She’d expected his family to be surprised, certainly, and even disappointed over his decision, but his sister was reacting as if Nina had made Nico the accessory to a crime, her hostility so palpable that the air in the room was buzzing. And if Carlo was right, his eldest sister was a woman who took more comfort in anger than she did in happiness.

“She’s very pretty,” Carlo whispered into his brother’s ear just then, and naturally he waited for a moment when the silence around them was absolute. “I like her hair. It looks like it’s made out of springs.”

“They’re called ringlets, and yes, she is very pretty, but you mustn’t talk about Nina as if she isn’t here. It’s not polite.”

“What should I say?”

“You might ask her about Venice.”

“What is Venice like, Nina?” Carlo asked readily.

“Haven’t you been? No? Well, it’s very beautiful, and instead of streets there are canals—”

“I know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Of course. Well, did you know that instead of having mules like Bello, people move their things around on handcarts? And some very grand people have houses with a space for boats at the bottom, right where the cellar would be in an ordinary house.”

“Was your house like that?”

“No. Mine was, ah”—and then, remembering just in time—“I lived in a house with other students. It was too small for that.”

“When did you and my brother get married?”

“Carlo, that’s enough. Didn’t you hear me tell Papà that we were tired? We’re going to have a rest now, and then I’ll tell you the whole story at supper. Now off you go, all of you, and get started on your chores.”

Nico stood, shooing the children away, and then gathered up their empty bowls. These he took to Rosa at the sink, and though it felt wrong to watch, Nina couldn’t look away. He kissed his sister’s temple, and whispered something in her ear, and whatever he said must have eased her spirits, or helped to temper her anger, for she bowed her head, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, and even gave him a fleeting smile. But she did not look around to acknowledge Nina.

After collecting their bags, Nico guided her through a door at the far corner of the kitchen. A few steps beyond was a dark and quiet room—“The parlor, but we never go in there,” he told her. Now he took her hand and led her up a short flight of stairs to a landing, then up a second, narrower run of steps to a corridor with two doors on either side.

“This is Papà’s room, and opposite it is the girls’ room, then next to it the boys’ room, and this is my room. Our room, now.”