gave out a
gave out a groan and turned face-up. And just as it did so, the clouds parted for a moment, and a ray of moonlight shone down on what must have been the most beautiful man she had ever seen apart from Father Raphael, who was in any case a full priest and out of the running so far as romance went.
And that was how Caesare-the-handsome, Caesare-the-dangerous, Caesare-the-all-too-persuasive-damn-him ended up in her shack, in her blankets, and in her care.
And it was just like one of her daydreams, from start to finish. She moved Caesare into her little shack near the canals, where there would be no spying eyes and ears. She nursed him and kept him warm and fed him from a spoon for days—and then, suddenly, one day he looked up at her with sense in his eyes, and said “Who are you? Where am I?” and she answered him. And then, like he’d been watching the same dreams, he reached up, and pulled off her cap and her hair came tumbling down and he said, “My God, you saved my life, and you’re beautiful!”
Well, what was any girl to do when SEO a handsome man said that to her, in her own bed, in her own house, on a moonlit night when the lagoon was bright and glassy-smooth?
He didn’t tell her a lot about himself, afterwards. Except that he was a danger to her, and he had to leave her—which she expected, really. But what he said then she didn’t expect.
“How can I leave you? I love you!”
—and she, fierce as a lion with a cub, swore she could help him, keep him safe from those enemies—she’d known they were enemies all along, no footpad ever bothered tying a rock to someone to sink him. But then he told her who those enemies were—the Milanese—and that he’d been working for them right up until the moment that they betrayed him. Almost, almost she took it all back, almost told him to leave. Almost.
But she hadn’t. And she’d hidden him until she was able to get him to someone who could offer him, for a price, a precarious
And that was how Caesare-the-handsome, Caesare-the-dangerous, Caesare-the-all-too-persuasive-damn-him ended up in her shack, in her blankets, and in her care.
And it was just like one of her daydreams, from start to finish. She moved Caesare into her little shack near the canals, where there would be no spying eyes and ears. She nursed him and kept him warm and fed him from a spoon for days—and then, suddenly, one day he looked up at her with sense in his eyes, and said “Who are you? Where am I?” and she answered him. And then, like he’d been watching the same dreams, he reached up, and pulled off her cap and her hair came tumbling down and he said, “My God, you saved my life, and you’re beautiful!”
Well, what was any girl to do when SEO a handsome man said that to her, in her own bed, in her own house, on a moonlit night when the lagoon was bright and glassy-smooth?
He didn’t tell her a lot about himself, afterwards. Except that he was a danger to her, and he had to leave her—which she expected, really. But what he said then she didn’t expect.
“How can I leave you? I love you!”
—and she, fierce as a lion with a cub, swore she could help him, keep him safe from those enemies—she’d known they were enemies all along, no footpad ever bothered tying a rock to someone to sink him. But then he told her who those enemies were—the Milanese—and that he’d been working for them right up until the moment that they betrayed him. Almost, almost she took it all back, almost told him to leave. Almost.
But she hadn’t. And she’d hidden him until she was able to get him to someone who could offer him, for a price, a precarious