As the cookies baked, she called Manuela, her nanny, on the telephone to see how she was doing. Her husband answered the phone.

“Ciao, Vittorio. How is Manuela?”

“She’s still in bed.”

“Is she feeling any better than she was yesterday?”

“No, I don’t think so. She is still very sick.”

“I’m sorry. Please give her my best.” She hung up the phone. It’s going to be a long weekend, she thought.

A half hour later she heard the whine of a scooter outside the courtyard walls. She went to the window and slightly parted the sheer, embroidered curtain. She saw the front gate open and Ross cross the courtyard, removing his helmet as he walked. He must have bought a motorino, she thought. Ross unlocked his door and disappeared inside. She looked at the plate of cookies and suddenly felt apprehensive. Why would he want to talk to her? Maybe she’d wait until Alessio was feeling better and have him take the cookies over.

Around eight, Maurizio called. His voice, typically low and calm, was difficult to hear beneath the sound of the restaurant.

“Amore, how’s your day?”

“It’s okay. Alessio is sick.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“I’m still in Genoa. Ascolta, I’m not going to be home tomorrow. I need to go back to Milano. One of my clients had a problem with an order. Seems half the shipment was corked.”

“Can it wait? I really need your help. Manuela’s still sick. I don’t have anyone to watch Alessio so I can go out.”

“Why do you need to go out?”

Seven years ago the question would have astonished her. “To buy groceries, for one thing.”

“Have Anna watch him for you.”

“Anna left on holiday.”

“Oh, that is a problem.” There was a long pause. “Well, what can I do, Eliana? I need to see the client. You have food in the house.”

Eliana sighed. She had no fight left in her. “When will you be home?”

“Next Wednesday. I am certain.”

She ran her hand back through her hair. “All right. I’ll see you then.”

She hung up the phone. Then she pounded the wall with the heel of her palm. “Damn, damn, damn, damn.”

When she went back to Alessio, he was still asleep. She carried him up to his bed, pulled the blanket up to his chin, kissed his forehead, then walked out of the room. She went to the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub. She took off her clothes, looking at herself in the mirror as she did so. She had not put on any makeup or done her hair that day. She was barely thirty and she already looked worn out, she thought. She felt like she had been run over by life. No wonder Maurizio doesn’t find me attractive, she thought. Compared to the fresh young girls he met at business lunches, why would he? How could she compete with them? But why should she have to? Was she still pretty?