It had been all Giancarlo could do to not jump up and confess his love for her right then and there, to tell her that he dreamed of her every night, but any such ideas had been quickly swept away by the sight of her holding hands with his brother. Giancarlo had done his best to show a brave face, while inside he was dying. Plainly they were already a couple, and all Giancarlo could do was watch and suffer in silence.

The months went by. Giorgio finished school and began training to work for the telephone company. The hours were long, and often he returned home late with his father. Now and then, while Antonella waited by the piazza to greet his brother when he came home, Giancarlo would wander by and say hello before quickly wandering away again. In time, though, he worked up the nerve to stop and chat for a moment or two before going on his way.To his elation, Antonella seemed to welcome his company, and so Giancarlo lingered a little longer every time he passed by. One day Antonella invited him to sit with her while she waited. That had been all the encouragement Giancarlo needed, and soon it became a common sight in the afternoon to find the two of them sitting there together, talking by the fountain.

Antonella loved to talk about art and music and life, and Giancarlo loved to listen to her. With each passing day, she seemed to open up to him a little more, and he rejoiced in it. Her moods, though, were as inscrutable and changeable as the winds across the Abruzzi mountains. Sometimes, for no apparent reason at all, she would suddenly fall quiet and look away with her dark eyes into the distance, her thoughts taking her someplace far removed from their little village. At such moments, Giancarlo would not disturb her, but instead would hold his peace and simply sit with her until she decided she was ready to come back. He loved her more and more every minute they spent together, and it did not matter if they spoke. He was certain that she was warming to him, as well, even though she broke into a delighted smile and jumped up every time she saw Giorgio come into sight. Every time it happened, it was like a knife in Giancarlo’s gut.

The following year, much to his father’s consternation, Giancarlo refused to go to work for the telephone company, but instead applied for and won a scholarship to study music in Pavia. Roberto could see no practical application for such studies, and he feared that his son would end up in a life of poverty. Nonetheless, against his father’s counsel, Giancarlo had enrolled that fall.