“Of course. If there’s anything else, ring for me and I’ll be right up.”

I thank him on his way out then join my grandmother at the window. We survey the view in silence for a long stretch, and I can barely believe a place like this exists. I’ve been to Italy more than a handful of times, but my travels here usually take me to the great museums and architectural marvels. Lake Como is slightly out of the way, and I know much less about the region than I do, say, Venice or Rome.

“Thank you for bringing me.”

My grandmother reaches out to take my hand, clasping it between both of hers.

“I can’t imagine being here with anyone else.”

“My late grandfather?”

I feel her shudder. “Definitely not him.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“I miss Margaret. She would have loved to be here with us.”

“Yes, I agree. We’ll have to bring her home a whole slew of treats.” She releases my hand and turns back toward the room. “What are your plans for the afternoon? Our travel took more out of me than I care to admit. I need to rest if I intend on eating my dinner rather than face-planting onto it.”

I laugh.

“I should rest too, but I’d much rather go for a walk to see the grounds.”

She’s already heading toward the closet where her favorite robe beckons. “Go. Enjoy. If you see Royce, say hello for me.” My grandmother already confirmed he would be here; we talked about it while we were packing. “I see no reason not to announce the betrothal at the masquerade party,” she’d said. “Oh sure, Victor will cry that I’ve stolen his spotlight, but only for a moment. Then he’ll realize what an honor it is to have played host to young love. His name will be mentioned in every article written about the engagement. In the end, he’ll thank me for it.”

I slip out of our room and make my way out into the second-story hallway. I didn’t have a real chance to take the villa in when we first arrived, but I’ll save a tour for later. After being cooped up in an airplane, car, and, oh yes, a carriage, I just want to be outside. While not totally practical, my strappy Italian leather sandals are well made and should be fine for a quick trip around the trail Mr. Moretti mentioned.

I pass butlers and attendants fluttering through the house carrying trays of tea and bouquets of flowers and folded linens in their arms. One man lugs a huge Louis Vuitton trunk down the hall, a bead of sweat collecting on his brow. I feel so bad I offer him a hand.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, signora.”

I continue outside, through the back doors that open out onto a sprawling porch. To one side, there’s a fire pit and a collection of chairs. In the center stretches a long dining table with seating enough for twenty or more. There’s a charcuterie board set out on it, drawing a crowd of Victor’s guests. They sit and relax, eat and drink. I recognize most of the faces. I could even conjure up their names if pressed.