"The god of medicine and healing."
"Hmm." That seems apt, somehow. I look around and smile as something catches my eye. "They have rowing boats."
Gabriele shakes his head. "I hope you're not suggesting I row you around the lake."
"It would be romantic."
"Katya, I can barely see."
His eye isn't as bad as I feared when Mila read out her husband's message. The doctor who came to check it said it would be fine as long as we kept doing what I'd already started with the ice packs and painkillers. Gabriele can't fully open it, which means his depth perception is even more compromised than usual.
Lukas and I have taken turns over the last couple of days to ensure he doesn't walk into something and cause himself a worse injury. We tried to get him to stay in bed but it would be easier to hold back the tide.
"It would be suicidal."
"Is the water deep enough to drown in?"
"Yes." He sees my disappointment and squeezes my hand. "We'll do it another day."
"Fine. I can wait."
"That would make a change," Gabriele mutters under his breath.
I purse my lips. "You know, I think I prefer you when you're being an ogre. I don't like all this teasing."
"Don't worry, dolcezza. I'm sure something will come along soon to spark my anger."
I'm sure it will too. The life we lead isn't one of kittens and dewdrops, after all. I turn to watch some ducks gliding across the water and smile.
"They mate for life, you know," I tell Gabriele. "Ducks."
"I don't think they do."
"Of course they do. Look how devoted they are. Look how he follows her everywhere."
"Katya." He sounds pained. "There are two males following her around."
I watch the three ducks for a moment. "Well," I say. "Perhaps they're a throuple."
Gabriele looks at me for a moment and then boops me on the nose, which is so entirely unexpected coming from this man that I'm momentarily speechless.
"You're adorable," he says.
I pout. "You're insulting my intelligence."
"I'm really not." He glances at his watch — the platinum one from Damiano, worn without comment, which is Gabriele's version of an acknowledgment. "Lunch?"
"That would be nice. Where do you want to go?"
"There's a little restaurant near here, up near the Spanish Steps. Very good pizza."
"Hmm." Pizza sounds exactly right for the mood of this afternoon. "Don't you need a reservation?"
He looks at me with an expression that says he finds this question slightly beneath both of us.
I raise an eyebrow. "You did not just give me that look. You were turned away from the Galleria Borghese this morning."
"That was different."
