Page 17 of Light Me Up

She looked up, jarred by his tone.“Hmm? Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Your sig changed fast, and not in a good way. What did you see? What’s inthe newspaper?”

Caro just looked at him. “Noah, that’s not fair. Didn’t we just talk about using your AVP onme last night?”

“Yeah, fine. Sorry, not sorry,” he said impatiently. “I can’t be a good boy right now. I’m on edge, and now I’m curious. So just tell mewhat you saw.”

She let out a measured sigh. “It’s a big article in theTimesArts Section,” she said reluctantly. “About Orazio’s cross. That’s all.”

Noah’s gaze narrowed. “I see. So?What about it?”

“It’s not an issue for us,” she said. “I’ve let go of the idea. There are plenty of beautiful things to see in Rome and elsewhere that don’t involve TV cameras and social streaming feeds and Instagram insanity, OK? I’ll get to see the cross some other time. So never mind. The picture in the article just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Noah grabbed one of the cream-stuffed croissants and took a bite, studying her thoughtfully. “What does theTimessay about the cross?”

She was surprised that Noah hadn’t seized the opportunity to change the subject. “I haven’t actually read it yet,” she said, scanning the article. “Seems to be mostly about Count Orazio di Coronna himself. He was an Italian nobleman in the fifteen hundreds.” She glanced down and scanned the text swiftly. “There’s a brief history of the di Coronna family here, and then they get to Orazio, who made his cross between 1515 and 1532, though no one quite knows when he started it. Then they talk about the present day excavation efforts. With a few touches of drama that may or may not be true.”

“So, how did they find it? A hardworking ditch-digger was about to quit for the day when he suddenly heard a clink, and then…?”

“Not exactly. The dig was funded by an Italian hedge fund director named Gianfranco Folti, who’s also hosting the economic conference. The Palazzo Bellocchio has been in his familyfor centuries.”

“And how’d they lose this cross in the first place?”

“They didn’t. There was an earthquake and landslide in 1534 that buried Orazio’s castle and the entire village along with it. A whole mountain collapsed on it, according to written records of the disaster in a monastery not far away. Hundreds of souls lost, including Count Orazio himself and mostof his family.”

“Ah.”

“It was only because of the monks that anyone outside the family knew the cross existed,” she went on. “One of them described it as ‘a marvel of divine beauty, shining like the sun itself.’” She shot him a careful glance. “A marvel of divine beauty that’ll wait,” she added. “So don’t get all wound up about it again.”

Noah sipped his coffee, still not meeting her eyes. “So what is it about this cross that makes it so special?I mean to you.”

Fair enough question. She considered it for a long time before she answered.

“I think it’s because Orazio was kind of like me,” she said. “He had powerful visions, for one thing. And he couldn’t hide them.”

“Visions of what?”

“That I don’t know, but they scared people. And somehow challenged church teaching. And embarrassed the priests. They wouldn’t let him into church, even to pray alone. They declared him possessed. In our time, he would’ve been in the psych ward, all drugged up. Like I was, back in the day. Shuffling around in a terry-cloth robe. Except that they wouldn’t give you the sash.” Caro looked down at what she was wearing. “Excuse me while I go change into something that sane people wear.”

She got up and went back in the bedroom, collecting both herself and her silk robe. She kicked the hotel robeinto a corner.

Noah nodded in approval when she came back. “Big improvement.”

She smiled at him. “I know. Sowhere were we?”

“You were talking about how you identified with Orazio.”

She shrugged, a little uncomfortably. “Yes, I suppose I did. He seemed like a kindred spirit to me. I obsessed over him while I was researching my thesis. But you do remember that this is a non-issue, right? You convinced me beyond all doubt that going to see the cross was a bad idea.”

His gaze was unblinking. “So how did Orazio deal with being rejectedby the Church?”

Caro fidgeted in the upholstered chair. “By making art,” she said. “I identified with that, too. He carved scenes from the life of Jesus on his cross. Seventy of them, in meticulous detail. It took him at least sixteen years to finish it, and he used a fortune in gold and jewels. The plan was to present it to the Church when it was done, but he never got the chance. He bankrupted his wealthy family. One account says that his own sister cursed him.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. A curse. Like all this wasn’t bad enough already.”

Caro went on, as more and more details floated up out of her memory. “As the story goes, Orazio blew the entire family fortune on the cross and left nothing for his sister Maria Cristina’s dowry. Her suitors abandoned her, so she cursed him and his cross. Lo and behold, an earthquake struck and the whole family was buried including Maria Cristina.”

“No survivors? Whotold the tale?”

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