I didn’t have any makeup on, so my eyes were unadorned, my lips pale. I have wide eyes and high cheekbones, and my body is thin and angular. Without makeup I can look very much younger than I am, childlike and boyish. My looks at such times affected him deeply, I knew; he’d told me so himself. And I’d seen pictures of his first wife and daughter, both estranged. I resembled the girl when she was young.

“I’m completely dedicated to you,” I said.

“Not completely.”

“Yes, completely.”

“You’re only flattering me.”

“No,” I insisted.

I lowered my head and felt the empty space inside me. I looked deep down into it but couldn’t see anything. I had a million desires, but I couldn’t name them, they all vanished—all except the ugliest, the kind you can’t admit—and suddenly the only thing I wanted was to get away. Frank studied me in the mirror. I smiled, a warm smile. I could see myself in the glass: my brown eyes, the sudden shyness, the crook of my lips.

“I’m completely dedicated to you,” I said again.

“You own me.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m possessed by you.”

“I think it’s quite the opposite.”

“Once a person possesses something, it’s easy to lose interest. Maybe that’s how it is with us.”

My blouse was half-undone.  I stood facing the mirror, hand on hip, and Frank studied me from behind.  The blouse was an older one. A new one, from Biagotti, lay on the bed.

“Your brother says—”

“Oh, Johnny says a lot of things, you know that. It’s just because he wants someone to go to the races with him.”

They’d been doing that lately, playing the odds on the horses. Johnny liked to gamble, too. He and Frank had that in common.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just—yesterday our credit was denied. Down at Biagiotti. I didn’t want to say anything.”

He glanced at the open carton on the bed, the new blouse inside its tissue.

“You got something.”

“A new blouse. But there was a skirt, too. And some other things I put back.”

“I’m sorry . . . our finances . . . ”

“I don’t care about the clothes,” I insisted.

This wasn’t exactly true. I loved the touch of new clothes . . . different outfits . . . Frank knew this . . . He enjoyed it, too, watching me in front of the mirror, posing. It was something we did.

“Your brother’s a fool for the horses.”

“Did you lose money?”

“I might lose sometimes, but in the long run . . .” He paused. “Johnny says there are some beautiful trails in Tuscany—out by Orsini’s stables. I wouldn’t mind getting on a horse again. They’ve got that stallion, the one that ran at Siena.”