“He wants me to. It’s just that sometimes I get tired of seeing the things he likes to see.”

“What things are those?

Andrew recited a list: the David, the Medici tombs, the Uffizi, the Baptistery doors, the Duomo. Other sites and countless artworks that had sped by in a blur went unmentioned because he no longer remembered their names.

“You’ve been a thorough tourist.”

“My father likes to see everything. Everything interests him.”

“But not you.”

Andrew shrugged.

She tilted her head. “What do you think about when you look at these things? The David, the Medici tombs, and so on?”

“I feel like there’s going to be a test.”

“That’s too bad. When it comes to buildings or sculptures, it’s best if you feel—wonder. Otherwise, why bother going?”

“That’s why I don’t if I don’t have to.”

She nodded, then returned to her reading. Had he said something stupid, or had the conversation just petered out sooner than he would have liked? Either way, he got the message. He looked out the window and raised his camera. But he quickly lowered it again to watch her. She was reading even more rapidly now, her eyes speeding across the page urgently, anxiously. The troubled look on her face made her even more beautiful somehow.

Andrew forced himself to return his attention to the street below. A man in a straw hat was looking in a shop window where the mannequin was wearing virtually the identical straw hat. Andrew framed a shot and pressed the shutter.

“How about a walk?” she said. She was stacking up the pages, tapping them against the desk to even them out.

“But I don’t even know your name.”

“Will that help you to decide?”

“It just seems—proper.”

Lines appeared in her forehead. “My name is Costanza.”

“I’m Andrew.”

“There. Everything’s proper now, yes?”

Her hat was made of straw, like the one in the window. Its white band matched her dress. Her dress was linen, and it pulled across her breasts as she walked. It was hard for Andrew to take his eyes off those shapes.

“So you’re in Florence by yourself,” he half said and half asked as they set off up the via Tornabuoni.

“What gives you that idea?”

“You were alone in the elevator. And in the sitting room.”

“My companion could be … attending a professional conference, like your father.”

“Then they might know each other.”

“They might be colleagues. Friends.”

“Or enemies.”

“Why enemies?”

“Lots of my father’s colleagues are his enemies. He has very strong ideas about his work. And his kind of medicine is very competitive.”

“Why is that?”

“I think it partly has to do with money.”

“Let me guess. He’s a plastic surgeon.”

Andrew shook his head.

“A psychiatrist who has invented a pill that makes people amiable.”