THIRTEEN
The emerald silk gown lay draped in a glimmering heap across the chair in the corner, forgotten and eagerly abandoned. Clad once more in her simple gray muslin work dress, Sophia wore her true skin again as well and found strength and purpose in the familiarity. She held the ferro tenderly yet masterfully in her hand, held the molten material at the perfect angle over the fire. Deep in the hub of the flames, she glimpsed the hot, intense blue heart, and in the blue, she saw his eyes.
So much of the night she had pushed from her memory, so much of the pain and embarrassment she had endured she had discarded like mental refuse, refusing to dwell on it or to feel it again. She had found Pasquale later in the night, when Teodoro had reluctantly begged her a by-your-leave and she had
