Uffa, I couldn’t exactly argue with my own actions in my studio, in the woods, behind the blacksmith’s shop . . . “I-I-I . . .” I began picking at a speck of green paint off my thumbnail. “I think you’re lovely.”

I braced for screams, but her voice was unnervingly calm when she said, “It’s time to stop hiding me behind locked doors and painters’ tarps, Raphael Santi.”

“Mia cara, I’m a painter, not made for marriages and family.”

“Other painters marry. They keep workshops, assistants, wives, children.”

“I’m not other painters.” I reached into my pocket, took out my father’s old long-handled paintbrush, and started twirling it between my fingers.

“Men need children to carry on their legacy.” She grabbed my hand to stop my twirling.

“Children die,” I said.

This time it was her turn to reply, “Che?”

“And even if children live . . .” I started twirling the brush again. “Do you know the names of Giotto’s parents? Donatello’s? Botticelli’s? Even if I do great things, will my father’s name trip off the tongues of future generations? Maybe if I make enough of a mark his name will be written down in a book somewhere, but I can’t bring him back.” My fingers missed a beat, and my paint-brush clattered to the floor. “People die. Marriage can’t save you, children can’t save you, love can’t save you. Nothing can save you.”

She smoothed out her skirt. “Your teacher upset you. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“You think Perugino upset me?”

“He called you a thief.”

“That was the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. I was hoping he’d tell me I did a good job or call me maestro, but never did I imagine him admitting that I’d surpassed him.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“That’s exactly what happened. His jealousy is proof that my altarpiece is better than his. And he knows it.” I bent down, picked up the brush, and pocketed it.

Tessa stared with—what was that? Distress? Horror? Disgust? “Rafa, to people on the outside you look so perfect, but . . .” She suddenly looked unmistakably sad. “How are you ever going to create perfection when you’re so far from it?” She turned and walked toward the exit, her skirts swishing against the stone floors.