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This is your room. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. . ’ He held out his hand to help the girl descend. But never mind that. I had not seen the courtyard in many years and I was happy to dream of those times. He flipped the television on.
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