“I know she’s young, and I know you want her to help search for your books, but I also realize—”

“You realize?  Do you?  She’s twenty-two.  Do you remember what that is?”  He shook his head.  “I confess, I don’t remember being twenty-two.  It’s been too long.  But I remember you at twenty-two.”

“Do you?”

He swallowed his emotions and tried to smile.  “Of course I do.  I remember…everything.”  He looked at the old man he had watched over for sixty-four years, and the memories flooded over him.  “I remember the first time you played a piano when you were six, and how your eyes lit up.  The first time you drove a car, which terrified me, but you were so excited.  The first time you ran away from home, and how sorry you were when you came back four hours later.  The first time you were drunk, and how bloody arrogant you were at eighteen.”

Caspar only frowned and shook his head.  “What—”

“I remember you at twenty-two, Caspar.  And you were so damn bold.  You were fearless.  Do you remember?  The first time you fell in love was when you were twenty-two.”

Caspar smiled wistfully.  “Claire.”

“Beautiful Claire Lipton!  The darling of your young heart.  Do you remember?  The only woman you would ever love.  Wasn’t that what you said?  She was incandescent in your eyes.”

“Gio—”

“Where is she now?  Where is beautiful Claire?  When did you stop loving her?  When was the last time you even thought of her?”

Caspar paused, finally nodding in understanding before he went to pour himself a drink; then he sat down on the sofa and stared into the cold fireplace.  Giovanni picked up his scotch and settled into his chair.  He noticed that Beatrice’s scent lingered in it, and he wondered whether she had sat there that evening.

His eyes softened as he looked at the man he had watched grow up, mature, and eventually grow old.  He knew he would someday face Caspar’s death, and that day grew closer with every sunset.

“Caspar,” he said.  “Beloved son of my friend, David.  You have been my child, my friend, my confidante, my ally in this world.  And I will be here long after you have left me.  What are you asking of me?  Do you even realize?”

Caspar glared at him.  “Do you think I want you to be alone when I’m gone?  Do you think I don’t know?  Don’t pretend she is only part of your search.  I can tell you have feelings for her.  I know you want her.”

Giovanni set down his drink, gripping the arms of the chair as he followed Caspar’s eyes to the cold grate.

“If I had feelings for her…they are inappropriate.  I need her—”

“You need—”

“I need her,” he glared at Caspar, “to trust me.  I need to keep her safe from my own mistake, and I need her to find her father.”

“To find out what he knows.”

“Yes, and to find out why Lorenzo wants him so badly.”

“So you’ll keep her safe so you can use her to find her father.”

“Yes,” he said, his face carefully blank.

“And that’s the only reason you’re keeping her around?”

Giovanni sat stiffly in his chair.  “That’s the main reason, yes.”

Caspar’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re such a liar sometimes.”

“And you’re melodramatic.”

He stood and walked to the fireplace to light it.  The nights were starting to carry the soft warmth of springtime, but they were still cool enough that he knew a fire wouldn’t be unwelcome to the old man on the sofa.  He snapped his fingers to ignite the kindling in the grate and carefully added a few pieces of wood.

“You act like you’re so cold,” Caspar said.  “But you’re not, and don’t pretend that her father is the only reason you’re interested in her.”

He crouched down at the grate and willed the small fire to grow.  “I will find her father.  I will find my collection.  I will take care of Lorenzo, and then Beatrice De Novo can go on to live a relatively normal life.”

“Oh?  Is that so?  Do you plan to wipe her memory, too?”

He paused, the thought of wiping himself from the girl’s memory more painful than he wanted to admit.  But, he rationalized, there was no need for it.

“Of course not.  She’s obviously trustworthy, and after the Lorenzo problem is gone, there is no reason she couldn’t have a relationship with her father.  She deserves that.”

“She deserves a relationship with her father?”

Giovanni stared into the growing flames.  “Of course.  I wouldn’t deny her that.  Not if I could help it.”

“But you’d deny her yourself.”

He felt a flare of anger, but he tamped it down and stood up to turn back to Caspar, his posture deliberately casual.  “I’m not going to discuss this.”

“Why not?” Caspar asked.  “Don’t you think she has feelings for you?  Do you see the way she looks at you?  Carwyn and I both see it.  As surprising as it might be to you, the two of you fit together like—”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of it, Caspar?”  His temper snapped and he could feel the flames jump in the grate behind him.  “Do you think I haven’t thought about keeping her?”