and she slaps one of the boy servants hanging on the frame around the back of his head. “No spying!” The door shuts behind her.
Roberto watches me as I turn back to face the room. We smile at each other and I walk to his open arms, resting my face against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I offer up my face to him and he takes hold of my chin, pressing his lips to mine.
Eventually, he pulls away. “I must attend a meeting with Massimo,” he tells me. “The Admiral wants to discuss rumors of an Ottoman threat.”
My skin prickles with disquiet. Ottomans or Turks—that’s all the men of Venice seem to talk about these days. But I keep my thoughts to myself.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say.
“Not soon enough,” he replies. Since he asked for my hand four months ago, the only time we’ve spent apart was when he visited Constantinople on behalf of his father. Those awful few days seemed to stretch into years, and we’ve vowed never to be away from each other for so long again.
“Laura!” calls Faustina’s impatient voice from the other side of the door, dragging my thoughts back to the present. “The sun is already dipping below the spires of Saint Zachary. Are you ready?”
I giggle and give Roberto a final kiss. Then I run from the gallery. Faustina waits outside with her arms folded.
“Come on, then!” I say, grasping her hand and dragging her behind me.
2
Faustina huffs and puffs as she struggles to keep up. We make our way down a cobbled alley that stretches out from the palace, like a single strand in the spiderweb of paths and roads that crisscross Venice. Our feet turn towards the Cannaregio district. As she walks, Faustina flaps her knotted hands before her face, then reaches into a pocket and snaps open a paper fan with a scene painted across it.
“A present?” I ask, slowing my pace so that she can keep up.
“Never you mind,” she retorts.
“Must be from an admirer,” I say. A man passes, carrying a tray of sardines. He smiles and dips his head. I raise my eyebrow at Faustina.
“How dare you!” she says. The man looks alarmed and scurries past us, moving closer to the wall. “I’m too old for such nonsense, you know that.” She looks over her shoulder as the market trader turns down another alley. “Though, once … Oh, never mind.”
“You must tell me!” I say, grasping her hand. We walk side by side, our bodies jostling comfortably.
Faustina gives a dramatic sigh and raises her head to gaze at the towers and columns that rise above us. The sky is a clear blue this afternoon, though tinged at the edges by the sunset that will soon be upon us. We pause by a stall and I hand over a few coins for a pan dei dosi each, the pastries studded with hazelnuts and dried fruit. I pass one to Faustina and begin to eat my own, licking the cinnamon from my lips as we walk.
“Our families knew each other,” says Faustina. “We all lived in the same courtyard. He’d never noticed me until …” She casts a hand across her ample bosom. “I grew up.” I swallow quickly and bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. But Faustina hasn’t noticed; she’s lost in the memory. We pass beside a fountain with a young man’s naked body holding aloft a giant scallop shell. “He was so handsome. Like that statue.”
“What happened?” I ask. Faustina has never married, devoting her life to caring for me and my siblings. The death of my only sister, Beatrice, was as hard for her as it was for me.
Faustina’s face colors. “It wasn’t to be.”
We’ve arrived at an arched doorway carved out of golden sandstone. Fluted columns stand on either side of it. A young girl opens the door for us. “This way, please,” she murmurs.
“We’re waiting for a friend,” I explain, glancing up and down the cobbled street. I smile at the maid.
Faustina explodes in a fit of coughing and hastily pulls a crumpled piece of paper from inside her bodice. She shoves the note into my hand, the paper damp from her sweat.
“I’m so sorry!” she wheezes. “I forgot to give you this. It arrived this morning.”
Carefully, I open the note and flatten out the paper. My eyes scan the writing quickly. It’s from Paulina.