelleschi and considered the first pure Early Renaissance building.

Peruse this magnificent series of watercolors and you will understand why Ms. Settimi’s work has been deemed “spectacular,” “outstanding,” and “profoundly moving” by art critics all over the city and beyond.

“Wow” was all Julia could say, her throat thick. Her chest tightened with emotion.

Courtney leaned closer. “She’s painting an orphanage. You know what that tells me? That she’s been thinking about the baby she gave up.”

Julia couldn’t hope for that conclusion. Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them away behind her sunglasses.

“Jules, this is like fate.” Courtney squeezed her arm. “This shows that you matter to her, even now. I bet every woman who gives up a child for adoption never forgets that child, ever.”

In the next moment, a compact older man in white shirt and a jeans jacket climbed onto a platform at the front of the gallery.

He had frizzy gray hair and a wide grin buried in a short gray beard.

“Everyone, may I have your attention?” he asked in Italian-accented English, speaking into a handheld microphone.

The crowd quieted and turned in his direction. Julia assumed Fiamma must be at the front of the gallery near him.

“Good evening, I’m Paolo Natoli, the owner of Estrella Studio, and I’m so pleased you came to the new show by one of our favorite artists, Fiamma Settimi.

” He paused for a smattering of applause.

“I’m going to introduce Fiamma, and we’re going to speak in Italian, then English.

Fiamma invited friends from the UK and she wants them to feel at home. So welcome everyone, even the Brits!”

“Here, here!” a man called out in a British accent, and everyone burst into laughter.

Paolo spoke briefly in Italian, then segued to English.

“Art critics heap praise on Fiamma’s work, but I myself am the best art critic you know.

Without question, Fiamma is one of the most talented watercolorists I have ever seen.

” Paolo beamed, and the crowd applauded.

“Her talent is God’s gift, and her creativity is inexhaustible, as is she.

She teaches grade school, so there’s the proof you need. ”

The crowd chuckled. Julia’s heart started to pound. She realized she was minutes away from seeing her birth mother, a woman she’d been wondering about her whole life.

“Many of you know Fiamma, so you know she is one of the kindest, most generous, most thoughtful, most brilliant women ever. I love her, and so do we all.” Paolo grinned. “So without further ado, let’s bring her up.”

The crowd applauded as Paolo stepped down, handing off the microphone, and Fiamma climbed onto the stool with a broad smile, a slim and attractive woman in a bohemian peasant dress.

My God. Julia stifled a gasp. Fiamma did look like her, or Julia looked like Fiamma.

They both had wide-set blue eyes, a small nose, and the same dirty blonde hair, though Fiamma’s was long and swept into a loose topknot.

She looked younger than fifty-something, maybe because she had a warm and casual way about her.

Courtney whispered. “Holy shit. It’s her .”

Julia nodded, grateful for the sunglasses. Her heart tried to jump out of her chest.

“ Sera, tutti! ” Fiamma began speaking in Italian, smiling easily and drawing chuckles from the crowd. Her lively gaze swept the gallery as she spoke, and she turned left and right, including everyone the way teachers do.

Courtney whispered again, “She seems so nice!”

Julia nodded, conflicted. She found herself liking Fiamma, too, which felt strange.

She’d wondered about her so long and resented her from time to time, but now found it hard to stay mad at her, seeing her in person, a charming and talented woman, a teacher as well as an artist. Julia’s anger began to ebb away, but questions remained, and plenty of them.

“ Grazie! ” Fiamma finished her Italian speech with a comical curtsy, provoking applause. “And now, let me speak English for the heathens.”

Everybody laughed.

“I’m very grateful that you came tonight.

I see many old and new friends here, so thank you.

I adore Paolo, who does so much for local artists, even those who cannot quit our day job.

” Fiamma smiled. Her English was flawless with a slight Italian accent.

“The subject of my new show is one of the most magnificent buildings in our beloved Florence, the Innocenti , an orphanage.” She turned to the left side of the room, where Julia and Courtney were standing.

“I love to find the emotionality and truth that reside even in the inanimate. I look for life, and light, too. History will always show both to those who are willing to see.”

Julia swallowed hard. Heads nodded around the gallery.

