“He’s a canny old bastard, that’s all. Like all Fascists. They don’t care about ideals.”

To Iris’s right, the man looked up from his lover’s neck and winked at Iris. She tore herself away and glanced up at the side of Sasha’s face. “But you do.”

Sasha looked down and smiled at her. Probably he saw the whole exchange—Iris mesmerized by the intimate couple, the man winking back.

“Maybe,” he said.

SASHA INSISTED ON WALKING her back to her apartment and helping her up the stairs. It was all his fault, he said, because he should’ve taken her to coffee that day at the Villa Borghese. He should have worked up the nerve to greet her sooner.

“How long were you following me?” she asked.

“Since you walked in.”

“I didn’t realize I was so intimidating.”

They paused on the landing between the first and second floors, so Iris could catch her breath. The stairway was shaded and cool. Sasha kept his hand under her elbow. “Harry tells me you’re an artist yourself.”

“Did he say that? I draw, that’s all.”

“Are you any good?”

She looked right up into his eyes and said, “I think so.”

“May I see some of your work?”

“Right now, you mean?”

He glanced up the stairs. “Why not?”

Iris checked her watch. Ruth was supposed to have a gig at noon today, and it was ten past the hour. “Only if you have the time.”

“I’ll make time.”

THE APARTMENT WAS EMPTY, thank God. Iris called Ruth’s name, just to be sure.

“She’s at a photo shoot,” Iris said to Sasha.

“Of course.”

The apartment seemed larger than before. The crutches echoed from the walls as Iris opened the window shutters to let the sunshine in. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“Don’t trouble yourself. I can fetch it myself.”

Sasha disappeared into the kitchen and Iris swung herself into the armchair, which still stood like a throne in the middle of the floor. She propped up her ankle with a sigh. Sasha returned with two glasses of gin and tonic. He handed her one.

“It’s very strong,” she gasped.

Instead of taking the nearest chair, Sasha walked to the window and leaned his shoulder against the frame. His eyes seemed to disappear underneath his heavy brow. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pair of twin sisters less alike than you and Ruth.”

“That’s what everyone says. I take after my mother, I guess.”

“And Ruth? She takes after your father?”

“No, she’s more like my aunt Vivian. Tall and blond.” Iris smiled. “Like you.”

“Then I guess it’s true, that we’re attracted to our opposite.”