He watched over Paolo Orsini that night, on surveillance, filling in because the staff was shorthanded. Beneath the surface, there was a conflict of loyalties—and a growing enmity. I didn’t know any of this then, just as I didn’t catch the contempt in the man’s eyes. I listened to my brother as he took me aside and leaned me delicately against the tavern wall. We had an intimacy between us, as brother and sister, in the way we chatted and touched.

“Orsini’s quite smitten with you.”

“I’m flattered. But I’m a married woman.”

“He’s married, too.”

“So it can’t come to anything.”

“Of course not,” my brother said.

“I wouldn’t want it to.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“But you will come to his party? There will be beautiful people there.” Johnny laughed. His eyes shone. “And Isabella. Whom I’m sure you want to meet.”

4.

The apartment where I lived with Frank was at the edge of the Campo de’ Fiori.  The building was an old palazzo gone to seed, constructed on the site of the ancient Theater of Pompey—where Caesar was assassinated. Somewhere beneath the oldest part of the building, there had been caves that once housed a statue of Venus. The caves were history now, backfilled with mud and crumbling marble. Our apartment felt cramped even by Italian standards, and the plumbing was bad.

It was the evening of Orsini’s party. We were supposed to go—I’d promised Johnny—but Frank looked pretty battered. He’d been drinking the night before, alone, and I’d found him asleep on the bed when I’d come home.

“Last night,” he said now. “What time did you get in?”

I didn’t answer. We’d been through this already.

“This shirt,” I said. “This one, the color is good on you.”

It was rust colored, nice material, with an Italian collar. He buttoned it partway and regarded himself in the glass: an old-fashioned panel mirror he’d bought for me, and to give the room some extra dimension.

“The shirt hangs well.”

“I stink,” he said. “I smell like a goat.”

“All the men in Italy smell like goats.”

There was some truth to this. It was only Americans who showered four times a day.

“You should go without me.”

“Don’t be silly . . . just wear cologne.”

“You are bored of me.” His hands were shaking.

I poured him a drink.

“Your brother . . . he says I should play hard to get.”

“You talk to my brother about us?”

“Who else should I speak to?”

“Me, I suppose.”