As summer in Tuscany grew to a close, the heat steadily increased. It was a well-known fact that before

one could make it to the cool drizzles of autumn, one had to first endure the stifling air that oppressed the city and

countryside alike. It was for this reason that Serena was thankful to be out in the gentle breeze, shaded by a large

tree, and handling cool, damp linens.

Her daughter, Mella, played contentedly with a set of blocks not too far away and she could hear the

babbling of baby Giorgio as he lay in his basket. He’d been in her charge for a while now and the entire household

had adjusted well to his presence. He wasn’t a fussy baby and he was still too little to be getting into any trouble.

The breeze tugged gently at the linens, blowing them to the side and revealing a lone figure trudging

up the dirt road. Serena was taken aback by the arrival of Donna Beatrice; those who could afford down-time were

usually taking their siesta at this hour.

Instead Beatrice, looking rightfully plump and flushed, greeted Serena with a cheerful “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, Madonna,” she answered, pocketing her clothespins. “What brings you by?”

“I’ve come to check up on my son.”

Serena eyed her rotund mistress with a wary eye. “You’ve walked all the way here? Would you like

to sit down?” She started to draw one of the linens aside, ready to lead her into the house, but she shook her

head.

“No, no. I’m feeling fine. Thank you, though. I only wish to see Giorgio.”

With a slight shrug of her shoulders Serena lifted a clothesline to let Beatrice pass underneath. The

children were where she had left them that morning, content to remain in the shade of the leafy tree.

Beatrice scooped her son into his arms and beamed down at his bald little head. He smiled up at her.

She took pleasure in his increased plumpness. He was significantly heavier than the last time she held him; the

country air was certainly doing him good.

She also noted that he had been taken out of swaddling. “Has his mobility increased greatly?” she

asked.

“He’s only begun to gain his balance,” Beatrice answered. “His linens are in the wash today. He will be

back in them by tonight; no need to fear for crooked limbs.”

While Beatrice cooed at her son, Serena sat with her daughter. Soon, though, her attention was caught

by a lone figure that appeared in the distance. He came toward them at a quick pace, cutting through the adjacent

fields. As he grew nearer, she noticed that he was gripping his right shoulder.

“Stefano!” Serena shouted, jumping up and rushing to his side. “Brother, what happened?”

Stefano bowed to Beatrice, gripping his shoulder, before turning to address his sister. “We were sawing

off some branches on the trees down the road and one of them snapped and landed on me. My shoulder’s been

dislocated.”

Serena locked eyes with Beatrice, pleading. “Madonna, this is Stefano, my brother. Please, I must take

him into the house.”

Cradling her son’s head against her collar bone, she nodded. “You may go.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Keeping one hand firmly on his injured shoulder, Stefano followed his sister across the yard. It was only

once they’d made it most of the way across the lawn that Beatrice realized her mistake.

She was alone with two babies. Panic crept into her heart, making it beat faster. Usually when she was

with children there was at least one nursemaid in attendance. By herself, she hadn’t the slightest clue how to keep

them properly coralled.

All of the sudden Mella took off in the direction of the laundry baskets, bent on mischief. Beatrice

lurched forward after her, wishing for an extra hand as she tried to balance the baby against her own precarious

sense of balance.

“No!” she yelled sharply. Mella turned to face her, wobbling and close to tears. “No,” Beatrice repeated,

this time more gently. “Laundry is not a toy.”

Mella toddled closer and reached up to grab her fingers. “Play?”

“No. No play,” she admonished. “Let’s go to the house.”

By the time they reached the house, Giorgio was beginning to whimper. Beatrice had had to practically

drag Mella into the kitchen; the girl so desperately wanted to play outside. “Serena,” she implored. “Help me.”

Flicking the water off her hands and back into the bowl, Serena abandoned her spot at the table and

took Giorgio in her arms. She placated him, cooing gently as she reached for the laces at her bodice. “He’s hungry. I

shall return promptly.”

Unburdened, Beatrice stretched her back and rubbed her aching muscles. She was exhausted already.

Perhaps walking over this afternoon had been a mistake after all. She’d just been so bored, cooped up in the stuffy

house, unable to nap.

