I smiled, though my heart broke into a million pieces. “The pleasure is all mine,” I said as I pulled myself away. I went back to Manuela, who suddenly acted as if she were very interested in the structure of a fishing net.

Hooking our arms together, we strode back to shore. I looked over my shoulder and for a moment I thought I saw Garibaldi watching us. Had it been my imagination? What would Giuseppe Garibaldi want with a married woman like me?

I dreamed of him. Every night Garibaldi visited me, always at the edge of my sight, taunting me. I heard his whisper, Anna, soft and deep. I woke in my bed, the memory of his face fading from my eyes. My ears were precisely tuned to hear his name from even the faintest sound. It drove me mad.

Two terribly long weeks later, I was at the hospital tending to a patient when one of my fellow nurses rushed into my ward. “Hurry! Clean up this mess. Senhor Garibaldi is here, visiting the hospital.”

When I looked at the nurse in stunned silence, she hurried over to me, shooing me from my patient. I tried to get out of her way as casually as I could in an attempt to slip out of the hospital without anyone noticing me. I stopped short when I heard voices. Garibaldi and an entourage of people walked into my ward, blocking my only route of escape.

“Dona Anna, what a pleasure to see you again.” Garibaldi bowed.

“Senhor Garibaldi,” I responded with a nod of my head.

“I was hoping I would see you again.”

“I suppose it’s good that one of us is getting their wish,” I snapped.

“It is a beautiful day. Do you think you could give me a tour of the garden? I understand it is quite impressive.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but one of the other nurses spoke up. “Senhor, if you want to see the gardens, I do believe Dona Francesca would be a better guide.”

“No,” Garibaldi said. “I would prefer for Dona Anna to be my escort.” He turned to his entourage. “You will not be needed.”

“Very well,” I said, suddenly feeling every eye on me. “This way, please, senhor.”

I led him out the doors to the garden. When we were out of hearing range of the others, I turned on him. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Asking for a tour of the garden,” he responded coyly.

“Don’t you act charming with me, Senhor Garibaldi,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “I know very well that you have no interest in plants.”

“And how do you know that? Botany could be my hobby.” He had the audacity to look offended. Though the corner of his mouth tilted upward ever so slightly.

I huffed in frustration. “A sailor interested in botany makes about as much sense as a farmer designing cathedrals.”

Garibaldi tried to stifle a laugh.