Dishonorable

As we walked in, three men came around the corner. Raphael spoke to them in Italian and shook their hands, then turned to me to tell me their names, not quite introducing me, just telling me who they were. Cousins, apparently, who worked for him. Whom I gathered would be around a lot. I only remembered the first one’s name: Eric.

The scent of food wafting from the kitchen made my stomach growl. Even though I was dead on my feet, I could eat whatever it was this woman was cooking.

“I can’t stay. I’m expected at the seminary,” Damon said. “I wanted to be here to meet you, though.”

Seminary?

“I’ll be back in a few days’ time. If you need anything—”

Before I could answer, Raphael did.

“She won’t,” he said, cutting him off.

Damon took out a card and handed it to me anyway, as if Raphael hadn’t spoken at all. I guessed not many people did that with Raphael.

“My cell phone number is on the back, and you can also always find me here.”

I looked at the card. St. Mark’s Seminary with a Florence address.

“You’re a priest?” Was that the irony Raphael mentioned?

“Studying. Not yet ordained.”

“Oh.” I looked at him with fresh eyes.

Raphael pulled me close, and, as if he’d read my mind, said: “He’s not all that good. Don’t be fooled, Sofia. I can tell you right now to be wary of any Amado male.”

Damon rolled his eyes at his brother. “Good-bye, Raphael. Believe it or not, it’s good to have you back home,” he said. “I think it’ll be good for you to be here.”

Raphael studied his brother, and for a moment, I thought he might say something remotely human, but he didn’t. Instead, he broke his gaze and dismissed him.

“Good-bye, brother.”

Damon left, and Raphael ushered me inside where the driver was already carrying our bags upstairs. I had a momentary panic, wondering what the sleeping arrangement would be. Our marriage would be on paper alone, but did that mean he wouldn’t try to touch me? Would that mean he’d have other women?

I glanced in his direction, realizing he’d have no trouble finding as many as he wanted, married or not.

“Can I have a few minutes?” It came out stiffer than I intended.

Raphael turned to me.

“I’d like to splash water on my face and change out of these clothes before lunch,” I added.

He nodded. “I’ll take you to your room.”

My room. Did that confirm we weren’t sharing?

Raphael said something to Maria, who went into the kitchen, and he led me up the stairs to the second floor. I looked around as we went, taking in every detail.

“How old is the house?”

“Over three hundred years.”

“The oldest building at St. Sebastian was seventy years old.”

“I’ll give you a tour later.” On the second-floor landing, I saw how the arches that matched those at the front door let in the bright sunlight framed by the bluest sky.

“You must have amazing views on a clear night.”

“We do.”

Raphael looked nostalgic. Sad almost. At least for a millisecond.

“This way.”

I followed him down the hall to the third door. He opened it, and I stepped inside. My suitcases were already arranged on luggage holders, which were the only modern things in the large room with its king-size bed, draped by curtains hanging from the ceiling with high, intricately carved wooden head and footboards. Blues were the theme here, and the curtains at the picturesque windows matched that of the headboard. The windows stood open, and I realized that for as warm as it was outside, the house itself felt reasonably cool, even if it had a slightly musty smell. Raphael seemed to notice it the same moment I did.

“The room hasn’t been used in a while.”

“It’s beautiful.” I turned in a circle, wondering how old the furnishings were.

“Bathroom is here.”

I followed him to an adjoining room, not very large but big enough to house a bathtub separate of the shower. White marble veined with gold covered floor, ceiling, and walls, although the fixtures looked quite old. He turned the tap.

“Completely updated. You should be very comfortable.”

“Once we’re… Um… Never mind.”

“What?”

I hesitated, cleared my throat, and asked the question. “Will I keep this room once we’re married?”

“Does the idea of sharing my bed repel you?”

“I…you said…”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not used to having to force my women.”

I guessed that meant a yes, I’d keep this room. But I also felt like a jerk.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t take too long.” He walked out of the bathroom. “We’ll have lunch out back. Can you find your way?”

“I think I can manage one set of stairs and an exit.”

“I guess that private-school education will be of some use after all.”

And I was the one who felt like a jerk?

He left me alone, and I went to the window to watch Maria and two women setting up a large banquet that I swear would have fed a dozen but was set for only two. Raphael’s dark head appeared, and I watched as the two girls helping Maria almost curtsied to him. He shook their hands, and their laughter resonated up to my room. For some reason, a feeling of something close to jealousy tightened my stomach.