She hefted the pack, testing it, and nearly buckled under the weight of all her books. And still she couldn’t resist adding one more indulgence: the mohair-and-velvet rabbit, missing one of its pink glass eyes, that had been her companion since before her memories began. It was childish to bring it, and Niccolò would think her silly if he noticed, but she could not, in that moment, bring herself to leave Pietro behind.

She was tempted to hide in her room, but she had so little time left with her father. Better to share those precious moments with him, even with a stranger as witness, than to forgo them altogether. She left the pack on her bed, switched off the light, and went in search of her father and the man who had come to take her away. Predictably enough, they were in her father’s study, standing side by side in front of the desk. She paused at the door, glad of the chance to study Niccolò Gerardi, for neither man had noticed her approach.

He was fair, with a day-old beard the color of dark honey and a tracing of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. He stood at least a head taller than her father, with shoulders that strained at the faded seams of a much-mended coat, but his voice, from the little he’d said to her, was that of an educated man, and there was a reassuring gentleness to his manner.

As she waited, half-hidden in the darkened hall, her father opened his hand, his gaze fixed on a small object in his palm. From the way it glinted in the lamplight, she thought it might be a coin. Then he shook his head, blinking hard, and swiped at his eyes.

She must have moved, or made some slight sound. Her father turned, his reddened eyes the only sign of his earlier distress, and beckoned her forward.

“There you are. Are you packed?”

“What is that in your hand?”

He held it out to her: a circle of gold, now gleaming dully in his palm. “Your mother’s wedding ring. It’s too big for her now, but see?” He took her right hand and pushed it onto her ring finger. “As I thought. It fits you well.”

The ring was warm against her skin. He took her hand in both of his, lifted it to kiss her palm, and then, his head bowed low, pressed her hand against his cheek.

“I don’t understand. Why are you giving me Mamma’s ring?”

“You will need it.” He did not let go of her hand. “You and Signor Gerardi will be traveling as man and wife.”

She turned to the stranger who hovered an arm’s length away, not bothering to hide her surprise and discomfort. He flushed, a flare of color beneath his boyish freckles.

“It is a fiction to keep you safe,” he promised. “No more than that.”