“I just finishedThe Botanist’s Muse, but my agent wants to wait till the pandemic cools a bit—or until we figure out what the new normal looks like—before she starts looking for a home for it. Now I’m starting on a novel about a Baroque-era steward that was orphaned as a child. He traveled all over Italy and grew to such prominence that the Pope gave him knighthood.”
“Then you should go to Palazzo Barberini. I’ll work with Trista to make it happen.”
A shiver ran up Aida’s spine. The steward she was writing about had spent some time working at Palazzo Barberini early in his career. Visiting it would help her research, but then it would disappear. What would happen to what she was writing if that was the case?
“That would be wonderful,” she managed. “But I’m sure the museum is closed. I wouldn’t want to put anyone at risk to open it just for me.”
“There will be no risk, I assure you.” He stood but did not step back from the table. He gazed down at the disarray of pieces before him. “You’re quite the enigma, Aida. A woman with secrets.”
Aida did not look up. She wasn’t sure she could maintain her composure even with the aegis. Terror filled her at the idea that he might know she had figured MODA out. After a brief pause, she finally spoke. “Every woman has secrets. You should know that by now.”
He huffed. “Touché. But you jest, and I do not.”
“Ah. I see how this is. You can tease me, but I cannot tease you? Fine. What do you want to know?”
Mo paused, as though weighing his next words carefully. He leaned back slightly, hands stilling, and for a moment, Aida thought she saw something unfamiliar in his eyes—not the usual sharpness or sarcasm, but curiosity.
“What is it like, spending time with someone without an angle?” he asked.
Aida glanced up, surprised. “Are you saying you usually have an angle?”
His lips quirked into a smirk. “Let’s just say I’m not used to idle company.”
“And I’m idle company?”
He shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “What other sort of company is there in the middle of a pandemic?”
Aida sighed. “I wish you weren’t right.”
Mo tapped a puzzle piece on the table, turning it in his fingers. “Do you find the company of other people enjoyable? When there’s no... expectation. Just... talking?”
“Well, yes. Don’t you?”
He chuckled, but it was soft, almost self-conscious. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just... not very good at this.”
“This?”
He met her eyes, and for a second, the air between them felt different—not charged with tension, but something closer to vulnerability. “This. Talking. Being... friendly.”
Aida picked up another piece and turned it over in her hand.
“I get the sense that maybe you don’t have many friends.” Aida knew it was bold, but being bold had always been the best tactic with him.
“I have always found friends to be overrated. Few conversations ever take place where someone doesn’t need something from the other person.”
“That’s true. But that’s not always a bad thing. Conversations with my friends always have two underlying needs: curiosity and respect.”
Mo tilted his head. “And what is it you’re curious about?”
“In general? Life, people, how things work. But with you...?” She glanced up, meeting his gaze. “I’m curious why you’re here.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t look away. “I already told you. I’m checking in on Lady Ozie’s interests.”
“Yes, but why are youreallyhere? This isn’t exactly acheck-insort of visit.” She searched the puzzle, looking for the right spot for the piece in her hand. “You’re not the type to sit around for hours doing jigsaw puzzles with someone just because of a job.”
“Maybe I’m the curious one. Or perhaps I’m trying to see what it’s like to have a conversation where I don’t need something from the other person.”
She smiled. “Well, so far, you’re doing okay. No major social blunders. Well, except the attempt to choke me.”
