Chapter 16
They ducked into a pub a few blocks from the restaurant, off a side street toward the hotel. Luciano led Aida to a cozy table
in a corner, and they ordered beer. Neither of them had said much on the way, but after the waiter deposited their drinks
on the table and left, they could hardly contain themselves.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do any of this,” Aida said. She pulled the little red plastic monkey off the side of her
glass and set it aside. “The mere thought of presenting to MODA again just brings me terror.”
Luciano laid a hand on hers. “Me too. But isn’t that what she said her protection is for? To give us calm in the face of the
gods?”
Aida’s cheeks grew warm with his touch. “Do you really believe that? Why couldn’t she have given us a magic shield to keep
them from killing us?”
“Well, if she’s right, and the gods can’t directly kill us, then shouldn’t a calm spell protect us? We just can’t let on that
we know who they are.”
“I’m not a great liar,” she said, thinking of Mo. Their usual banter, the sharp exchanges that used to feel so effortless,
now hung heavy. She hadn’t ever fully trusted him—not really—but now, with the truth staring her down, matching wits with
him carried a new weight. It would be harder to stay sharp, harder to fire back with the same ease when every word from him
might cut deeper than before.
“We’ve both had our meetings for this quarter. If we’re lucky, we won’t see any of the gods till we return in three months,” he reassured her. “Maybe we’ll figure it all out by then.”
The weight of those words slammed into her, and a surge of nausea twisted in her stomach. “But, then what? What happens to
us? To our jobs? I love this job. I’ll never have anything else like it.”
“I know.” He let go of her hand, which only heightened Aida’s sadness. “My family didn’t have much money when I was growing
up. My father died in a car crash when I was a toddler, and my mother had stage-four breast cancer when I was just out of
school. I spent several years taking care of her until she passed. The MODA job gave me stability. For the first time in my
career, I’ve had a salary that means I don’t have to worry about paying for anything—car repairs, travel, or a nice dinner
out with someone I like.”
Aida blushed.
He continued. “I too love this work. But I’ve always assumed it wouldn’t last, so I’ve been saving and investing in preparation
for that day. I never want to worry about how I might pay my rent again.”
Aida nodded, understanding that feeling.
“I don’t know how I’m going to convince Dolores, my assistant, to tell me anything,” Luciano said.
“Me too. Trista barely has kind words for me on a good day.”
Luciano drained his glass. “I wonder if we can enlist help.”
Aida had been thinking about how she might find a way to safely ask Ilario and Pippa for advice, and she certainly wasn’t
going to keep this a secret from Yumi or Felix. “Sophie didn’t say we can’t. But let’s be careful. If we have her protection,
but others don’t, we could . . .”
“Be putting them in danger,” Luciano finished. He looked into her eyes.
She melted. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“We should get back.” He broke the gaze to reach for his scarf.
Aida took a breath to calm her racing heart before tipping back the rest of her beer.
As soon as they were out of the pub, Luciano took Aida’s hand, which lit the butterflies in her stomach alight. They walked
down the street, past the nightclubs and cute restaurants, back to Soho Gardens. As they were passing the dark construction
pit in the center of the park, Luciano stopped in the dimly lit doorway of a nearby custom house that had been transformed
into a WeWork center. He pulled Aida close.
“I have been wanting to do this all night.” Luciano leaned in. His cologne was faint but familiar. He pressed his lips to
her forehead, then to the bridge of her nose, the tip of her nose, and then he was kissing her, soft at first, testing. Aida
clasped him to her, one hand slipping into his hair, pulling him closer. Their kiss was deep, and it sent shocks of pleasure
throughout her.
A whistle and the whoops of some rowdy teenagers broke them apart. “Someone’s getting a shag tonight.”
“Get a room to bump yer uglies!”
Luciano waved them off with a grin and took Aida by the hand again. Laughing, they headed away from the park toward the holiday
lights of Oxford Street.
“Much as I would like to bump your ugly,” he chuckled, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be seen together at the hotel.”
Aida knew he was right. “I must admit my disappointment.” She squeezed his hand.
“I think I might need to take a vacation soon. Go back to Italy. See people like you.”
“I’d like that.” Although she hated the idea of waiting. “I have some ancient Greek gods to contend with, and I’d rather not
do it alone.”