From his seat Stefano moaned, drawing her attention. Mella was poking at his leg, asking to be picked

up. He slowly straightened his spine and drew her up on to his lap, grimacing whenever he moved his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Beatrice asked cautiously, coming to stand at the table and peering into the bowl. It

held a warm, watery liquid and had a few aromatic leaves floating on the top. A rag had sunk to the bottom.

He nodded, blushing at the attention she was paying him. “Serena was able to pop my shoulder back in.

It still aches, though.”

“What’s this?” she lifted the rag and squeezed it between her palms. Excess water dripped back into the

clay bowl.

“A compress. It’s for my shoulder. The herbs will prevent any swelling.”

“Ah.” She dangled the rag in the air before him. “Would you like me to…?”

He blushed profusely but didn’t refuse.

Beatrice rounded the table and slowly peeled back his tunic. His shoulder was an angry red color where

the branch had landed. It must have been a large one to have left such marks. She lightly ran her fingers over the

welts and felt a tingle shoot up her own arm. His skin was rough, but she could see the outlines of his muscles

underneath. They had tensed at her touch.

She spread the rag over his bare skin and smoothed out the wrinkles, laying his tunic carefully back

over it all. “There,” she pronounced, giving the neck of his garment a final tug. Her knuckles brushed his hair. “I

hope it helps.”

“Thank you,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on hers as she came around and pulled out a chair. “It

feels better already.” His speech was simple and unaffected. He used the rough dialect of those from the

countryside.

She couldn’t help but smile. It sounded like home. She’d grown up on these lands; her father had spoken

the same way. But that had been ages ago. Before he’d made his fortune. Before she’d moved to the city. Before she’d

married.

“How long has your family lived on this land?” she asked.

“My grandfather came here when he was newly married. His descendants have farmed this land ever

since, Madonna.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice: “I think I remember you.” He didn’t answer. “My father was Iacopo di

Brandi. My sister and I grew up here. We spent many hours playing with the farm children. I seem to recall a shy

young boy with green eyes and a penchant for hiding bugs around, scaring the girls.”

Realization dawned in his eyes, but he still didn’t say anything. He smiled, though, which warmed her

heart. Clearly he was just as fond of those memories as she was.

His attention was caught by Serena who came into the room, narrowing her eyes at her brother. She

shook her head slightly.

“I’ll take Mella,” she said, scooping up her daughter. “Just give me one minute and I’ll see to your

shoulder.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Beatrice said. “I’ve taken care of it.”

A significant look passed between the siblings.

“I think I’ll head back out to the fields,” Stefano announced, standing abruptly and digging under his

tunic for the rag. He dumped it back into the bowl on his way out the door.

“Thank you for your help, Madonna,” Serena said, bending down to let the squirming Mella go. “But

you shouldn’t have had to do it, so I apologize.”

“Oh, I didn’t mind. I enjoyed seeing Stefano again.”

“Again? You’ve met before?”

“It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. We used to play together as children.”

“Yes, well, he works in the fields now. He’s too busy for playing anymore.”

“I know,” she said loftily. “All the same, though, it was nice.” They stared at each other for a long

moment, neither willing to look away first.

Finally Beatrice waved her hand towards the front door. “I think I should be going. It’s getting late.”

“Of course, Madonna,” Serena answered. “Have a safe walk back.”

_ _ _

“Now, when your father gets here, you’re to greet him and then it’s off to bed for both of you,” Kari

instructed her two children standing before her. “Straight to bed,” she reiterated, prodding her palm with her finger for

emphasis. “I mean it.”

“Okay, mamma,” Alberto, the oldest, whined, exasperated. “We get it!”

“Alright,” Kari said, turning her attention to the younger of the two brothers. “Sandro? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, mamma,” he said, matching his brother’s tone.

Footsteps echoed out in the hall. All eyes turned expectantly towards the door. It swung open and in

strode Giacomo, bringing with him the smell of horses and night air.

“Babbo!” the boys exclaimed in unison, beaming up at their father.

*Daddy, Tuscan dialect

Giacomo broke into a grin. “Hello, boys.” He stooped down, pulling Alberto into a tight hug. “You’re

getting so tall!”

“I’ll be six soon!”

Ruffling Alberto’s hair affectionately, Giovanni scooped Sandro into his arms next. “You’ve grown, too!

Did you get the present I sent for your onomastico*?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, he was very excited to see that his father remembered him so generously,” Kari explained

patiently, hoping to prompt the taciturn toddler to keep talking. “Weren’t you, Sandro?”

