She was grateful for his honesty, but his admission made her anxious. The journey a man took to become a Catholic priest wasn’t something Nina had ever thought about, but she did know it was a position of some status. And now she had become the impediment that prevented him from attaining that position, and never mind that he hadn’t truly married her or broken any sort of vow he might have made in the past. To his family, she would be the woman who had made him abandon, forever, his dream of becoming a priest. She wouldn’t be surprised if they all turned their backs on her.

They were walking through a village, the first since they’d left Campalto; Niccolò had taken care until now to keep them to the quieter side roads. It wasn’t much more than a cluster of buildings at a crossroads, with a public fountain and a church that loomed over the other buildings, and as they passed by one of the outlying farms a woman waved at them and greeted Niccolò by name.

“Good day, Zia Nora. Your garden is looking fine,” he answered, but he kept walking, and the woman, still smiling, returned to the basket of beans she’d been shelling.

“A cousin of my father,” he explained.

“You have cousins everywhere.”

“I do. My father is one of twelve and my mother was one of seven. I have cousins upon cousins upon cousins.”

“It was only ever me and my parents. They married late, and my grandparents died before I was born. My mother had a sister, but she was much older than Mamma. I was still a little girl when she died.”

“You’ll be surrounded by family in Mezzo Ciel. Everyone will want to know your business. Everyone will have an opinion.”

“It was like that in the gh—”

“Shh,” he warned, shaking his head.

“Yes, sorry. I meant to say that my neighborhood was very close-knit.”

“I know it will be hard to not speak of your family or your friends, but it’s far safer. You can tell me about them when we’re alone.”

They were approaching a crest in the road, and now he stopped and pointed to a cluster of buildings in the middle distance. “Can you see the church and campanile? The sun makes them look very white. That is Mezzo Ciel.”

“But it’s halfway up the mountain!”

“I swear it only looks that way. We’ll be there in another hour. Maybe a little more.”

They walked on, and the sun grew hotter and hotter, and before long her hair was plastered to her nape and temples. She’d lost her handkerchief at some point, so she mopped at her face with her sleeve and kept moving.

“Are you all right?” Niccolò asked.

“Yes. The sun is warm, that’s all.”