wear his diamond ring. But the truth was, he hadn’t given her the notebook at all. He had lied.
“It’s just a notebook.”
“No, it’s more than that. It’s you, and me.” Elisabetta struggled to think through her emotions. “I’m sick of lies, Marco. My mother lied to me. My father lied to me, if that ginger man is right. And now you, too? You?”
“I did it to make you happy.”
“How? Why? Lies don’t make me happy.” Elisabetta spoke from the heart. “Not anymore.”
“Then I’m sorry I lied.”
“That doesn’t erase it.” Elisabetta realized then who must have left the notebook. There was only one other person who could forge Marco’s handwriting, and who knew it was her birthday. She began to pull off her diamond ring.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” Elisabetta set the ring on the table. “I can’t marry you. I don’t feel sure anymore—”
“Over a stupid notebook?” Marco’s eyes flashed with anger. “I love you, and you love me!”
“I told you, it’s more than the notebook.”
“Is it because I’m a Fascist? You knew I was a Fascist before!”
“But I didn’t know you would lie to me.”
“Fine! You don’t want to marry me?” Marco snatched the ring off the table and put it in his pocket. “After I waited for you, all this time! After I was faithful!”
“Marco—”
“Do you know how much I adore you? And this is how you treat me?” Marco grabbed his water glass and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered. Water splashed, shards flew.
Elisabetta jumped up. The other diners gasped, shocked. The waiter and the manager started running over.
Marco stormed to the door, flung it open, and slammed it behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Sandro
9 June 1940
There was a knock at the door, and Sandro looked up from the papers he was grading at the table. They had finished dinner, and Rosa and his mother were washing dishes and his father was making notes in his thick folder.
“I’ll get it.” Sandro rose and answered the door, shocked to find Elisabetta in the threshold. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying, but she was more beautiful than ever in a pink dress. He could barely stand this close to her without taking her in his arms.
“Sandro, may I speak with you, in private?”
“I’ll be right back,” Sandro called over his shoulder, then he shut the door behind them, trying to get his bearings. “Sorry, it’s hard to find any privacy around here.”
“Maybe away from the door?”
“They’ll hear everything.”
“Outside?”
“Worse. Let’s go down to the landing.”
Elisabetta descended the stairs, trailing a beautiful fragrance, and Sandro followed her, his heart aching. It killed him to see her again, and the emotions he had been suppressing for so long rushed back to him. They reached the landing, and she turned around, linking her hands in front of her formally, as if she had something to say.
“Sandro, did you leave a notebook on my step this morning, for my birthday? Did you forge a card to make me think Marco had written it?”
Sandro felt stricken. Elisabetta was right, and he didn’t know what to say. He never thought she would figure it out. He had gotten her the notebook, knowing that Marco probably wouldn’t. He had only wanted to make Marco look good to her.
“Sandro, please answer.”
“He loves you, Elisabetta. Marry him.”
“I’m not. I broke up with him tonight.”
Sandro groaned, anguished. “I told you, I don’t love you anymore.”
“I don’t believe you,” Elisabetta shot back, then pressed herself against him and kissed him on the lips. Sandro kissed her back, feeling all the love in his broken heart.
“What the hell?” Marco appeared at the lower landing, his face red with outrage. “You’re seeing each other behind my back?”
Sandro sprang away from Elisabetta. “Marco—”
Elisabetta shook her head. “Marco, listen—”
“No!” Marco’s agonized gaze filmed with tears. “Sandro, you did it on purpose! You left the notebook without telling me! You did it to sabotage me!” He pointed at Elisabetta, wounded. “You betrayed me with my best friend! Good luck together!”
Marco turned away and flew down the stairs. Sandro went after him, but Marco bolted into the street.
“Marco, wait!” Sandro hurried after him, noticing the neighbors coming to their windows.
“Leave me alone!” Marco whirled around, on the run. “You can have her! I’m done with you both!”
Sandro stopped running. He knew that Marco was beyond reason when he was this emotional, for he had always been ruled by his heart.
“All of you Jews are liars!” Marco yelled. “Filthy liars!”