Page 16 of These Immortal Truths
Anna’s smile is soft, but honest. “It sounds beautiful. I can see how you would miss it.”
“It is my favorite place,” he says. “I am blessed to call it home.”
There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice. “How long has it been?”
“Three years now.” Marco pats one of the bolts of silk fondly. “Business is busy and my son is still learning.” He looks at her appraisingly. “Tell me, are you married, Ms. Anna?”
She knows what he’s really asking. “I’m afraid I’m not the marrying sort.”
A true enough statement. Even if she found someone who could love her regardless of her flawed skin, who looked past the initial fear long enough to give her a chance, any happiness they found would be short lived.
“A shame, my son would do well to find a good woman like yourself.” He gestures to the busy street. “I’ve seen you, rushing house to house. You are a midwife, yes?”
Anna’s surprised he cared enough to notice. “Yes.”
He nods, and in that moment, his eyes seem to show his age. “An honorable thing, welcoming new life into this world. Something to be proud of.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, an odd mix of pride and regret stirring in her gut. She thinks of the lives she lost and wishes she could feel his praise without its weight.
Marco seems to sense her troubles, his thick brows furrowing, but his gaze drifts over her shoulder—mouth turning up into a wide grin behind his full beard. He stands, arms outstretched. “Ah, Giovanni! Welcome back, my son. Tell me, how fares our competition?”
Anna turns, finding a young man no older than thirty summers standing behind her. He regards her curiously, pushing his dark hair back from his face nervously. His eyes are the spitting image of Marco’s.
“Ah, they—well.” His accent is even thicker than his fathers, thevowels tripping from his lips as if he’s uncertain that the ones he speaks are the correct ones. “That is—”
Marco shakes his head, his hands waving away the young man’s fumbling words. “Never mind, that. This lovely lady is Anna. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Anna flushes, the heat of it spreading down her neck and blooming across her chest. Giovanni seems equally flustered, his hand disappearing to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, hello,” he offers. He sounds as awkward as Anna feels.
He’s promptly cuffed on the back of his head for his trouble, Marco speaking in their native tongue. Anna doesn’t know the language, but the way the older man’s hands move with his speech—making a wide gesture in her direction—is easy to interpret.
Giovanni tries again. “I mean, it is pleasure to meet you.” Another quick exchange of words passes between them, before Marco claps him on the shoulder and turns to Anna with a smile that leaves her little room for arguments.
“Giovanni has been working on his English. It has come a long way since he joined me, but he would be much obliged if you did him the courtesy of allowing him to practice with you? Perhaps he can walk with you to your next stop?”
Anna knows full well it’s more than that, but she doesn’t see a polite way of refusing. She offers a timid smile and hopes they don’t see her discomfort behind it. “I would be happy for you to join me.”
Giovanni’s answering smile is as strained as her own, but Marco is beaming. “Wonderful! Go and enjoy, while the day is still beautiful.”
All but shooed away, Anna wrings her hands as Giovanni falls in step beside her. They pass five more stalls, the droning chatter of the marketplace filling the space between them, before he speaks. “I am sorry. Papà is not good with no.”
“He seems to care for you very much.”
His sigh is heavy—equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Too much. He tries to find me a wife at every town.”
It’s a relief, having that truth out in the open instead of quietlyhanging between them. Anna breathes a laugh. “I tried to tell him I’m not the marrying sort.”
“Are you a friendly sort?” he asks, smiling shyly. “Papà insists we stay for summer while business is good. I think he just likes the bridges.”
Confused, she frowns before remembering the home Marco had described to her. The Floating City. Surely, such a place has at least as many bridges as Norwich. Then she catches Giovanni’s timidly hopeful expression and realizes he’s waiting for an answer. She’s not entirely sure what friendship implies, but she’s lonely enough to risk whatever repercussions may come of it. “I like to think so.”
She thought his offer of friendship was only born from an attempt at pleasant conversation, but the following weeks prove him to be honest. If he sees her in the street, he walks with her to her next house call. If she’s shopping in the market, he’s there offering to carry her bag. For all his shyness, there is a chivalry in him that Anna admires. An innate kindness. It’s a tentative thing, the trembling start of something that could blossom into more, but he makes it feel easy.
It’s more than Anna asked for.
A joy she’s already afraid to lose.
Summer’s end feels too close, and even though Anna went into this with eyes wide open, she still feels the sting. Their time together is held up by fraying rope over a flame. For every day she enjoys his company, she spends another night watching another fiber snap and burn away. The flinch before the fall.
