(The Prince took no interest in television or the Internet.)

In a move calculated to conceal his identity from any of his kind whom he might happen upon, he clothed himself in the stolen habit of a Franciscan (minus the cross). He pulled the hood over his head, shading his face, and, as was the local custom with the Franciscans, he wore sandals.

For more than one reason, the Prince found his choice of garment humorous.

To complete the deception, he took a vintage from his private cellar and doused a piece of cloth with it. Then he pinned the cloth to the inside of his robes, with the hope of confusing anyone who came near enough to scent him. Of course, the Prince had no intention of allowing any of his kind to come that close.

After sunset, he left the safety of the Palazzo through the back door, walking slowly and humanly down the street and toward Gallery Hotel Art. He was fortunate that the Emersons were just exiting the hotel as he arrived.

He followed them to dinner at a romantic restaurant overlooking the Arno River, and afterward through the narrow streets that led to the Piazza della Signoria, finally pausing near the Loggia dei Lanzi as they sat down to observe the city after dark.

The Prince was almost puzzled by their choice, since he preferred to view the city from great heights, such as from the top of Brunelleschi’s dome. It would seem the Emersons preferred to be much closer to their fellow humans (and the ground) than he.

“I think if we sat here long enough, the whole world would walk by.” Julianne’s wistful voice rose to the Prince’s ears as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.

Tourists and locals milled about the Piazza or enjoyed a drink at one of the cafés. Nearby, a string quartet played Verdi, filling the square with a beautiful melancholy.

Julianne seemed to watch in fascination as street vendors launched glowing cylinders into the air, the toys sparkling like firecrackers against the ink-black sky. But always, the objects fell to the ground, their brief foray into the heavens ended by gravity.

The Prince saw a strange sadness creep over her pretty features and he heard her murmur, “We try to touch the stars, but we always fall back to earth.”

Gabriel drew her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. “That’s true, but it isn’t like you to despair.”

“I’m not in despair. I just don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t want to go home either, but summer has to end eventually.”

Gabriel brushed a light kiss against her hair before pulling her to her feet. As the music continued, he walked her to the center of the Piazza. Then he took her in his arms and began to sway to the music.

She closed her eyes, floating over the stones beneath their feet as he expertly moved them.

Sudden feelings of both anger and pity bubbled up inside the Prince. He felt anger toward the professor, who clearly had a wife he didn’t deserve, and pity for Julianne, who probably was suffering because of her illness.

From his vantage point, he was no longer close enough to examine their scents or hear their words as they continued dancing. He could see the professor tighten his grip on his wife’s waist, his brow wrinkled as if in apology. His words were whispered.

Julianne opened her eyes and whispered back.

Frustrated, the Prince threw caution to the wind and approached them, entering the Piazza. He threaded himself through the crowd until he was close enough to discern the professor’s voice.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up to me,” Julianne replied. “I’m just happy you brought me here.”

“I’m the reason you’re constantly falling back to earth.” Gabriel’s expression was earnest and searching. “I drag you from the stars—from where you belong.”

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s the human condition. We’re bound to fall.”

He stopped dancing, his eyes boring into hers. “You should never have to fall, Julianne.”

The Prince observed the tender exchange with creeping resentment, turning on his heel when the professor began to kiss his wife in full view of everyone.

The Prince had looked for signs of duplicity in the professor’s words and deeds. He’d even gone so far as to have Pierre ask the human intelligence network to discover if the professor had a mistress stashed away somewhere. But he’d discovered Gabriel Emerson loved his wife a great deal and was faithful to her.

At least the professor was aware of the disparity between his vices and Julianne’s virtues, despite his arrogance and pride.

When the last strains of Verdi faded into the summer air, the Emersons returned to the Loggia, sitting side by side on the stone bench. Now the Prince could both see and hear them clearly.

Gabriel’s fingers traced the folds of his wife’s silk dress in a motion the Prince found both inappropriate and erotic. Once again, he found he could not look away.

“I wish I could sit in this piazza forever.” Julianne gazed at the elaborate fountain nearby, and the elderly couple who were standing next to it, holding hands.

Gabriel followed her gaze, the edges of his lips turning up.

“If you remained in this piazza, you’d be cold when winter comes.”

“Not if I had you to warm me.”

A smile pulled at his mouth. “I’m glad you find me useful, if only as a warming device.”

“You’re also an excellent tour guide.”

He tapped his chin. “Another way in which I’m useful.”

“And since your Italian is better than mine, you’re an effective translator.”

He brought his mouth to within inches of hers. “Shall I translate my favorite words? Labbra? Lingua? Seno?”

The Prince contemplated revealing himself, if only to end the inane commentary he was being forced to witness.

Gabriel gave his wife a heated look. “You’ve forgotten the most important way in which I’m useful.”

“And that is?”

He lowered his voice. “As your lover.”

He nipped at her finger slightly, before drawing it into his mouth. He toyed with her for a moment, laving her skin with his tongue, before releasing her.

“I’m afraid that if you persist in staying in this piazza, my capacity as a lover will be sorely diminished.”

“Diminished?”

“For example, I couldn’t possibly do this in a piazza.” He brought their lips together.