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“Notphysicallove, you mean.”
Franco whispered, “Youenjoyphysical love.”
Violetta laughed, then covered her mouth. “I have so much else here. The world has opened up to me, one you can’t even imagine. Now I understand the restlessness I always had, what was bothering me. I thought the answer was travel, but it wasn’t.” She leaned close to the grate, newly urgent. “Franco, if you knew what my life was like before, you’d understand that I’m freer here.”
“But it’s a prison.”
“No, it’s alibrary. It’s a place of the mind. I have the privacy of my own thoughts. I never had that at home. My parents told me what to do, what to think, where to go, and whom to fall in love with. No one tells me that here, my mind is free.”
“But your body isn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. If your mind is free, you can go anywhere, and I do good works now. I’m not idle anymore, I’museful, and it brings me such joy, real joy.” Violetta opened her palms. “I was the daughter of a baron, Franco. It was a privileged life, but it wasn’t my own. Most of the nuns here are from families like mine. We feel the same way. I belonged to my father, and after that, I would have belonged to you.”
“But I gave you freedom.”
“Here, no onegivesme freedom. I’m free, merely because I am. Thisis the first choice I’ve ever made, on my own, and believe me, my parents aren’t happy, either. My father never expected me to take the veil. He wanted to marry me off to the Marquis Caligiri.”
Franco felt anger flare at the Baron but didn’t say so. He wanted to kill thepezzo di merda, but wouldn’t harm him further, for Violetta’s sake.
“Although he did remark that my conventual dowry was far less than it would have been.”
“Conventualdowry? You have topayfor this?”
“Of course, I’m to become a bride of Christ, and the money supports our good works. I’m using my time to serve others. I work in the bakery.”
“You’re a confectioner-nun?” Franco asked, surprised. Confectioner-nuns baked fancy pastries, which were sold to raise money for the poor and for their own maintenance. The recipes were proprietary, and only convents were permitted to bake and sell such sweets, not bakeries, which sold everyone’s daily bread.
“I’d love to be a confectioner-nun someday. I used to watch Nenella in the kitchen, but I wasn’t allowed to cook, remember?”
“Yes,” Franco answered miserably. “What do you bake?”
“Why do you ask?”
Franco shrugged, at a loss. “I guess I want to understand your life here. I want to imagine you baking. What do you wear? Does your habit get dirty, with flour or something?”
“I put on an apron, silly.” Violetta chuckled. “I’m learning to bakeerbanetti, those little cakes with pistachio paste on top.”
Franco felt like crying. “I love everything pistachio.”
Violetta smiled sadly. “I know, and when I makeerbanetti, I think of you.”
“Violetta, you’re torturing me.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to.” Violetta straightened. “Franco, you have to move on with your life. Forget about me, about us.”
Franco took the words like a blow. He’d won every battle except this one, and it was the one he cared about the most. “I want you, and only you.”
“But I’m here, forever. You have to accept that.”
“I can’t.”
“You will, in time.”
“No, I won’t.” Franco’s throat tightened. “I love you. Don’t you love me?”
“Franco—” Violetta sighed, and Franco could feel her warm breath through the iron grate, like a kiss.
“Violetta, I’m asking you. Do you love me?”
