She nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him, not yet, and turned her head away so she might look out the window. But she had waited too long, for they had passed San Michele already, and the city, her home, was already hidden.

“You’ll see it again,” he whispered. “When we’re sailing to Campalto. You can say farewell then.”

Who was this stranger who spoke so kindly and seemed to understand, or at least wish to understand, how she suffered? Who was he, and why had he decided to care?

They alighted at the ferry’s first stop, stepping carefully over their neighbor’s baskets, and rather than follow the crowds to the center of the island, Niccolò led them along the Fondamente Serenella, with the salt-laden air of the lagoon to their left and the sulfurous stench of the glassblowers’ kilns to their right. They’d only been walking for a few minutes when Niccolò pointed to a jetty about fifty meters away. “There he is. My cousin Mario.”

A man was crouched on the jetty, his attention on his sanpierota’s mooring lines, and as they approached he stood, his arms outstretched in greeting, his smile wide and startling in his sun-bronzed face.

“So this is your bride?” he asked, embracing Niccolò and offering his hand for Nina to shake.

“Yes. Mario, this is my wife, Nina. Nina, this is my cousin Mario.”

“Congratulations, and welcome to the family. Is this all you’re bringing?”

“For now,” Niccolò said easily. “And leave her alone. No more questions.”

Mario shrugged, his smile unaltered. “Rosa will want to know a far sight more.”

“She can ask as many questions as she likes. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer them. Can we get moving?”

“All right, all right. First we need to get your bride settled.”

Mario helped Nina step into the sanpierota, and without any prompting she knew, like any Venetian native, that the best place for her was just forward of the mast. There wasn’t any sort of seat, but the bottom was dry, and she was low enough that her head was safe from the boom if the wind changed suddenly.

She was content to sit unnoticed as the men busied themselves with casting off and getting under way. Mario stood at the stern, sculling out to clear water, and then he and Niccolò raised the sails without so much as a word between them.

“The wind is with us,” Mario announced, and then, for her benefit, “we’ll keep you dry the entire way. The lagoon is as smooth as glass.”