“How about the Giardino degli Aranci? It’s nearby.”
“That would be great.” Elisabetta liked the Giardino degli Aranci, the Orange Garden, as it was a park with a natural grove of orange trees, a lesser-known gem of Rome.
“I used to go there at night, after Aldo passed, and look at the view.”
Elisabetta heard Marco’s voice soften, which she recognized as grief. She squeezed his hand gently. “I’m sorry. It must be so hard for you.”
“You, too. They say losses are a part of life, but it doesn’t make you feel better, does it?”
“No.” Elisabetta reflected that he was right. “I’m worried about Nonna, being so sick.”
“She’ll be fine. She’s strong. Women like her live forever, and you take wonderful care of her.” Marco paused. “She doesn’t like me, does she?”
“It’s not about you, it’s about what happened between our parents.” Elisabetta thought a moment, as they strolled. “How are your parents?”
“My mother is still grieving Aldo, and there are days she doesn’t get out of bed. Only Emedio can talk to her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ll get through it. Watch out, cara.” Marco put an arm around Elisabetta protectively, as a cyclist whipped around the corner. “You know, I was in this neighborhood recently with Sandro. We met across from Bocca della Verità, like in the old days.”
“Oh, how is he?” Elisabetta masked her interest. She wondered if Sandro had told him what had happened between them, then realized he probably hadn’t, so as not to hurt Marco’s feelings.
“He’s busy teaching.” Marco’s face fell. “The Race Laws are crushing him and his family. I don’t think he’ll have much time for either of us, for a while.”
“I’m sure. Poor Sandro.” Elisabetta felt a deep pang. “Doesn’t it bother you that the Fascists are passing such anti-Semitic laws? It was never like this before, and they’re ruining Sandro’s family and so many others.”
“Of course it bothers me. I hate it, but there’s nothing I can do.” Marco pursed his lips. “None of my friends at Palazzo Braschi thinks these laws are just, but we lack any say. More and more, we’ve become afraid to speak out.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Honestly, yes.” Marco looked over, his dark eyes searching hers. “But my father and I tried to get Sandro’s family an exemption, and we’ll keep trying.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Elisabetta said, feeling a surge of gratitude. She knew that Marco loved Sandro.
“Let’s head this way.” Marco gestured past the church, off Via di Santa Maria in Cosmedin. They walked uphill along the Clivo di Rocca Savella, a wide cobblestone walkway beside a tall wall, its surface rough with dark stones, bricks, and marble fragments of different sizes. The route steepened because the Giardino degli Aranci was on the Aventine Hill, one of the seven fabled hills of Rome.
Elisabetta held on to Marco’s hand, negotiating the cobblestones in her fancy shoes. She felt relaxed and happy at his side, marveling at how easy it was to be with him. The breeze was stronger at elevation, carrying the fragrance of the bitter orange trees, naturally perfuming the air. There were fewer people on the street, and cars weren’t permitted, so the traffic noises receded into the background.
They walked in contented silence, and in time entered the Giardino degli Aranci, a large park full of orange trees and umbrella pines, making a leafy bower against the dark sky. Gaslights shed a gentle light in soft halos, illuminating a light gravel path that divided the garden, which led to a large brick belvedere, a scenic overlook with only a handful of other couples.
Elisabetta enjoyed the warmth of his fingers over hers, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. They reached the terrace and took in the beautiful panorama of Rome at night, bigger and more glittery than Elisabetta had seen it before, even from the balcony at Palazzo Braschi. To her right were the Roman Forum and the ruins, their marble glowing creamy white in the lights from underneath, but her gaze shifted from them to her beloved Trastevere, a humbler patchwork of red tile roofs and church domes across the Tiber, watched over by the serene, glowing dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica.
“Isn’t this magnificent?” Marco asked her.
“Beautiful.” Elisabetta breathed in a deep lungful of air.
“I brought you up for here for a reason.” Marco put his arm around her, and she tilted her face up, expecting him to kiss her, but instead he was holding out a diamond ring, twinkling in the ambient light.