Carter had missed the statue entirely earlier that afternoon when he first entered the basilica and walked off in the opposite direction from it. It was only by chance that he saw it on his way out. It had been a long day, and at the time he was feeling quite tired. He had arisen early that morning and, after a light breakfast, walked to the Colosseum, where he wandered about the ruins for an hour or two. After lunch he went to the Vatican, and he spent much of the afternoon strolling through the Vatican Museums. He had hoped to see the Sistine Chapel before making his way into Saint Peter’s, but for some reason it was closed to the public that day. Not that it mattered. Between the staggering number of works on display in the museums and the sheer majesty of the basilica, Carter had been certain that he could not possibly absorb anything more on that day. Anxious to get back to his room to rest, he had been on his way out the main entrance when he beheld the statue for the first time.The sight of it had stopped him in his tracks and held him mesmerized until just then, when he heard the woman’s voice beside him.

It was the first time since he had arrived that Carter had heard another American voice, and his head instinctively turned to her. He saw that she was an attractive woman, a few years older than him, he guessed, with shoulder-length brown hair neatly pulled back in a ponytail. She was holding the hand of her boyfriend—neither appeared to be wearing a ring—who looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps thirty at the most. The two were dressed casually in stylish jeans and loafers, but in a meticulous sort of way, like people one might see in an L.L. Bean catalog. Leaning her head against his shoulder as she stared at the statue, the young woman gave a soft, almost inaudible sigh. Then she pouted, and murmured, “I want it.Will you buy it for me?”

“I would,” her boyfriend chuckled, “but I don’t think it’s up for sale just at the moment.”

This was only Carter’s third day alone in Italy, but the sudden familiar sound of people speaking his own native language drew his attention like a pin to a magnet.

“I’m guessing the price would be pretty steep even if it was,” he found himself saying to them.

“Hey, you’re an American,” said the man with a look of surprise. “I just assumed you were an Italian when I saw you standing there.”

“So did I,” said the woman.