The sun rose above the horizon, breaking free of its nightly slumber just as Matteo lifted the hatch door. Climbing out, he extended a hand to Giovanna and assisted her onto the roof of the Doge's Palace.

"Words feel quite inadequate to properly thank you," she said, staring in awe at the sky smoldering in hues of the most vibrant oranges and pomegranates imaginable.

"There is no need for thanks," Matteo said with unfettered sincerity as a cool breeze rustled his cloak. No matter what would happen next, he wanted the girl to have this moment of happiness after everything she'd been through. "I had hoped your fondness of climbing would make you appreciate the view. And you had said something earlier about not having a clear enough vantage from your home?"

She allowed herself to smile, the small act enough to forgive his conscience for bribing the palace guards to get them here.

"That is true, but I wasn't just referring to this," she said before looking past the buildings toward the lagoon and beyond. "Ottavia couldn't have . . .." She trailed off, finishing only with a weak wimper.

The sudden change in her demeanor was heartbreaking. She'd need a lot more than a few minutes of respite—no matter how magical—to heal her soul. "Come. Let's sit," he offered with a nod to a proper spot at the base of a chimney stack.

Keeping a steady grip around Giovanna's fingers, Matteo led her across the clay roof tiles. Carefully lowering herself, she drew her knees to her chest and planted her feet firmly on the incline before tucking the billowing fabric of her skirt around her calves. More sure of his footing, he plopped down beside her and extended his legs, crossing them at the ankles. After leaning back, he put his weight on his arms spread out behind him. If she decided to lean backward or tilt to the left even a little, they'd easily touch. Whether that happened was up to her.

For a long while, they sat without uttering another word. Only the sound of the adjacent canal ebbing gently against the stone foundation or the bark of a dog somewhere within the hundreds of residences stretching to the easternmost point of the Castello neighborhood ahead of them occasionally broke the silence. The rooftops fit together like a puzzle, broken into distinct sections by a multitude of alleys, whether terrestrial or aquiferous. It was a rare sight indeed, one which few people ever got to experience. Although he'd been up here before—both alone and in the company of Simone after more than one night that saw wine flow freely—Matteo had never enjoyed the experience as much as he did now.

Giovanna lifted her head from where her chin had been resting on her knee, focusing her attention onto the lagoon. In the distance, two ships sailed eastward. They left smooth trails in their wake as they followed the route that three centuries earlier had carried one of Venice's most famous sons on his celebrated journey to the Orient.

"Could that be them? Ottavia and the Kemals, I mean," she asked, pointing at the barely discernible vessels. Their last glimpse of the merchant ship bound for Istanbul was still under the cover of darkness as they rowed across the Giudecca canal to return to San Marco's piazzetta.

Matteo straightened, his flexed arm grazing Giovanna's side. "That there?" he asked barely above a whisper, pointing across her body with his left hand while leaning into her.

She cleared her throat as his lips lingered near her ear. "Yes," she managed to finally croak.

He dropped his hand, but stayed close. "I would think not. Those ships are clearly traveling together while Hakan's vessel didn't have a companion. Plus the shape of the sails is different."

Giovanna pulled away. "Oh," she mumbled, looking down before turning her focus elsewhere.

Matteo curled his fingers into a fist, angered by his own stupidity. Living within the lagoon all her life must have introduced Giovanna to all types of seafaring craft, but anyone could have made such a misidentification. He shouldn't have sounded so brash. Now she had another reason to be angry with him and that wouldn't do. Not until he found out what had been her first reason. Until then, he needed to steer the conversation back to something closer to her heart.

"Do you truly believe Ottavia won't have regrets?" he asked, while forcing his shoulders to relax again. "About leaving Venice perhaps forever, I mean."

Giovanna's gaze snapped to him, no doubt alarmed by what could have easily been an improper question. Without his hasty addendum, she could have assumed he was referring to any number of things that the Michiel girl would have understandably felt repentant about: not marrying a rich nobleman, abandoning her father without even a good-bye, or committing herself to a life the Church considered sinful.

