enthralling history of Rome and its art.
In the library, Laura wandered tirelessly through the paths of memory preserved in all the manuscripts kept in that place. Some were as old as the building that held them, built in 1667 by order of Pope Alexander VII and situated within the university city founded six centuries back by Boniface VIII. The rows of books covered the walls in the immense space, and students passed silently through its hallways bearing the volumes they would spend the following hours perusing.
Lauraâs small hands came to rest on the spine of a book dedicated to Etruscan art. She looked inside, and the illustrations of jewelry held her attention so intently that she began walking toward a table without taking her eyes from the page.
âCareful, miss,â someone warned her in Italian.
A boy of middling stature, with black hair and piercing black eyes, jarred Laura from her obliviousness; as concentrated as sheâd been on her reading, she almost ran into him. She gave a bewildered smile.
âMay I? Iâd love to see what it is that has you so absorbed. â¦â he said, placing his hand on the cover of the book while Laura, without reacting, looked attentively at how he read the title on the workâs spine. âAh, Etruscan metalworking! Did you know that even today, they donât know where that people came from? Some trace their origins to our borders, in the region of Lidia, in the Aegean, on the coast of Anatolia. They are famous for their skill in navigation and metalworking. ⦠But excuse me for interrupting, Iâm sure you already know all this and Iâm boring you with my carrying on,â he said, slightly embarrassed.
He couldnât have been much older than her. He was wearing a white shirt and a brown vest. His hair was combed back handsomely.
âNo ⦠not at all,â Laura answered. âI like learning about Rome and its culture.â
âMy name is Carlo,â the boy introduced himself after a brief silence, offering his hand courteously.
Taken slightly aback, Laura told him her name. He seemed fascinated by the girlâs small hand.
âWell â¦â he remarked as he brought it close to his face to see it better, while she blushed. âIt is soft but also strong, with long fingers. ⦠Would it bother you if I asked whether you do some sort of artistic work?â
Carloâs black eyes bored into hers with unusual intensity. Laura felt she could get lost in that shimmering, dense darkness which, despite his extreme courtesy and shyness, spoke of the passionate, lustful volcanoes in his spirit that his meekness did not succeed in hiding.
âI work with Zunico in his jewelry studio,â she answered, realizing she had been ignoring his question.
âOf course, I thought so ⦠You have an artistâs hands,â he murmured to himself in a choked whisper that Laura still managed to hear clearly; she felt flattered by his comment. He began to speak again in a normal tone. âAllow me to help you with the book, it looks heavy. Where will you be sitting?â
Normally Laura would have rejected such a brash approach. She took pride in being her own person, and she had been well warned of the Italians and their gallant, womanizing ways; skilled charmers, they saw the conquest of a lady, the back-and-forth of flirtation, more as a game or a hunt than the quest for a love to share their lives with. And yet Carlo awakened in her a tenderness she had never known before, which made her lower her guard and select a chair at random. He turned politely toward the table she had chosen; she remained unsure whether she should stay on the defensive against this man who seemed too old to be a student and too young to be a professor. And too handsome , she thought as she took her seat.
Despite her misgivings, though,she soon found herself talking to him in a low voice beneath the librarianâs watchful