Nico had brought down the Divine Comedy, and he now began to read the final cantos from Paradiso. The poetry was so beautiful, and his voice was so beguiling, that she didn’t even bother to pick up her knitting as she usually did. Only listened, enchanted, as he read of the poet and his Beatrice and their search for happiness. Finally Nico shut the book and told the others he was off to bed, and she followed him upstairs without remembering to say good night. She closed the door to their room, checking to make sure it had latched properly. And then she turned to face him.

“We should get ready for bed,” Nico said. “I’ll just turn my back?”

She nodded, her mouth too dry for words, and changed into her nightgown as quickly as her fumbling fingers would allow. She crossed the room to where he stood, still facing away from her. “I’m here,” she said.

“Will you let me hold you?” He turned slowly, letting her decide. She stepped into the circle of his arms and took a deep breath. At last.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time,” he said, his lips soft against her brow.

“How long?”

“Almost since the beginning,” he admitted.

“Why did you wait until now?”

“I’ve never felt this way before. Ever. I needed to be certain of my feelings.”

“And?” she prompted, her heart racing.

“I love you, Antonina, but not as a sister, and not as a friend. As a wife. My wife. And I hope you share those feelings. If not, I’ll—”

She kissed him before he could say another word, and into that kiss she instilled her regard, her admiration, her delight, her joy, and her love for him. For this man who had so unexpectedly become the hero of her story.

She pulled away, just a little, for she had to see his face. Had to let him see how she felt, too, for words were not enough. “I do, Nico. With all my heart I do.”

“My darling,” he whispered, and then he kissed her, and he didn’t break away until they both were breathless and trembling.

“I wish we were truly married,” he said. “I know that makes me sound old-fashioned.”

“You’re an honorable man. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“Then you understand why we ought to stop. Only . . .”

“What is it?”

“If we were to make promises to one another, exchange vows, would that be enough for you? Only until the war is over, though, and the laws are changed. And if they don’t change the laws here, we’ll go somewhere, anywhere, and—”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

“Is that something you do in a Jewish wedding? Exchange vows? Forgive me for my ignorance.”