Luciano pulled her into an alley and kissed her again. “You won’t,” he said after he broke the kiss. “Even when we’re apart, we’ll figure this out together.”
Aida didn’t have a moment to respond before he led her back onto the street, where he immediately flagged a slow-passing cab.
He gave the driver directions, handing him a crisp bill, then opened the door of the cab for her.
She sighed. “I wish I could walk with you.”
He gave her a broad smile. “This is safer. And I want you safe.”
She leaned up to kiss him once more, breaking off only when the cab driver cleared his throat loudly.
Aida hardly slept that night, her mind turning over and over the meeting with Sophrosyne. The conversation seemed unreal,
but the feeling when Sophrosyne touched her hand was undeniable. It wasn’t just warmth or reassurance; there was something
ancient, something alive pulsing through her skin. Aida had always been skeptical about higher powers, preferring reason and
logic. Yet, how could she question the truth now, after feeling something far older than human history flood through her,
grounding her to the earth? How could she doubt the existence of gods when one had touched her soul?
The following day on the two-and-a-half-hour flight back to Rome, she picked at her breakfast and barely touched her champagne.
The thrill of luxury, which once felt like a dream for a girl from her humble beginnings, was now overshadowed by a growing
sense of unease. Each sip of champagne, each bite of gourmet food weighed heavily on her conscience. She looked around the
lavish cabin, her eyes tracing the opulent details she had once marveled at. The guilt gnawed at her—the environmental cost
of private jets, the excessive indulgences of the wealthy while others struggled for basic necessities, the careless extravagance
that seemed so far removed from the real world.
She knew she should savor the experience.
How many more of these flights would she have?
All this would be gone if she moved forward with what Sophie was asking.
Then she felt guilty for thinking such thoughts, holding such selfishness close to her.
An internal battle raged within her—the love for this newfound luxury, a life she had never imagined, against the stark awareness of its impact and the superficiality that came with it.
It wasn’t just the fear of losing the comforts but a deeper conflict about what enjoying these comforts said about her as a person.
She used to be someone who cared about the 99 percent.
And she hated to admit that she wasn’t ready to—and perhaps couldn’t yet—give it all up.
But the fact that her lifestyle came at an environmental and moral cost began to nag persistently at the back of her mind.
Trista met Aida at the palazzo door upon her arrival. “You didn’t answer my calls or texts this morning. Why not?”
Aida pulled her phone out of the depths of her bag and saw all the missed notifications. She’d been tired from lack of sleep,
and so distracted by her thoughts that she had spent most of the flight staring out the window or blankly gazing at the cooking
show she had put on the plane’s viewing screen, her bag left on another seat on the empty plane. She wished she could have
said she’d put it in flight mode, but the private jet had its own satellite service and there was no need.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t look at my phone.” There was no lie in this, but Aida knew that all the times she had lied about turning
off the MODA phone so it wouldn’t listen to her conversations with Yumi or Felix had finally caught up to her.
“This is happening too often.” Trista frowned. “Why?”
Aida had not been prepared for this interrogation. “It’s not intentional, Trista,” she snapped. “I’m not trying to thwart
you, if that’s what you think.”
Trista folded her arms across her chest. “A little defensive today, huh? Again, why?”
Aida wished that Sophie’s supposed calm spell worked on her in situations that didn’t involve the gods. Having Trista suspect her of anything was not wise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night and didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Why didn’t you sleep? That hotel is the pinnacle of luxury.”
“Indigestion,” Aida lied.
Trista unfolded her arms but her face didn’t soften. “Very well. You’re due at Palazzo Spada in an hour. I was texting and
calling to remind you.”
“Ugh.” Aida had forgotten that she was capturing the details of the Galleria Spada museum and its Borromini’s Perspective
that week. Normally, she didn’t work on the days she flew, but the museum was conducting some restorations later in the month
that would have interrupted her research. She’d hoped to go right to Yumi and tell her everything about London, but that would
have to wait.
“Fine. Let me unpack and I’ll head there right away.”
“This time, keep your phone handy.”
“I promise.” Aida sighed.
Aida had barely started her walk toward Galleria Spada when Pippa called her name. “I’m off to Campo de’ Fiori for artichokes.
Can I tag along with ya?” she asked.