"I believe she knows what is best for her," Giovanna said with a sigh before looking away again. "For now I can only hope, but I will make sure to also pray for her continued well-being."

"She would have never had the chance were it not for you," he said, studying her profile. Although her eyes were rimmed with dark circles from a lack of sleep and her skin still bore blood splatter here and there, she was as beautiful as ever.

Giovanna gently bit her lower lip, contemplating how to respond. "Nor you," she finally said, turning to look him in the eyes. "But I did not expect you to return to the convent last night. Not after how we had parted yesterday morning."

This was it. This was his opening.

"I didn't intend to return. Not originally," he admitted with a sigh.

She appeared puzzled at the revelation. "What changed your mind?"

"Two things, not least of which was my willingness to make things right with you," he said.

"So you admit that you were in the wrong about how you had spoken to me?" she asked, pursing her lips in the way that only women ever did.

He swallowed hard. "I do, but . . .," Matteo trailed off. Choosing his words correctly now was crucial to not making the same mistake again, yet he felt cornered.

Giovanna cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. "But what?"

He scooted closer to where their thighs touched, hoping that the added proximity would help her understand the good faith behind his efforts. "I know that I had hurt you, and please believe me when I say that it was unintentional. But I am also quite unclear on what exactly it was that I said or did that caused you such distress."

For much too long, she stared at him silently, her eyes wide and her breathing measured. When Giovanna did finally respond, it was neither with anger or confusion, but rather, with a hearty laugh.

"You really don't know?" she asked through the soft chimes of her giggles.

Matteo slowly shook his head as relief washed over him.

The corners of her mouth drooped and she took a deep breath, turning serious once again. "Very well. If I must relive my shame, I will tell you."

He straightened at her tone. "Shame? How—"

"You had insinuated that I was beneath you!" she exclaimed, the hurt from the original conversation obviously bubbling to the surface. "And while there is no denying that you as a noble by birth will always occupy a higher social class than any physician's daughter, perhaps you would have done better to keep such spiteful observations for a morning where you hadn't just woken up next to someone of a humble lineage such as me."

"No, no! That is not true," Matteo protested even as he struggled to recall the exact details of the previous morning. So much had happened since, and he would have preferred to remember the pleasant parts of their night together instead of a row that he couldn't even explain. "You must be mistaken because I said no such thing."

"Of course you didn't outright say it," Giovanna replied with a certain disbelief at his continued confusion. "But did you not offer me a fancy gown to disguise myself so that my presence in your home wouldn't bring shame to your family?"

"No! I mean yes, I did try to gift you a dress, but not for those reasons," he said, the absurdity of the accusation almost too great to even warrant an explanation. But because Giovanna seemed to honestly believe her understanding to be true, Matteo was forced to give his own version of the events. Looking down at his increasingly sweaty fingers, he clenched his hands together in his lap and continued. "You are the most remarkable girl that I have ever met, and I only wanted you to feel as beautiful as I already see you. But while to me that was just a dress, which would have otherwise gone unworn, I now recognize that to you it was a symbol of something much more complicated. Again, that was not my intent and I apologize."

She nodded. "I suppose I must then forgive you."

Although her face contained no emotion, Matteo could sense Giovanna's resolve softening. He had to take this chance to return into her good graces; otherwise, he could lose her trust permanently.

"You know, I'm actually pleased you didn't accept that atrocious gown. It didn't look nearly as comfortable as what you usually wear, and it would have surely been a hindrance while fighting a nearly impossible to kill army," he said with a smile, hoping she'd recognize his attempt at humor.

"Perhaps," Giovanna replied with a cock of her brow. "And I suppose I'd rather live to see another day in blood-stained wool than risk being mistaken for a maiden whose only concern is finding a wealthy husband."

Ouch. The veiled reference to his late betrothed was clearly deliberate, but Matteo couldn't fault Giovanna for using it against him. As far as she knew, the comparison was true. He certainly wasn't going to fill her in on the sordid details behind his hasty engagement, even if it meant that she believed that—like most noblemen his age—his match in marriage was based purely on politics and money.

But as long as she brought up the topic, he could not ask something that had been on his mind. "Would you ever consider marrying again?" he asked.

