He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. Father had traveled to Florence to the Mercato Nuovo, staying away for a half year at a time paying court to the house of the silk merchant Iovelli, which was patronized by none other than the Medicis. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber.
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