Beatrice watched his eyes soak up every line, his fingers caress the yellowed parchment. She decided to do something rash.
“I want you to have it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I want you to have the map.”
“Beatrice! You can’t do that! You already gave back the diary. You can’t give this away too!”
“Yes I can, and I want to. You appreciate it more than I do; it’s obvious. Just promise me you’ll never put it up for sale,” she added, her eyes brimming with mirth.
“Never!” He grinned, the hint of a blush showing through his tanned cheeks. An instant later, the grin was gone and he turned his liquid brown eyes on hers. “Grazie, Beatrice.”
It was the first time he’d said her name the Italian way, and her stomach did a little flip. “Prego,”1 she said shyly. “If I hadn’t had your help, I’d never have been able to save the turtles, or the other works of art on Cambriolage’s list.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Finally Beatrice broke the silence.
“You know, I did it all for selfish reasons, of course.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to be able to look out my bedroom window and see that fountain—Bernini’s turtles and all—every morning and every night.”
They both laughed at the absurdity of this statement, even though there was a nugget of truth to it.
“Ciao, principessa,” said Mr. Archer, poking his head into Beatrice’s room a few hours later.
“Hey, Dad. Where’ve you been?”
“Well, I took back the diary, and wouldn’t you know it? There was an auction going on.”
“Oh, that’s right, I almost forgot!” Beatrice closed her book and hopped off the bed. “How was it?”
“Pretty impressive. There was some highly valuable merchandise.”
“Anything we could afford?” she asked hopefully.
“Maybe.” He frowned ambiguously and walked out of the room.
Beatrice chased him into the living room. “You can’t keep me in suspense, Dad! Did you get something?”
“Well . . . ,” he said with a teasing smile, “I did get one little thing.”
“Really? What is it? Show me! Show me! Show me!” She jumped up and down with delight.
“Now, before you get too excited,” he cautioned, “it’s very small. Rather insignificant, really. In fact, I’m not even sure you’ll like it.”
“WHAT IS IT?” She could bear the suspense no longer.
The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes flicked to the right. Beatrice followed his gaze to the portrait resting on the mantel over the fireplace. The portrait of Caterina.
Beatrice gasped.
“Do you like it?”
“I can’t believe it.” She approached the painting. “Is she really ours?”
He nodded. “It seems the owners are in a desperate state. In trouble with the law, according to the rumors.” His eyes gleamed. “The auctioneer was instructed to sell every last item, so the opening bids were slashed way down.”
“But what made you get this one?” Did he know? How did he know?
“I couldn’t say. Something just drew me to it.”
A chill ran down Beatrice’s spine.
“Plus, there’s something about it—the nuance of light and shadow—that reminds me of the work of my favorite painter, Caravaggio. He was your mother’s favorite too. The canvas is terribly dirty, but after a good cleaning, I think it’ll be even more remarkable.”
Beatrice stared up at the portrait. She still couldn’t believe it was theirs.
“It’s uncanny how much you remind me of her.”
“The woman in the portrait?”
“No, silly.” He stood behind her, placing his chin on the top of her head as they gazed at the painting together. “Your mother.”
“Really?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. He never talked about her mother.
“She was passionate about art, like you. For her, art was sacred and to be protected at any cost. She would have done anything to save those turtles, just like you did. Despite the fact that you broke about a thousand rules and put yourself in unspeakable danger—and don’t think you’re out of hot water for that—she would have been very proud of you. I should have listened to you from the beginning. Your bravery and smarts saved more than just those turtles, and this city owes you—big-time. Not to mention your old dad. If it weren’t for you, I’d have lost my job,” he said simply.
With her father’s words warming her from the inside out, Beatrice contemplated the painting. Somehow, in this new setting, illuminated by the summer light streaming in from the window, Caterina’s face didn’t seem quite so sad. From her position above the fireplace, Caterina gazed out of the frame, through the window, and across the square toward the palace where she once had lived. The palace that had witnessed her miserable existence, so many years ago. The palace that had seen the utter ruin of its greedy owners at last.
Was it Beatrice’s imagination, or could she detect a slightly different expression on Caterina’s face? Was it—could it be—a look of triumph?
Acknowledgments
I am forever indebted to my brilliant and tireless agent, John Silbersack, for his insight, warmth, wisdom, and experience, and for finding the perfect home for my book. Thanks as well to everyone at Trident Media Group, especially Caitlin Meuser.
Immense gratitude to the marvelous team at HarperCollins Children’s: Deborah Murphy, Rebecca Frumento, Alana Whitman, and Jen Klonsky for all their hard work and for making me feel so welcome; Elizabeth Lynch for answering my incessant questions and offering much-needed advice; Kathryn Silsand and Jacqueline Hornberger for their impeccable and meticulous copyediting skills; and Alison Klapthor and Becca Stadtlander for creating quite possibly the most gorgeous book cover I’ve ever seen. Particular thanks to my editor, Kristen Pettit, for believing in this book and helping to transform it into the best version of itself.