“Yes, mamma.”

*Name-day, like a birthday

Giacomo chuckled and set the boy back down. Last month, in honor of the Saint’s day for which his

son had been named, he’d sent over a large bag of treats specially selected to satisfy the young boy’s sweet tooth. He

was glad to hear that it had been well-received.

“Good evening,” he said, turning his full attention finally to Kari. “And how have you been?”

“Quite well, I should think. I’ve missed you, though.”

They came together for what was a rather chaste kiss for them, but it still set the children to giggling.

“To bed, both of you,” she chastised lightly and turned them out of the room, smiling all the while.

Taking his brother by the hand, Alberto led Sandro out the door and down the hall to their shared

bedchamber where their nursemaid was waiting to tuck them in.

“Are you hungry?” Kari asked.

“Ravenous!”

“Well, then, to the table!

Kari had devoted most of her day to helping create the large spread that cluttered the sideboard that

evening. Soft loaves of bread, blocks of imported cheeses, cuts of roasted meat, and even a bowl of carefully-shaped

maccheroni graced the table, effusing delicious, savory smells.

Kari took her seat, motioning for Giacomo to do the same, and raised her glass. “Buon appetito!”

Conversation flowed easily between them, carrying them easily through the end of the meal. Kari,

having dismissed the servants for the evening, rose to refill her own glass. “Would you care for anything else?” she

asked, reaching for the pitcher of wine. “There is plenty of food left over.”

“Let the boys eat it tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head to indicate that he didn’t want anything else.

“They will enjoy a taste of the delightful fare you have made for us.”

Kari poured the last of the pitcher into her own goblet. “They snuck tastes all afternoon, the little

devils.” She laughed to herself. “I swear, cook spent half his time running them out of the kitchen.” Depositing the

pitcher back onto the sideboard, she slid onto Giacomo’s lap and would her fingers through his hair. She planted

little kisses on his lips. “Perhaps if their father were to visit them more often, they’d have a role model that would

teach them not to steal bites of pastry just as they come out of the oven.”

“You don’t teach them that?” he asked, planting his own kisses along her jawline.

“You know me,” she said, nuzzling his neck. “I’m not the best at resisting temptation. I’m no role model

for that virtue.”

He laughed heartily. “Then, I suppose, neither am I.”

The squeaking of door hinges tore their attention away from each other. Silhouetted in the candlelight,

Alberto stood in his night shirt, playing nervously with the fabric of his sleeve.

Kari jumped off his lap and they both stood up from the table.

“What are you doing out of bed, young man?” Giacomo asked sternly.

“I had a bad dream,” he moaned. “And Sandro wet the bed, so Nurse is busy with him.”

Kari’s stern expression began to fade away. “Oh, Giac, let him sit with us a little while.”

The boy’s eyes lit up with hope as he looked up pleadingly at his father. “Oh, can I?”

By way of answer, Giacomo scooped him into his arms and, carrying him to the table, sat him down on

his lap. Alberto beamed in pleasure at being permitted to steal some hours in the company of the grown-ups.

“Now, my little Albertino,” Kari said, pulling a chair close. “Tell your papà all about this bad dream of

yours and we’ll see if he can tell you a story to chase it away.”

_ _ _

Cosimo gripped his little brother’s hand and pulled him forward towards the cradle on unsteady feet.

The chamber was uncomfortably warm, even though the summer had long since passed. Rain splashed against the

windowpanes and in the gardens the leaves had begun to change their colors. The brothers’ new sibling had taken

her time coming into the world but had finally arrived late last night, much to their mother’s relief. She’d been quite

a large baby and Beatrice’s labor had spanned two days, but both mother and child had weathered it well and were

now sleeping peacefully.

The boys now peered at the sleeping infant with curious expressions. They’d been invited in by Serena,

having been told that they had someone they had to meet. Cosimo was rather unaffected, having already gone

through this ritual once before, but Giorgio was intrigued.

“Brother?” he asked, motioning to the sleeping babe.

“No,” Cosimo corrected gently. “Sister. Mother calls her Giovanna.”

“Gio-v-na?”

“Giovanna,” Cosimo said once again, stressing the middle part of the word. But his gentle

administrations went completely over the head of the toddler.

