“I got a letter from one of my British friends, saying it’s terrible in London right now. The city is being bombed, and everyone’s hiding in the Tube at night. Now that Hitler’s taken France, Britain stands alone. Churchill will never surrender, but I don’t know if the Brits can stop the Nazis.”
“How frightening.” Sandro shuddered.
“It horrifies me that Italy is on Hitler’s side—and I’m married to a Brit. My own country is trying to kill my husband. How can that be?”
“Everything is topsy-turvy. The Allies are on the right side, and we’re on the wrong one.”
“I had news of David. He got reassigned to a group called the SOE, a special operations division. They go behind the lines to disrupt the enemy in any way they can, blowing up rail lines and the like.”
Sandro hid his dismay. “But he’s a diplomat.”
“I know. They picked him for his diplomatic knowledge and language skills. I heard that from our old embassy friends. The rest is top secret. I don’t even know where he is.” Rosa bit her lip, and seeing her anxiety, Sandro stopped her and gave her a warm hug.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” Rosa released him, her eyes filming. They resumed walking, and she sighed. “Sandro, we talk about David and me all the time. But we never talk about you and Elisabetta. Every time I bring her up, you change the subject. What happened that night, on her birthday?”
“Nothing.” Sandro’s chest ached.
“Come on. You lied to me.” Rosa lifted an eyebrow. “You told me that she chose Marco, but I heard what she said to you that night. She chose you, and you sent her away.”
“It was for her own good.”
“She didn’t think so. She wants you. She told you so.”
“Marco is better for her.”
“That’s her decision to make, not yours. You love her. You should have told her that.”
“Why?”
“It’s the truth. You don’t need a reason for the truth.”
Sandro wished it were that simple. “I couldn’t see her now, even if I wanted to. Mixed couples are under surveillance these days. We can’t have OVRA watching us. If they did, we couldn’t meet our connection. How would we get food or anything else we need?”
Rosa was silent a moment, walking along. “We would figure it out. Elisabetta never gave up on you. She probably still hasn’t.”
Sandro didn’t want to believe that was true. He didn’t want to think he could have Elisabetta back, for it only kept his heart broken. All of the reasons he had let her go still existed, whether she saw Marco or not.
“Sandro, you should go to her. Just tell her you love her, and let the rest fall as it may.”
“Oh, is that your romantic advice?” Sandro smiled, remembering a happier time when she had advised him about Elisabetta.
“Yes, and bring her flowers.” Rosa smiled back.
“I brought her a book. And it worked.”
“Ha!”
Sandro spotted their connection, a dirty little man with a cap pulled down, standing on the street corner. “There he is. He’s waiting for us.”
“Sandro, you really should tell Elisabetta.”
“Enough. Keep an eye out for the police.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Beppe
December 1940
Beppe carried two wineglasses to Massimo’s table in the back of the empty bar. The two men had fallen into a routine, and Massimo would slip through the side entrance after closing time, have something to eat, and take home a bag of groceries.
“How was the panino?” Beppe sat down, noticing that every crumb of the sandwich was gone. His old friend had lost weight, and his worn brown suit hung on him. His omnipresent folder of papers lay open next to him, having grown even thicker.
“It was delicious. Did Maria make it?” Massimo pushed his plate away.
“No, Letitizia.”
“How is Maria doing? Still upstairs?”
“Yes, but she’s getting out more. She goes to Mass. Emedio takes her.”
“It must be hard. I’m sorry.”
“The war makes it worse. She reads the newspaper, the reports of the dead. She sees which ones are Aldo’s age, or whether they’re younger or older. She mourns them like her own.”
“How sad.”
“It’s odd to be home in wartime, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Beppe and Massimo locked eyes, soldier to soldier. Beppe’s old knee injury had prevented him from serving this time, and Jews were not permitted to serve.
Massimo sighed heavily. “Though I have to say, when I hear that the war is going badly for us, I don’t know whether to rejoice or weep.”
“I understand.” Beppe sipped his wine. “We’re off to a rocky start in the Mediterranean. The naval defeat