Trista handed Aida a sleek new MODA-issued laptop, phone, and a Post-it note bearing a neatly printed password. “You can use MODA devices for personal communication, but remember, all access to Wi-Fi in this building is monitored. As stipulated in your contract, all digital, visual, and audio materials you generate—on any device—while on this property and during MODA business are owned and can be accessed by MODA at any time.”
Aida groaned inwardly. She must have glossed over the part abouteverydevice. “I brought my laptop and phone. Are you saying I can’t use them for personal purposes?”
Trista’s eyes narrowed, her expression unwavering. “You may, but you won’t have Wi-Fi access for your personal devices on MODA properties. We have a vested interest in maintaining the confidentiality of our operations. It’s not about curiosity; it’s about control and security. But if your personal projects are purely historical research, unrelated to MODA’s interests, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
Aida recalled a brief clause in the contract about data generated on-site, but she’d dismissed it as typical legal jargon—a formality. In her past jobs, personal use of company equipment or time had been quietly tolerated, a perk of the office culture. This somehow felt different, more serious. She would never have imagined her personal devices would be subject to this sort of monitoring.
“As for your work here,” Trista continued, “most of it will be digitally rendered. However, if you prefer paper, you are welcome to use the MODA-provided portfolio for your notes.” She patted a portfolio on the table before them. “All notes must be stored within this portfolio and submitted with your quarterly report in London. There’s no exception to this.”
Aida nodded, trying to mask her unease. “Understood,” she said, her tone neutral.
Trista’s expression softened slightly. “And regarding your fiancé, Graham,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “he has already signed the necessary NDA. This means you can discuss certain aspects of your life here with him, but remember, the confidentiality rules apply—no specific details about your work or anything related to MODA’s proprietary information. This is the same for your friend Yumi.”
Aida managed a faint smile, relieved at least by the thought that she wouldn’t have to keep everything entirely to herself.
Trista gestured for Aida to follow her to the velvet couches, where she sat and activated her tablet. “Now then,” she said, “your first assignment is at the Casa di Goethe.”
Aida was pleased with this revelation. She had always intended to visit the museum dedicated to the celebrated German author.
“I’ll be guiding you through the process. Before you spend time in the museum, you should research and read up on Goethe, particularly his time in Italy.” She paused and looked at Aida, her big blue eyes wide. “Have you read hisItalian Journey?”
“Yes, but it was a long while ago.”
“You’ll have a week to research what you can about Goethe and his life. ReadItalian Journeyagain. Brush up a little on the rest of his works but don’t dive deep. You’re mostly looking to understand everything you can about his time in Italy. Every last detail, anything you can uncover. You will work fast, but you will be thorough.”
“What am I searching for?”
Trista gave Aida a look that suggested she might be daft. “I literally just told you,” she said with all seriousness.
Aida raised an eyebrow. “You told me what I would be doing but not what I would be looking for. Am I trying to understand a particular correlation between different sets of information? Am I trying to uncover some sort of new fact about his time here? Or perhaps an untruth in what we think we know about him? What you described is fairly unnecessary—his life hasbeen well cataloged. That’s why a museum is dedicated to him, after all.”
Trista stared at her, expression empty, and finally, Aida broke eye contact, uncomfortable with the gaze.
“I see,” Trista said after a long pause. “Lady Ozie is interested in Goethe’s emotional impact upon the world and the qualities that made him compelling. In particular, how he sparked joy in others as a result of the time he spent here and the way in which he wrote about it.”
If Trista had shown an iota of emotion, Aida might have made a Marie Kondo joke about sparking joy, but she sensed that the woman wouldn’t understand the humor. She still wasn’t sure what Lady Ozie really wanted. To understand joy? It sounded so strange coming from Trista, who looked like she had never experienced joy in her life.
Chef Ilario interrupted them with a cheerful “Tea is served.” He crossed the room with a massive tray.
“Excellent, thank you, Chef.”
“These look delightful,” Aida told him.
“You both look as though a little delight is needed.Sietetropposerie.”
Too serious indeed, Aida thought. She was tempted to ask him to stay and have tea with them, but Trista dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Chef Ilario winked at Aida and departed.
Aida could hardly believe the elegant afternoon tea setup before her. A sterling silver teapot gleamed among fine bone china cups. An array of scones, their surfaces dusted with a golden crumb, were nestled beside pots of clotted cream and strawberry preserves. Neatly cut cucumber and salmon sandwiches lay in precise rows with fillings peeking out from their crustless borders. Petits fours, iced and tempting, added a splash of color. It was a tableau of comfort and civility that Aida found herself warming to, the kind of ritual that could easily become a cherished part of her afternoons.
Trista, however, was not one to linger over teatime delights. She was all business, briskly outlining the plan. “You will have a week to settle in here and get accustomed to living in Rome. Take the time to do your research on Goethe and rereadItalian Journey. Next week you’ll be given full access to the museum and its staff.”
“And why not employ the museum’s Goethe experts for this task?” Aida questioned.
A smirk flashed across Trista’s face. “Because then you’d be out of a job.”
“Fair enough. But it’s an honest question. What could I uncover that these individuals wouldn’t already know?”
Trista powered down her tablet. “Let me be clearer. In all your projects for MODA, you’ll focus on cataloging happiness, a perspective other historians have overlooked. You’ll understand as you immerse yourself in the work.”
