Before that, he had hinted at making love, but Lillian told him she didn’t feel well. It wasn’t a total fabrication. The day had been emotionally taxing, and she hadn’t been able to finish her meal in the restaurant. They’d switched plates. Freddie had finished hers.

Rolling to her side, she rested her cheek on a hand and gazed out the open window. The night was dark, the moon a small sliver of light in the inky-black sky. A thin cover of wispy clouds blocked out the stars.

Lillian’s mind teemed with stressful thoughts. After her dinner with Freddie, she couldn’t imagine leaving Tuscany and returning to America, never to see Anton again—only to continue working at a job she didn’t truly care about while waiting indefinitely for Freddie to want to have a child with her.

As she lay gazing up at the midnight sky, listening to him snore on the pillow beside her, her thoughts drifted to Anton. Her imagination came alive with excitement as she recalled all the moments they had shared, the conversations they’d had. There was no question that Anton aroused her passions more than Freddie ever had or ever could, in every sense of the word. She loved Freddie, but their relationship had never been passionate, not even in the beginning.

Her heart thudded and her emotions spun as she realized that she could not continue to lie in bed with anyone who wasn’t Anton, so she slipped out, quietly pulled a dress from the wardrobe, and carried it to the bathroom. She changed out of her nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror.

What in the world are you doing?

She tried to convince herself to go back to bed with her sleeping husband, but there was no fighting what she felt.

Five minutes later, she was jogging up Cypress Row, through the darkness without a flashlight, but it wasn’t a problem, because she knew every inch of the road by heart. She reached the main gate to the villa and keyed in the security code, then hurried up the wide stone steps to the front door.

It was locked. All the windows were dark. Anton slept on an upper floor, but Francesco’s apartment was on the ground level, so she scurried around to the side of the house and rapped on his window.

The drapes flew open almost instantly, and he raised the sash. “Lillian. What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she replied, “but I need to speak with Anton. It can’t wait until morning.”

“Sì,” he replied. “Go around to the front. I’ll let you in.”

He met her there a moment later and led her into the main reception room, where he switched on a lamp. “Wait here. I’ll wake him.”

She had no idea if Francesco knew what was going on between her and Anton. They had always tried to be discreet, but people weren’t stupid. They had watched him walk her home every night while her husband was away, and he did not return for hours, sometimes not until dawn.

Still out of breath from her hasty scuttle up the hill, she sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace and prayed that Anton would forgive her for ending things the way she had, earlier that day.

At last, he appeared in the doorway wearing plaid pajama bottoms. Shirtless. A thrill erupted inside her—a beautiful passion that made it impossible to imagine her future without him. He had done something to her. She was not the same woman who had married Freddie Bell five years ago. She understood that now. She had come into this world destined for something else—to be with someone else.

“Tell me you’ve changed your mind,” Anton said in a deep, husky voice that burrowed into her soul in the most pleasurable way.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. Can you forgive me?”

He shut the door and locked it behind him, then crossed the room in a series of swift, sure-footed strides. Her question was answered when he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her neck.

Pure, unadulterated euphoria exploded in the depths of her heart, and she whispered, “Thank God.”

The next thing she knew, Anton was easing her onto her back on the sofa. His flesh was hot upon hers, and she disappeared into the pleasure of their deep, soulful connection. It delved into her bones—deeper still—as they made love passionately, with a mixture of both joy and anguish.

Afterward, Lillian closed her eyes and breathed in the intoxicating scent of Anton’s body, his hair and neck damp with perspiration.

“Have you told him yet?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “I only just decided. He was asleep when I left.”

“When will you tell him?”

“As soon as I go back. It won’t be easy.” She shook her head and covered her eyes with her hand. “He won’t understand.”

“I wish I could help you,” Anton said. “I feel for him. Honestly, I do, because today, after you left, I felt like a part of me had died. I couldn’t do anything except lie in bed and tell anyone who asked that I must be coming down with something.”

A tear spilled from Lillian’s eye. “I’m sorry.” She touched her thumb to his lips. “But you know . . . I’m not sure that Freddie loves me the way you do. I don’t think he ever has.”

Anton touched his forehead to hers. “I’m glad you came back, because if I lost you, I don’t think I would ever recover.”

Lillian remained with Anton until dawn, then kissed him good-bye at the front door of the villa and hurried away, across the stone veranda and down the wide steps. Beyond the gate, she jogged through Cypress Row to the chapel and wine cellars and around the bend to the lower forest.

A thick mist floated through the valleys. The air smelled fresh, like ripening fruit. Crows cawed in the highest branches of the tall umbrella pines, and she regarded the majesty of the world with a renewed sense of wonder. She had never felt more alive, despite something dreadful that lay in her immediate future.

Instead of going straight back to the guest suite, where she would be forced to explain herself to Freddie and inflict terrible pain upon him, she decided to live a few minutes longer in a state of existence where he did not yet know the truth. Where he was sleeping soundly. Happy. The world would come crashing down on him soon enough. She might as well take this opportunity to linger in the status quo and prepare the right words.

Taking a left turn on the dirt road in the forest, she turned toward the swimming pool. It was a five-minute walk.

The water was tranquil in the early-morning light of dawn. She glanced around to ensure that she was alone, then slipped out of her dress, left it by the side of the pool, and dived naked into the cool depths.

Lillian swam laps, and the vigorous exercise strengthened her resolve. She had no regrets about her decision. To the contrary, she felt an invigorating sense of freedom and exultation, as if she had just been reborn. She believed that one day, after Freddie moved on and published his book, he would feel the same. His writing was what mattered to him most. Lillian’s presence in his life was merely incidental. She was convenient in all things practical, like earning a steady paycheck and being there for him as a sounding board when it came to his book. She did not provide magic in his world. He found that in his stories while tapping away on the typewriter keys. Most importantly, he did not want children with her. He only pretended to—so that she would stay.

Later, after her swim, she slipped into her dress and strolled to the edge of the terrace to gaze across the rolling hills of Tuscany and the fiery pink sunrise. This was her magic. Her bliss. It was Anton’s bliss too.