The nurse swept into the room, her own daughter balanced on her hip. She nodded to the boys then

shooed them off, placing her child on one of the benches where she sat, droopy-eyed and sleepy.

Scooping the newborn into her arms, she hastily loosened her bodice and bade her to nurse before she

could cry out, waking her mother. Just yesterday it was Giorgio she had fed from her breast, but now he sat happily

on the bench, chattering quietly with his playmates. It was tricky, timing the weaning of one child in preparation of

the arrival of another, but she’d done it. Now it was Giovanna who would receive her milk.

Her own daughter had been switched to solid food long ago, in favor of giving her milk to the mistress’

children.

As Giovanna sucked, one by one the children drifted off to sleep. The nurse rocked to keep her own

eyes open. It was quite late and soon she’d have to herd them all back to the nursery. But for now, she was content to

gaze down upon the scene of convivial slumber. The children had certainly made fast friends among themselves.

_ _ _

Though winter was creeping closer, its icy touch had not yet gripped the Tuscan countryside. The

harvest had been completed - the fields now lying empty - and the leaf-trees had long been devoid of their foliage,

but the sun still shone. Giacomo felt the weak warmth of its rays bouncing off the clay tiles of the courtyard as he

strode through the gates of the villa.

Inside, Beatrice felt a similar heat. She’d been running herself ragged for the past few days, tidying the

villa in preparation for her husband’s visit. The staff had been directed to clean the rooms from top to bottom,

sparing no corner and repairing anything in need of it. She, herself, had agonized over the menu, ordering enough

food to feed three times the size of her family.

She’d taken extra care dressing that morning, pulling her best dress out of the deep recesses of her

trunks, and polishing the jewels she hardly wore anymore. Though Giacomo’s letter had said he would only be there

for a short stop as he made his way to Rome for an extended stay, Beatrice hoped to make such an impression that he

could be persuaded to remain.

When the door opened, she held her breath, waiting. He pulled her hands to his lips and pressed them

gently together. “Lovely to see you, Beatrice.”

Hidden by her skirts, her toes curled at his touch. “Likewise,” she said, managing to keep a calm

expression.

Behind them, Valerio, the steward, came into the room and bowed as far as his old bones would allow.

He glanced up at Giacomo, getting his first look at the new master of the house. Finally, he smiled and said

“Welcome, Signor Moretti, to the Villa di Salvo.”

Giacomo nodded in his direction. Beatrice glanced between them, feeling somewhat put-off. It had been

more than six months since she’d come to the countryside with her children in tow. She’d rather enjoyed slipping

into the role of overseeing the running of the household, but now she realized she would have to relinquish control

to her husband.

“Valerio,” she said sweetly. “Please show my husband to his rooms.” He nodded. “Then join me in the

dining room.” He nodded again.

The three parted ways.

_ _ _

Valerio pulled open the ornately carved door that lead to the sala, the main room at the front of the

house, and motioned for his lord and lady to enter before him. “Buonasera, signore e signora,” he announced, ducking

back out of the room and closing the door swiftly and softly behind him.

Candlelight flickered, bathing the room and the couple in an intimate glow. The staff had done well

scrubbing the room clean from its summer dust and grime, bringing in fresh candles and lighting a small fire to

chase away the faint nip of fall that could be felt in the air. Beatrice nodded approvingly to herself.

“The food looks delicious,” Giacomo commented, taking his seat at the head of the table. A plate lay

before him, laden with already-carved chicken, a smallish pile of roasted vegetables, and rosemary parmesan

polenta.

Beatrice smiled, taking her seat next to him. She’d thrown the kitchen into a frenzy upon hearing word

of his arrival, but she was rather proud of the menu she’d put together. “Thank you.”

They began their meal in silence, each taking careful bites in the silence before Giacomo asked “And

how is Giovanna?"

"Well,” she answered after swallowing her bite of chicken. “The children have taken to calling her

Gina. Giorgio had a hard time with her name at first.”

Giacomo smiled, pushing his vegetables around on his plate. “She is healthy, though? And the nurse has

come up to the house to care for her?”

“Quite healthy. She lives in the nursery with her brothers and the nurse to care for her. Just as you

asked.” A letter she’d received shortly after their daughter’s birth had explained his displeasure at sending the baby

off to live at a stranger’s house. While she wasn’t of the same frame of mind, she’d bowed to her husband’s wishes.

