Inside the convent I had a mentor of sorts, Valentina Marie, an aspiring novitiate not too much older than me. Valentina was somehow related to the Lamborghini family—not on the automotive but on the textile side—and her father controlled a good portion of the fashion industry in Milan. She was a nervous girl with dark, glittering eyes. She knew my situation. The nunnery wasn’t as cut off from the outside world as it pretended. The convent library carried the daily papers, and a number of the sisters had Internet devices in their rooms.

“I’d think those would be discouraged.”

“They are,” said Valentina. “Except for purposes of contemplation.”

“Not gossip?”

“Gossip can be holy, too.”

On the surface Valentina seemed to be a wholesome young woman, an impression enhanced by her wardrobe—a simple linen robe and a little cross about her neck—but this impression proved misleading. Out in the world she’d had troubles with OxyContin and alcohol and been to the abortionist twice. There were also charges pending on another matter. She didn’t tell me this right away but only gradually, between matins.

“Of course I’m grateful to have escaped it all.” Her voice held a winsome note. “But at any rate, like you, I have no choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Either I stay here, or I must face the judge.”

“I imagine, though, that with your changed character and the testimony of the sisters you might expect leniency.”

“There’s only so much anyone can do. Unless I’m accepted to the novitiate—as a missionary. To Africa, maybe, or South America. Then the court might show leniency.”

“Africa? That seems extreme.”

“You don’t know the specifics. Or how much my father had to pay to get me here. And how little he wants me home.”

The specifics were ugly—involving her lover, a gigolo of sorts, who had been stabbed to death with a pair of scissors—but I didn’t know that yet. Valentina was friendly, and I had my own concerns. She was my source of news via her electronic tablet, even if this news was erratic and contradictory, indicating in one moment that the committee had gone into indefinite adjournment and in the next that Paolo had decided to abandon me in order to save his political career.

“You should speak to the priest,” said Valentina. “He might let you talk to your lawyer, at least. It’s not uncommon once you’ve reached a certain point in your rehabilitation.”

“I will.”

“But you must have your epiphany.”

“My epiphany?”

“Yes,” she said. Her eyes shone. “It’s in the brochure. The one they gave you when you checked in.”

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