Fiamma continued, “It’s impossible to paint an orphanage, especially a historical one, without imagining the emotions of the orphans—their pain, love, confusion, longing, sorrow, despair, and even anger.”

Whoa. Julia felt the words grab her by the heart. She’d felt all of those emotions for so long.

“People often ask me which are my favorite paintings, and usually I decline to answer. I believe, as most of you do, that art should be interpreted by the viewer, not the artist.” Fiamma cocked her head with a sly smile.

“Also it would be like choosing between gnocchi and linguini . Both are perfect. Why ask?”

Everyone chuckled again.

“But I will admit, my favorites in this collection are the paintings of the medals, trinkets, and charms over there.” Fiamma indicated the left side of the gallery, in Julia’s direction.

“I painted crucifixes, sacred hearts, and paper pictures of the saints, which were pinned to the orphans’ clothes by the so-called house nannies.

The charms were believed to have magical powers to reunite the orphans with their parents. ”

Julia blinked. The words struck her as so pointed she wondered if Fiamma were speaking to her.

“There is so much about the Renaissance to celebrate, in painting, architecture, music, literature, and sculpture. Florence was the world’s epicenter, and men like da Vinci, Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, Vasari, and Raphael gained prominence, not because they made war but because they made art.

They wanted to express the struggle of man to understand himself and his times, to make sense of his place in his universe and with his God, and finally to find beauty around him, not when it came easily to the eye, but when it did not. ”

Julia noticed that Fiamma stayed facing in her direction, no longer sweeping the crowd as she spoke.

“Those are the glories of the Renaissance, and we know them so well. But that doesn’t mean we can ignore its underside. There is always a negative to the positive, and a dark side to the moon herself.”

Julia thought of the pearl she’d found in the scorched debris at the villa.

“The underside is, what about women during the Renaissance? They didn’t experience the freedom and power of men. Even at the Innocenti , girls were taught only sewing and cooking, while boys were educated and taught a trade.”

Julia couldn’t shake the sensation that Fiamma was looking at her, but she couldn’t be sure. People nodded in the crowd.

“To be sure, there were strong women of the Renaissance, but they were exceptions and for the most part, the nobility. The perfect example is Duchess Caterina Sforza, who famously defended her family at Forlì. Caterina was a favorite of my mother’s, and I grew up with stories of Caterina’s bravery, intelligence, and boldness. ”

Julia startled, knowing the reference couldn’t be a coincidence. On impulse, she lifted her sunglasses off her face and onto the top of her head. She wanted to see Fiamma better, and she wanted Fiamma to see her better.

Fiamma reacted instantly. Her expression changed on the spot, as if a professional mask had dropped. She looked nakedly astonished, her eyes widening with disbelief. She even shifted on her feet, like she lost her balance.

Oh my God. Julia locked eyes with Fiamma, feeling the connection between them, as surely as there had once been an umbilical cord.

Courtney whispered, “Jules, she sees you.”

The crowd noticed, too, craned their necks and turned to the back, wondering what was distracting her, but Fiamma seemed to forget they were even there, as she fumbled to continue.

“But the, uh, sexism of the Renaissance was worse for women… unlike Caterina… who weren’t noble.

” Fiamma faltered like she’d lost her train of thought, gazing directly at Julia, and her eyes began to glisten.

“When I painted… those magical charms, I imagined those women… pregnant, desperate… unable to support a child. They had no other option but to give up… their baby.”

Julia felt tears come to her eyes, too. Galvanized, she realized Fiamma was explaining, in front of everyone, why she’d relinquished her for adoption.

“And, uh, excuse me, I’m sorry… I think I see, I can’t believe this!” Fiamma abruptly stopped speaking, climbed down from the stand, and vanished into the crowd, which broke into confused chatter.

Julia spotted Fiamma threading her way through the crowd toward them, making a beeline for her. “We should go, Courtney.”

“No, she’s coming to meet you. Let’s stay.”

Julia was struck by a foreboding, like a child about to be disciplined by a mother she never knew. “I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t, you should meet her.”

“I can’t.” Julia fled for the door, knocking over the easel.

“Jules, wait!”

Julia almost made it to the door when she felt a hand on her arm. “Courtney, no,” she said, turning around.

She came face-to-face with Fiamma.