It turned out she was right. “Aida, I’ve got fantastic news!” Mara’s voice crackled with excitement. “HarperCollins is thrilled aboutThe Shadows of Tuscany!”
Aida’s breath caught in her throat. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m very serious. They loved the concept—the suspense, the layered narrative, the way you’ve crafted the mystery against the beautiful backdrop of the Tuscan countryside. They think it’s exactly what readers are looking for, especially with the growing appetite for atmospheric, character-driven mysteries. But here’s the thing—they want to fast-track the publication to hit the holiday market. That means moving straight into copyediting and printing galleys almost immediately. They’re sure it will be a big hit for Christmas, and they want to capitalize on that momentum.”
Aida blinked, trying to process the information. “That’s... incredibly fast.” Her mind flashed back to her colleague Celia, a seasoned novelist who had once lamented how glacially slow the publishing world could be.Months, Celia had said,often more than a yearbetween signing a contract and seeing it inch toward publication. But this was nothing like that. This was breakneck speed. And while part of her was thrilled, another part couldn’t ignore how strange it all felt. How—and why—was this happening to her?
“It is, but they believe the book is solid enough to move directly to the next stage. Thisishighly unusual, but that’s why it’s such good news! They’re convinced this will be a big book, and they’re prepared to put significant resources behind it. I think you’ll be quite pleased with the advance they’re offering.”
Mara named a sum over seven figures, and Aida was glad she was sitting down. “Wait, how can that be?” she asked, stunned.From everything she’d read, new authors typically received far less—somewhere between $5,000 and $20,000 for a debut.
“It’s a rare opportunity, Aida. Just say you’re ready to go. The contract details will be coming over soon, and I’ll walk you through everything. But for now, I just wanted you to know how excited they are—and how excited I am! This is huge, Aida. Really huge.”
Aida was still reeling. “Thank you, Mara. I’m... I’m excited too. This is just... incredible.”
After a few more minutes of enthusiastic chatter and a promise from Mara to email over all the details, Aida ended the call. She sat there for a moment, staring at her phone, the reality slowly sinking in. She had sold her book. Her book. To one of the Big Five publishers. And they wanted it out by the holidays as a lead title. She should be overjoyed; part of her was, but another part felt a familiar unease. Why was this happening so smoothly, so quickly? Why would MODA be so invested in her success as a fiction writer? It didn’t quite add up, but then again, little about MODA ever did.
Later that morning, Aida met up with Felix at the entrance to the Jesuit church of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola in Campo Marzio, not far from the Pantheon. She had been inside the Baroque church dozens of times before—its magnificent ceiling was one of her favorites in all of Italy.
“Morning, love, you look radiant,” he told her after he gave her the customary kiss upon each cheek.
“Oh, that’s just because I may have a book deal.”
“No, you don’t. Didn’t you just finish it?” Then he realized she wasn’t joking. “Wait, you do have a deal!” He stepped back, taking a moment to absorb the news, then stepped forward again, his hands clasping hers. “That’s fantastic, Aida,” he said, his admiration for her evident in his tone. “Wow, there are so many good things happening for you. And you only have me to thank for it.”
That sent Aida into laughter, which was interrupted by aspindly old priest in a black cassock who opened the door with a scowl. Felix presented his guide badge and the man ushered them in, locking the door behind them, muttering to himself.
“I’m sorry,” Aida said to him in Italian. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“I don’t like it, this locking of the doors, keeping the people out.”
“It’s only for a day, and I’m sure the donation my employers gave the church will be worth it,” she told him.
He fixed a rheumy eye on her. “There are people out there that need guidance more than we need money. I don’t agree with the bishop on this, no, no, I do not.”
Aida kept a smile plastered on her face. “I understand. Tomorrow, the doors will be open again, and my work will shift to observing and interviewing tourists. But I promise we will work hard to complete our work quickly today so you can open the doors again.”
“If you need me, I will be in the offices in the hallway.” He pointed toward a nondescript door and shuffled off.
“What a crusty old man,” Felix said once the priest had gone. “I promise you, we won’t need him.” He laid his jacket on the back of the pew closest to the door. “Ready to get started?”
Aida nodded. She pulled her recorder from her bag and hit the record button. “Ready.”
For the next two hours, Felix went over every last detail of the church, ranging from the magnificent forced perspective ceiling that depicted the life and work of Saint Ignatius to the fake dome—a masterful illusion that, when observed from the right spot in the church, gave the viewer the feeling that it was real, not painted on a flat surface. Most of the scene represented the Counter-Reformation and the Jesuits’ desire to defend the Catholic faith. Aida had done considerable research before she visited so much of the information was not new, but Felix had a particular perspective on the life of painter Andrea Pozzo and on the Baroque times he lived in.
“I’ve been in the church in Vienna that Pozzo painted,” Felix told her. “The dome is better executed, but it lacks the richness of the full ceiling above us.”
Aida’s neck was beginning to hurt from looking upward. She rubbed at it, but could not keep her eyes on the ground.
Felix was still going on about the ceiling. “The blur between the physical edifice and the painted world is what I find the most miraculous. It’s as though we’re having a spiritual vision. There’s a sense of movement. Nothing in this painting is static. It’s all wild energy. You can almost see the movement of the clouds, the force behind the avenging angel’s javelin, the strength of the angel holding Christ’s shield.”
Aida simplified it for him. “This ceiling... to me it represents joy. Every time I see it, I’m filled with pure happiness.”
They stared upward together in companionable silence until the priest interrupted them to explain that he was locking up the church while he took lunch and they would have to come back in an hour.
“The photographer will be here then, so that works out,” Aida said to Felix as they followed the priest out of the church. “Besides, I am betting you won’t mind if I treat you to lunch.”
They found a little restaurant a block away, tucked between two ancient Roman columns that had been built into the building’s infrastructure. Felix secured a table for them while Aida found her way to the restroom. When she returned, he was gaping at his phone, alarm etched across his features.