"I've been a widow barely twenty-four hours and you think that's an appropriate inquiry?" she asked back, the look in her eyes mirroring the anger in her voice.

In this, Matteo would not waver. As procurator of wills, orphans, and the insane, his father—and by extension Matteo—had too often seen how badly a woman who lacked the protection of a man could fare. And while Giovanna still had her father, the hazardous nature of his occupation as evidenced by his current convalescence put her future in a precarious situation.

"You deserve the security afforded by marriage," he said, placing his hand on hers.

She pulled it away, instead picking at a thread on her skirt. "No reputable man would want to marry a woman whose husband died under questionable circumstances while branded a deserter," Giovanna said.

He couldn't understand her reticence. "Nonsense. There are plenty of men in Venice who would marry you," he replied, wishing she'd give even just a hint of reciprocating his own feelings. Because although their friendship had grown out of necessity, Matteo was now sure that fate itself had brought them together to not only save their beloved city, but also save each other.

"Would you?" she whispered, leaving the rest of the question implied.

Would you . . . marry a girl like me?

His heart thumped erratically and threatened to leap right out of his chest as he gathered the courage to answer. As he smiled again, the corners of Giovanna's mouth also curved upward in response.

"Yes," he replied with a slight nod before gently kissing her lips. It was the first time in almost a day he'd dared for such intimacy, and the tingling sensation it stirred within his belly only reinforced it as a risk well-worth taking.

When he pulled away, Giovanna for some reason still appeared confused, so he repeated the word with another nod, this time more emphatically as he stared into her eyes. "Yes."

She remained lost in thought—no doubt mesmerized by his admission—and time stood still between them. Had they been on solid footing, Matteo would have picked her up in his arms and twirled around with joy in celebration of his grand pronouncement. Having to contend with not falling off the roof, he did the next best thing and broke into verse.

"A thousand times yes," he continued, gently cupping Giovanna's face in his hand. "Until my heart can no longer hold the delight that seeing you brings, upon such time I should dump it all out and begin anew. For you are the prime reason for my being and without your love, I may as well cease to exist."

Breathless from excitement, he waited for her to make an equally profound declaration about how he was also her entire world. Yet she pushed him away.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" Giovanna exclaimed. "There is no way your words could be true. And even if it were possible for a man to feel all that you claim after less than a week of acquaintance, what do you have to gain from such cruelty that you inflict on me?"

Matteo pulled away, leaning back and collapsing his upper body weight onto his hands at his sides. While they were only words, Giovanna's doubts physically pained him, tightening his chest and making it hard to breathe. "How . . . how so?" he managed to mutter.

"By making me believe for a split second that the future I had always imagined for myself could be different," she said with palpable sadness. "But of course that's not possible because my fate was written in the parish records of San Polo's church the day I was baptized, while yours was etched within the golden book of Venice's apostolic families."

"What are you saying?" Matteo asked, wanting her to plainly state what he feared she was insinuating. And while the basic argument was valid—his proposal went against Venetian social custom, legal decree, and even church practice—he not only expected Giovanna to share his feelings for him, but also his passion for finding a solution for any obstacles.

Giovanna stood. "I'm saying that after we finish whatever you have planned to close out our joint campaign regarding Niccolo Grimani, our paths need to once again diverge."

"And what if I disagree?" he asked, looking up and squinting at her dark silhouette against the bright sky.

"That is not your choice to make," she said while crossing her arms and leering at him with almost comical derision. "But as I recall, you said there were two things that changed your mind about helping me last night. What was the second?"

Although Matteo wanted nothing more than to repair his standing with Giovanna, their reconciliation had to wait. Her question reminded him that they were soon due for an important audience, one that they couldn't delay.

"Someone sent me a warning," he said, getting to his feet as well. "A threat, really. That unless I stop asking questions about certain things, I would end up dead. And because the only person I could see having the power and motivation to attack a procurator's son was Nicco Grimani, I made a few visits during the day to weave some threads together," he said.

"Who did you visit?"

He offered his hand in support, smiling at her renewed interest. "If all goes well, you shall soon see."