The conversation that passed between them for the rest of the evening was limited to talk of the

children: really the only thing they had in common. Giacomo occasionally touched on some political topics, but he

quickly went back to the baby's most recent attempt at smiling when he saw the bored look that came over his wife’s

face.

They made their way through three self-served courses, each richer than the last, until they arrived at

dessert. Beatrice eyed the sideboard with an attempt at a seductive glance. She tilted her head low, batting her eyes

and asking him to fill a plate for her. “Make sure to drizzle the honey sauce across all of the figs,” she requested

demurely.

He lumbered across the room, already full of his meal and tired from his long ride. Taking up one

plate, he picked up a few grapes, a pomegranate, and two honey-covered figs and plopped them down onto it. He

handed it to Beatrice, taking nothing for himself. “I'm feeling a bit tired. I think I shall retire early. But please, enjoy

dessert without me."

Beatrice blushed, scrambling frantically to her feet. “Are you sure?” He nodded and her heart sank. The

menu had been planned to culminate in the aphrodisiacal dessert but he wanted to finish early and there seemed to

be nothing she could do to prevent it. “Very well, then. I’ll see you…later…though?”

He nodded again, sharper this time, and walked past. Eyeing the dessert he had left on the table for her,

she could only hope that he would visit her in her chambers that night as she had asked. Well, in a roundabout way

at least.

She wandered upstairs not long after Giacomo had left. The figs had lost their appeal, so she left her

plate half-empty. Now she took a seat on her bench, smoothing her back from her face and arranging her skirts

artfully around her knees. She sat poised on the edge of her seat until her legs began to fall asleep. She relaxed her

back against the bench for just a moment, yawning. Still, she waited.

It wasn't long before she herself was asleep.

The night was still young. Well, in his opinion anyway. When he tip-toed past his wife’s room he heard

soft snores coming from within, but he’d retreated to his room too early to go to sleep. He started to go over his

travel expenses, but soon tired of the quiet tediousness and let his focus wander. It was then that his attention was

captured by the sound of a crying baby, so he abandoned his work to go in search of the nursery.

Knocking softly, he waited for the door to be opened. There was a soft rustling through the wall and,

shortly thereafter, it was opened to reveal a woman he'd never seen before standing before him. Clad in only her

nightdress, she looked at him with tired eyes, rocking a wide-awake infant with one arm.

“My apologies if I woke you,” he began, somewhat embarrassed. “I heard her crying and I wished to

see her.”

The woman backed into the room, trying her best not to smile at his paternal curiosity. She knew how

fond of his children he was and also that he hadn’t seen Giovanna yet. She thought it sweet and had been expecting

his visit all evening. “Of course.” She held the baby out for him to see.

Giacomo beamed, wiggling his finger down at her. She tried to focus her eyes on it, pulling her mouth

back into a gummy attempt at a smile. “I believe Beatrice wanted to introduce us tomorrow, but it was too hard to

wait once I’d heard that she was up.”

“She is happy to see you, signore,” the nurse whispered. “This is her first true smile. Cosimo has been

trying to get her to do it for days.”

Giacomo’s chest rose a few inches, puffing out in pride and, with that simple act, the nurse knew that

his daughter had successfully wrapped herself around his finger. He was a doting father already, but Giovanna

would be his first daughter. His little angel.

As he stood over his daughter, speaking to her in mostly made-up syllables, one of the other children

started to whimper. The nurse, slightly panicked, handed the baby handed the baby over. “Take her,” she said before

whirling around to give her attention to the other cradle. “If one wakes they’ll all wake.”

Giacomo took his daughter to his shoulder, patting her on the back. After a few moments, she drifted

off to sleep. Peering into the empty cradle standing before him, laid her gently into it. “Goodnight, Gina.”

“Her brothers are quite attentive to her,” the woman said from behind him. “They are her little

protectors and they dote on her so, donating their own toys to her so that she may play as well.” As she spoke, she

rocked the cradle on its hinges with her hip. The whimpers from within had quieted.

Giacomo moved to the next cradle, , looking in on in on Giorgio who now slept soundly. “Good to

hear,” he mumbled, stroking his son's hair. “They all seem to be in good health.”

“Babbo?” a little voice called from behind them. Its sleepy tone registered only barely to Giacomo, but

the nurse sighed heavily.

