“Devi esser mia.” The words tumbled out of his lips like a prayer he couldn’t stop. I pulled back sharply; not being familiar with Italian, I had no idea what he’d said. His face grew pink with embarrassment.

I was suddenly acutely aware of where I was and who I was with. I looked at Hector and Manuela in turn. Hector was standing up in front of his chair, looking down at us. Manuela stood in the kitchen, her hand over her mouth. I felt a rush of embarrassment as I looked back at Garibaldi’s hopeful face. Feeling like I had made a fool of myself, I ran.

I raced up the stairs and flung myself onto Manuela and Hector’s bed. I wanted to hide away. How could I have been so foolish? What was the matter with me? I closed my eyes, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. Manuela slipped quietly into the room, placing a tender hand on my back.

“Anna?” she asked.

“I am such a fool,” I said into her pillow. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Manuela laughed softly. “My friend, you have the sickness.”

“The sickness?” I asked, sitting up.

“Yes, it’s called love.” Her eyes sparkled with her smile. She reached out to feel my forehead and cheeks before making a tsking noise. “And by the looks of it, you have it bad.”

I grabbed her hand as she pulled it away. “Manuela, you speak Italian, don’t you?”

“Just a little.”

“Do you know what Garibaldi said?”

Manuela smiled mischievously. “‘You must be mine.’” She patted my arm. “I’ll leave you to collect yourself.”

I sat in the bedroom, trying to work up the courage to go back down the stairs. I took my time, smoothing my skirt and tucking back my hair as the pounding in my heart subsided. I scurried down the stairs back to Manuela, hoping that I wasn’t seen. She smiled at me as she piled a tray with mate and pastries. Before I could protest, she shoved the tray into my arms, turning me toward the parlor.

Senhor Garibaldi’s eyes burned a hole into me as I set the silver tea tray on the simple wooden table that sat in the center of the parlor. I took my seat on the burgundy couch, my back rigid with my ankles firmly crossed. With Hector to my right, I was as far from Garibaldi as I could manage. He sat in one of the twin armchairs that matched the sofa. Together the three of us waited for Manuela to enter the parlor before we began the tea service.

Manuela entered with a tray full of small plates and biscoitos de maizena. She set the tray down before beginning the mate serving ritual. The silver-rimmed gourd she held in the palm of her hand had an intricate leaf pattern carved into it. After scooping the tea into the hollowed-out inside, she shook it, a process as important as the tea itself. Gently, Manuela poured the water into the gourd. She took a sip of the tea from the silver bombilla straw before spitting the first bitter dregs into the fireplace. When Manuela was satisfied with the taste and temperature, she passed the gourd to her husband.