“Che fico, che uomo!” What a fig, what a man!

Eliana smiled at this as she stacked their plates on top of each other, then gathered up the silverware from the table. “So what’s he like?”

“Carino, short and plump. A little Botticelli. And he’s a magician in the kitchen. He can cook like my grandmother.” Then she said, “Did I tell you he has the most marvelous lips I’ve ever tasted?”

“No, you didn’t.”

Eliana took the plates into the kitchen. Anna collected the glasses and followed her in.

“So what happened while I was gone?”

“Alessio had a bad attack. We had to rush him to emergency.”

“Mamma mia. I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Anything else?”

“Nothing. Maurizio was only here for two days. Same old life.”

Anna looked vexed. “I don’t believe you. Something happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve changed.”

“In what way?”

“You seem breezy.”

“I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Did you meet someone?” Anna scrutinized Eliana’s face.

“Anna.”

“It’s the American, no?”

“Anna.”

“That is not a denial. I knew it. What is he like?” When Eliana hesitated, Anna exclaimed, “I was right. Out with it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, he’s nice. He’s very sweet.”

“Dolcezza, you say! This is news. How did you meet him? Did you take him a housewarming gift like I suggested?”

“If I had done it like you suggested, I would have been wearing a lace negligee. When Alessio had his attack, he drove us to the hospital.”

Her face widened with the expression of a teenage girl asking a secret. “And . . . ?”

“And what?”

“You and the American. How . . .”

“Anna, stop this. I’m married.”

“Does he know you’re married?”

“Yes. Of course he does. He’s already met Maurizio.”

Anna looked disappointed. “Well, he’s certainly good for you. You’re not the same girl I left, that’s for sure.”

“Still just Eliana.” Eliana changed the subject. “Would you like some wine?”

“Who needs wine when you’re drunk on love? I better go home; he’s going to call tonight. Thank you for dinner.” She kissed her. “Let’s have coffee tomorrow.”

“Certo. I’m glad you’re back, Anna.”

“Me too. It’s good to be home.”

Eliana finished clearing the table then went upstairs to her painting. From her studio window she looked out across the courtyard. Ross’s kitchen light was still on. She wondered what he was doing inside. Anna’s light was on too and it made her glad. She was happy that Anna was finally back.

She was dying to tell Anna about Ross—not that she needed to. Anna always saw through her. Anna was right; Eliana had changed. She felt different.

Whether he intended to or not, Ross made her feel new and beautiful again, as well as other things—a whole curious palette of bright and exotic feelings.

She turned on her music and began working on his portrait. Even the portrait was evidence of change. She had never before felt so connected to a painting.