“Just as I said: if one wakes, they all do.”

Giacomo turned to see that Cosimo had flung back his blankets and swung his legs over the edge of the

bed. He rubbed his eyes, blinking in the dim light at the towering figure that stood before him.

“Babbo!” His eyes lit up with recognition and excitement, all the tiredness gone. He leapt out of bed

and into his father's arms. “Mamma didn't say that you were coming!”

Giacomo buried his face in his oldest son's neck, his heart filling with joy. It’d been so long since he’d

seen his son. “It's a surprise. I didn’t know myself that I was coming until a few days ago. “

“Let's go downstairs! I wanna show you my new toy!”

Giacomo chuckled. He shook his head, keeping his arms locked firmly around his son. Lord, he'd missed

him. “Not right now, son. It's too late now, but we can go in the morning.”

“How long are you going to be here?”

“A few days.”

Cosimo's shoulders slumped. “Only a few days?”

Giacomo's heart tightened in his chest. He kept his chin balanced on Cosimo's shoulder; he couldn't

bear the look that he was sure had come onto his son's face. “I have business far away. I'm sorry.” And he was. He

really was sorry.

“All right,” he mumbled dejectedly before hopping back into bed and letting his father tuck him under

the blankets.

_ _ _

“My horse is ready and waiting in the courtyard.”

Beatrice, standing at the window, nodded slightly, refusing to speak.

“Did you hear me?” Giacomo asked again. “I am leaving for Rome. Will you not bid me farewell?”

She stared coldly out the window, stretching out the silence until it had become uncomfortable. “Yes. I

heard you. Goodbye.”

“What vexes you, Beatrice?” he asked, coming further into the room. Still, she did not turn away from

the window. “You are not usually so cold.”

“Beatrice,” he pressed again, the tone of his voice becoming sterner.

She turned, her face still stony and impassive. “Nothing; I pray you have a good journey.”

“I know you wish me to stay, but you know I have to go. Nico has invited me to Rome and I told him

that I will come.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. Nico awaits. Your half-brother beckons so you must answer his

call.” Giacomo sighed and began to turn away from her, unwilling to rehash the same argument they’d been having

for the entire length of his stay. As soon as she though him far enough away, she hissed “You’d think going to the

Holy city wouldn’t mean you return to your life of sin.”

He whirled around. “What did you say?”

She blanched, but held strong. “I know about your other woman,” she spat, her usually soft-hearted

nature turning to spite. “I know how society mocks me behind my back. Your wife is banished to the countryside

while you remain in the city, free to carry on with that whore. How many children has she born you now? Two?

Three?”

“Enough,” Giacomo commanded. “You say too much; you judge too harshly. I do what I do for the

safety of our children. I value their health, just as I value yours. That is why I have sent you all away.”

“Then why not send your other family to the countryside? Why not send them here?” she mocked. “Send you

mistress to live with your lawfully-wedded wife. Send you bastard children to sleep in the same nursery as your

heir.”

“Do not ridicule me, woman. You do not understand.”

A few tense seconds passed with them squaring off, both holding on to their anger but unwilling to

voice it. Finally, Beatrice’s face softened and she pulled back. “Just go, Giacomo. I will not beg you to stay. I am too

proud for that.”

Giacomo nodded sharply and, pulling his cloak tight, turned his back on her. He glowered angrily at

the floor tiles, stomping over them.

He hadn’t made it very far when Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears. “Please,” she moaned, her voice barely

above whisper and cracking with sadness. “You called my bluff. You win. I married you for love. I still love you,

Giacomo.” Torn, Giacomo hesitated, one foot hovering a few inches above the ground. “Please stay. I want to be

more than just a stop on your way to somewhere better.”

Biting his tongue, Giacomo took her by the shoulders shoulder and moved her slowly back until she

rest against the wall. “Damn it all,” he muttered. She was a fool, a pretty fool, but she was his wife. His love-letters

had been nothing but a means to an end, but she’d been thoroughly convinced. No matter how he might wish

differently, he had his duty to perform. He couldn’t keep away forever.

Closing the gap between them, he placed his lips on hers and felt her melt into his arms.

He would write a letter to Nico, claiming that the fall rains had come early, preventing his departure.

He could visit his brother sometime in the spring, once the roads had cleared and his wife had been satisfied.