name.”
“My name is Marin. My family name is Cornaro. Will you pretend you don’t know it, since you’re a foreigner?”
“Pretend?”
“You speak Veneziano. You are not foreign born.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You called yourself a princess. We have no kingdoms here.”
“Who are you to say whether or not I have one?”
“Is this some kind of sophistry?”
“I don’t know that word.”
The father stops. “Do you trick us?”
“No. I have found it helpful to live inside my head, my realm. There I am a princess, rather than a monster. It’s simple.”
He studies my face.
I study his. “Do you like how you look?”
He blinks. “I’m considered to be…fine-looking.”
“Among monsters, perhaps. But what do you think of yourself?”
He stands taller. “I think I’m handsome.”
“I suppose that’s good. Maybe I could learn to think I’m pretty.”
“Pretty? You’re beautiful.”
I laugh. I’m getting quite used to laughing. “Who’s pretending now?”
“You sound sincere.”
“I am never otherwise.”
“Shall we walk on?” He steps carefully on the shells and pebbles. “Can I ask questions now?”
“Not yet. You know why I am here.”
“No I don’t.”
“My mother died. Without her, my island would have been unbearable. So I left. That is the full story of my life.”
He has stopped to stare at me again. “It can’t be.”
“It is. And you?”
“You want the full story of my life?”
“I want to know why you came to this island.”
He walks again.
“I want my library to be the finest in all Venezia. Monasteries house old books. Beautiful things. Ancient Latin manuscripts. Sometimes Greek. I purchase them.”
“What did you find on this island?”
“Nothing. I expected that, though. The Franciscans take a vow of poverty. No hidden treasures. So I came mostly because I heard it was a beautiful spot. Tranquil, peaceful.”
“Bianca called me that.”
“Called you what?”
“A treasure. Something she’d heard you say, obviously.”
“My daughter is perspicacious.”
“Another word I don’t know.”
“How old are you, Princess Dolce?”
“Fifteen.”
“Are you married?”
It’s my turn to flinch. “Who would have me? Besides, my mamma said girls shouldn’t marry until they’re past eighteen.”
“Francesco Barbaro—have you heard of him?”
I shake my head.
“He wrote a treatise on marriage. He says marrying a young girl is best, because it gives a man a better chance to mold her personality.”
“What if she wants to keep the personality she already has?”
“Ah!” He laughs. “Is it true you have nowhere to go?”
“Bianca said that, not me. I will find somewhere to go. I have to believe that.”
“Come to Venezia.”
“Big cities are full of tormenters.”
“What on earth could you mean?”
“Everyone says it. And while I don’t believe everything everyone says, I do believe my mother. She hissed when she spoke of cities. Venezia is horrid.”
“I live in Venezia. And I am not horrid.”
“But surely they are horrid to you. You’re like me, after all.”
“They are by no means horrid to me. And they will not be horrid to you. I won’t stand for it.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You want to be my protector?”
He takes a deep, noisy breath. “Come look at this sculpture.” He leads me away from the beach and back through the cypresses to a small clearing with three thick logs leaning against each other. Maria the Virgin has been carved into one of the logs. Into the next, angels. Into the third, a dove. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“They’re beautiful. Who made them?”
“Probably one of the brothers.” He scratches the stubble on his chin.
I imagine his roughness and my neck goes hot. I look at the sculpture. “Carved wood left outdoors like this…” I shake my head. “It will rot fast.”
“But in the meantime, anyone can enjoy it.”
“You smell like wet earth,”
“My name is Marin. My family name is Cornaro. Will you pretend you don’t know it, since you’re a foreigner?”
“Pretend?”
“You speak Veneziano. You are not foreign born.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You called yourself a princess. We have no kingdoms here.”
“Who are you to say whether or not I have one?”
“Is this some kind of sophistry?”
“I don’t know that word.”
The father stops. “Do you trick us?”
“No. I have found it helpful to live inside my head, my realm. There I am a princess, rather than a monster. It’s simple.”
He studies my face.
I study his. “Do you like how you look?”
He blinks. “I’m considered to be…fine-looking.”
“Among monsters, perhaps. But what do you think of yourself?”
He stands taller. “I think I’m handsome.”
“I suppose that’s good. Maybe I could learn to think I’m pretty.”
“Pretty? You’re beautiful.”
I laugh. I’m getting quite used to laughing. “Who’s pretending now?”
“You sound sincere.”
“I am never otherwise.”
“Shall we walk on?” He steps carefully on the shells and pebbles. “Can I ask questions now?”
“Not yet. You know why I am here.”
“No I don’t.”
“My mother died. Without her, my island would have been unbearable. So I left. That is the full story of my life.”
He has stopped to stare at me again. “It can’t be.”
“It is. And you?”
“You want the full story of my life?”
“I want to know why you came to this island.”
He walks again.
“I want my library to be the finest in all Venezia. Monasteries house old books. Beautiful things. Ancient Latin manuscripts. Sometimes Greek. I purchase them.”
“What did you find on this island?”
“Nothing. I expected that, though. The Franciscans take a vow of poverty. No hidden treasures. So I came mostly because I heard it was a beautiful spot. Tranquil, peaceful.”
“Bianca called me that.”
“Called you what?”
“A treasure. Something she’d heard you say, obviously.”
“My daughter is perspicacious.”
“Another word I don’t know.”
“How old are you, Princess Dolce?”
“Fifteen.”
“Are you married?”
It’s my turn to flinch. “Who would have me? Besides, my mamma said girls shouldn’t marry until they’re past eighteen.”
“Francesco Barbaro—have you heard of him?”
I shake my head.
“He wrote a treatise on marriage. He says marrying a young girl is best, because it gives a man a better chance to mold her personality.”
“What if she wants to keep the personality she already has?”
“Ah!” He laughs. “Is it true you have nowhere to go?”
“Bianca said that, not me. I will find somewhere to go. I have to believe that.”
“Come to Venezia.”
“Big cities are full of tormenters.”
“What on earth could you mean?”
“Everyone says it. And while I don’t believe everything everyone says, I do believe my mother. She hissed when she spoke of cities. Venezia is horrid.”
“I live in Venezia. And I am not horrid.”
“But surely they are horrid to you. You’re like me, after all.”
“They are by no means horrid to me. And they will not be horrid to you. I won’t stand for it.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You want to be my protector?”
He takes a deep, noisy breath. “Come look at this sculpture.” He leads me away from the beach and back through the cypresses to a small clearing with three thick logs leaning against each other. Maria the Virgin has been carved into one of the logs. Into the next, angels. Into the third, a dove. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“They’re beautiful. Who made them?”
“Probably one of the brothers.” He scratches the stubble on his chin.
I imagine his roughness and my neck goes hot. I look at the sculpture. “Carved wood left outdoors like this…” I shake my head. “It will rot fast.”
“But in the meantime, anyone can enjoy it.”
“You smell like wet earth,”
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