Cross My Heart by Sasha Gould

family. God knows how, as the uncle who keeps her is an imbecile. Do you understand how important it is for us to foster such connections, especially now?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “Good. I’ve arranged for you to meet her this afternoon. At the Piazza della Angela.”
    He makes it sound like a business meeting, but the thought of seeing Paulina again, and of getting away from the tense atmosphere of the palazzo, is a welcome one. There’s much to tell her.
    I put down my book and kiss his rough cheek. “Thank you, Father.”
    He stares at me, seeming surprised by my gesture. “Good,” he says. “Don’t let me down.”
    “Mother Mary! Can’t you keep it still?” Faustina grumbles as she topples into the wobbling gondola. Both the gondolier and I catch her hands, helping her to her seat. She rearranges her skirts and looks about her, her eyes bright in her kind old face. “What a treat it is to be on the canals today.”
    The water is crowded with gondolas and tiny sailboats. Crowds throng along the lanes and bridges, chattering like gaudy birds. Our gondolier arranges a shady awning over us, then pushes his pole down and eases away from the bank.
    The sun grins down at the world like a menacing rival, but I am cool in the shade. I trail my fingers in the water as our gondolier threads his way towards the southwestern shore. Another boatman calls across a challenge to a raceand our gondolier grins at us. “This man questions my skill. If I lose, you will travel for free.”
    I agree, before Faustina can object, and the contest begins. Our gondolier lifts his pole in and out of the water with swift, smooth movements, and our boat cleaves the canal. Though a few splashes of water sprinkle over us, we overtake the other gondola, and even Faustina giggles like a young girl behind my fan.
    The gondolier pulls up by a side canal and helps us out. I pay him, adding a tip for his success. From there, we walk to Piazza della Angela. The square is edged by tall, crumbling pink houses and dotted with people selling fruit and sugared almonds. Men and women walk in the sunshine, buying treats and laughing. And right in the middle, twirling a parasol, is Paulina. Her curly black hair tumbles down her back. Her blue dress has a tight bodice, with a skirt that flares with flashes of pale yellow.
    Faustina kisses me on both cheeks. “Enjoy yourself, and forget about these last few days. Remember, you’re to come home before supper—don’t make me worry about you.”
    “I won’t,” I say, and Faustina moves off among the crowd.
    Paulina smiles and waves when she notices me approaching.
    “How good it is to see you,” she says, taking my arm. She leads me into a narrow lane that seems half asleep. “Oh, Laura, I was so relieved to hear your news!”
    She spins me around so our skirts fly out in a swirl of color. Our laughter echoes against the stooping stone walls.
    “Everything seems so different now I’m free of him,” I say. The heels of our silk shoes tap against the cobbles.
    “And now the real search for a husband begins,” she says.
    I feel my cheeks reddening. “That isn’t what I meant.”
    “But it’s what will surely follow,” she replies.
    The street widens and market stalls crowd each other on either side. The people here are poor, their clothes worn and dirty, but their faces are happy as they joke and jostle each other, turning pigs on spits and grilling chops and steaks. The smell of food, bubbling and roasting, is thick in the air. A young man selling roast chickens raises his cap at me, and I smile.
    “Anyway,” I say, “my father tells me that you’ve got some news of your own.”
    Paulina’s face lights up. “Men! They know our affairs before we know them ourselves!”
    “So is it true?”
    She nods, and steps aside as a man carrying a tray of small cups high over his head darts past. From her skipping feet and the way her eyes shine, I know that she’s far happier about her upcoming