Costanza spent most days with Giovanna, either at La Magdalena or at other beautiful houses nearby. The summer stretched into one long lunch party, and soon Giovanna’s name was barely mentioned without Costanza’s attached to it, like a pair of decorative birds who were always together. Costanza had never had such fun, and her happiness allowed her to feel genuinely happy for Floriana. They didn’t see so much of each other now, for Floriana was excluded from all the grand social events, but when they did, Costanza watched her flowering romance with pleasure and a sense of intrigue.
Dante couldn’t hide his love. He wanted to spend every minute with Floriana. They’d go for drives, or picnic on the beach, or simply lie on the grass in his mother’s mermaid garden and read out loud, with Good-Night snoozing contentedly beside them. Those were magical evenings, when the crickets chirruped, the birds settled down to roost, and the light grew soft and golden, and Floriana basked in them, fully aware of God’s blessing.
Violetta watched her son’s summer romance with growing concern. They were clearly besotted with each other, which was touching to see, but she worried that Floriana’s heart would break when it all came to an end. In September Dante would return to real life in Milan, leaving Floriana behind and bereft.
She didn’t discuss it with Beppe. As far as he was concerned their romance was nothing more than one of the many flings Dante would enjoy in his life, before he settled down with an appropriate spouse. It didn’t surprise him, nor did it interest him.
Not everyone was as heartless as Beppe. Father Ascanio anticipated the catastrophe hovering in the wings, awaiting its cue to swoop and destroy, and decided to speak to Floriana when she came in to light her daily candle.
Floriana had great respect for Father Ascanio, whom she had known for as long as she could remember. She also held him in awe, being the most senior man in Herba and the closest to God. When he said he wished to speak to her, she immediately felt guilty and tried to work out what she had done wrong as she followed him into a little side chapel, where they could talk in private.
“You look fearful, Floriana,” he said, sitting down on one of the wooden chairs arranged in front of the altar.
“I feel I must have transgressed for you to need to speak to me like this.”
His kind old face crinkled indulgently. “You’re not a child any longer, Floriana. The days when you used to leap off cliffs and skip your classes are far behind you. You’re a God-fearing young woman about to be sixteen, and I’m proud of you.”
“So, I’ve done nothing wrong?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then why do you need to see me, Father?”
He hesitated and silently asked God for guidance; young love was something he knew nothing about. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled deeply then plunged into the cold pool of reason. “My dear child, in the absence of a mother to guide you as you teeter on the brink of womanhood, I feel it’s up to me, as Father of this parish, to give you some fatherly advice.”
Floriana’s heart contracted with dread, for she knew at once that it must be about Dante. Father Ascanio registered her apprehension and took her hand in his large, doughy one. “I know that you and Dante Bonfanti enjoy a deep friendship.”
“Yes, Father.”
“But I feel I would not be doing my duty, as God bids me, if I did not speak to you about the impossibility of it.”
“Impossibility?”
Father Ascanio frantically searched within himself for strength as Floriana’s eyes welled with tears, which spilled over onto ashen cheeks.
“He will return to Milan in September to work for his father, and your life will return to the way it was. You are so very young, my dear, and he is now twenty-three, a man …” His voice trailed off as Floriana’s heart broke right in front of him. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I want to spare you the hurt by opening your eyes to the truth.”
“But Father, Dante loves me.”
“I’m sure he does. But do you really think he’ll get his father’s blessing to marry you?” Floriana lowered her gaze to the stone floor, defeated. “You are from very different worlds, my child. This is a beautiful love story for you to treasure, but you will move on and settle down with someone from your own class. Dante Bonfanti is not for you.” The sight of her crumpling with sorrow like an autumn leaf was too much for Father Ascanio. “I shall leave you here to compose yourself,” he said gently, patting her hand.
“But I love him, Father.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Floriana.”