Page 132 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“That’s what I call it now.” She clasped her hand to her mouth playfully. “Oops, should I have filtered that?”

“Oh, dear God. Is this still part of the gloating for being right? I can’t handle it.”

Moira laughed. Like really laughed. Not a mousy laugh, the real McCoy. Then, she said, “They’re taking the scaffolding down.”

“What?”

Moira pointed toward the entrance.

Sandy marched that way, immediately noticing that more daylight crept in than usual. She pushed through the doors and found, to her surprise and perhaps delight, that five men looked to be taking down the scaffolding. Okay, two of them were leaning against the columns of the porticoes, smoking cigarettes and chatting.

“Hai finalmente finito?” she asked the more handsome of the two.

He said through a smoke cloud, “Si, abbiamo finito.”

Sandy lifted her arms to the sky. “Meno male. Thank God.”

She turned back to Moira, who’d followed her out. “I guess this means I can’t move to Lisbon.”

“You were never moving to Lisbon.”

“Don’t test me, Moira. I’m not sure I love this new version of you.”

“It’s not a version of me. It’s the real me.”

“Poor Harold.”

“Harold and I aren’t a couple.”

“It’s a matter of time. You wait and see. I’ve an eye for these kinds of things.”

“Is that right? She who doesn’t even allow a romance section in her bookstore is now an expert of all things romance?”

Sandy cackled and said over her shoulder as she led them back inside, “Oh, no. I’m still not a romance gal. There will be no romance section in this bookstore as long as I live, but I know when I see two people who still haven’t learned the hard way. Future victims, as I call them.”

“For your information, we decided to be friends. He’s going back to the States, anyway.”

“Friends,” Sandy said, rather snidely. “Famous last words.”

Twilight fell over the Piazza Maggiore, painting the sky a caramel hue. The church bells of the Basilica di San Petronio pounded out the hour. The smoky scent of coffee wafted out of a café just as busy in the evening as during the day. A young blond busker sang the daylights out of a Coldplay song. Tourists and locals alike wandered into the evening, perhaps seeking an Aperol spritz or their first sip of Lambrusco, some of them surely reconnecting with long-lost friends and nearly forgotten lovers.

Bianca stood below Michelangelo’s eagle, the stone carving perched on a wall near the statue of Neptune. Its wings were spread, ready to take flight.

Feeling her own renewed trajectory, her wings eager to flutter, she set her hand on the stone wall and let her eyes fall closed.

The sounds around her dissipated. The concerns of who she might one day become, what she might do, where she might go, fell away.

Only the whispers of her ancestors remained.

Chapter 31

The Big Circus—er, Night

In the entryway to Il Minerva, Bianca kissed Corrado’s cheeks. “The big night.”

“That’s right.” He couldn’t have been any more handsome in his chef uniform and black clogs. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tattoo and muscular forearms.

She hoped he didn’t notice her nerves. She’d thought about him far too much lately, wondering whether he’d ever give her another chance, and now that she stood facing him, her heart was vibrating.