Love and thanks to my mother, Patricia Morosic, for teaching me to go after my dreams, and to my father, Sam Parks, for instilling in me his love of books. Thank you also to Don Morosic and Bobbie “Big Apple Bob” Parks, for being just about the greatest stepparents a girl could ask for. Thank you to Kendra Pieroni, Robin Clover, Samantha Pitts, Tia Parks, and Monique Schiff for always humoring their dreamy and dramatic little sister, and for supplying me with a dozen ready-made readers in the form of my beloved nieces and nephews.
Tante grazie to Luisa Abate for keeping my fat pregnant feet as cool as possible during the hottest summer in Italian history while I frantically revised against a merciless biological deadline. Thanks as well to the entire Ianniello clan, my second family, and in particular to Elisa Ianniello, the first child to hear Beatrice’s story (and who always pronounced her name in the deliciously Italian way).
Inexpressible gratitude to Suzanne Morrison and Katy Sewall, without whom this book literally would not have been published. Their indefatigable advice, insight, enthusiasm, encouragement, and faith will never, ever be forgotten. Enormous thanks to Rmishka “Burnsie” Singh, Lisa Chambers, Julie MacKenzie, and Claudia Casagrande for reading early drafts and giving invaluable feedback. Special thanks to my youngest beta readers, Giulia and Paloma Martinez-Brenner, for offering the tween expat perspective.
Heartfelt thanks to Maeve Högland for being my champion, cheerleader, and one-woman fan club. Many thanks also to Elizabeth Baker, Alexandra Bruzzese, Ryan Cofrancesco, Amy Knauff, Linda Martinez, and Jenni Woodward for their unfaltering encouragement and support during the long years of writing and revising this book. Extra special thanks to India Badiner, who, when I met her, was a thirteen-year-old girl living in Piazza Mattei with a view of the Turtle Fountain out her bedroom window.
Eternal love and gratitude to my husband, Claudio Ianniello, for always believing in me, encouraging me, and pushing me to persevere (not to mention giving me plot ideas when I was stuck a
nd ready to dump the entire manuscript in the trash); and to Aurelio Samuel, my own little redhead and good luck charm.
Author’s Note
The actual history, art, and architecture of the city of Rome inspired Midnight in the Piazza. Every building, monument, and street in the book are faithful to reality, from the Portico of Octavia to, of course, Piazza Mattei and the Turtle Fountain. Likewise, all the works of art mentioned in the book exist, with the exception of the portrait of Duchess Caterina.
Palazzo Giacomo Mattei (and the three other palaces that make up Isola Mattei) were indeed built upon the ruins of the ancient Theater of Balbus. According to popular local legend, the late-sixteenth-century Duke Muzio Mattei did in fact build the Turtle Fountain in one night in order to impress his future father-in-law. And while Muzio Mattei is a historical figure, his tragic bride, Caterina, as well as the troubles of the modern-day Mattei family, come from my imagination.
To discover more about the places Beatrice visits in Rome, check out www.tiffany-parks.com/beatrices-rome.
About the Author
Photo by Luca Cappellaro
TIFFANY PARKS grew up in the glorious Pacific Northwest, but it didn’t take long before she heeded the call to roam. She studied opera in Boston and Montréal and eventually fulfilled her lifelong dream of moving to Rome, where she fell head over heels in love with the art of Caravaggio and Bernini. When she’s not writing children’s fiction, penning a travel article, or taping an episode for her podcast, The Bittersweet Life, she can usually be found exploring Rome’s monuments and museums with her Roman husband and son. You can visit her online at www.tiffany-parks.com.
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Copyright
MIDNIGHT IN THE PIAZZA. Text copyright © 2018 by Tiffany Parks. Illustrations by Becca Stadtlander. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art by Becca Stadtlander
Cover design by Alison Klapthor
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017939002
Digital Edition MARCH 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-264454-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-264452-7
* * *
18 19 20 21 22 CG/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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1. “Hey, guys!”
2. “Is she a friend of yours?”
3. “Not really, she’s an American who lives here.”
4. “We just met her.”
5. “Nice to meet you.”
6. “How long have you lived here?”
7. “My name is Ginevra Furbetta.”
8. “Now then, let’s begin.”
9. “My name is Ginevra.”
10. “Your name is Beatrice.”
11. “In Italian, your name is Beatrice.”
1. “Not half bad.”
2. “I know you, right?”
1. “The Legend of Turtle Fountain?”
2. “Exactly!”
3. “my dear girl”
1. “Goodnight, miss.”
1. “Let’s go, Artemisia”
1. “Nothing, nothing.”
2. “Moving on!”
1. “See you tomorrow!”
1. “How disgusting!”
2. “Signora, how are you?”
3. “Signora, can I borrow Artemisia? Just here in the piazza, two seconds!”
4. “All right.”
1. “Miss! Your sandwich! Your water!”
2. “Who is it?”
3. “It’s me, Luca.”
4. “Listen carefully.”
5. “Tell me.”
1. “Come in, come in.”
2. “One moment.”
3. “Shall we go?”
4. “Let’s go!”
1. “Don’t worry. It was just the wind!”
2. “Yeah, ok.”
1. “Listen a moment.”
2. “Ah, look who’s awake!”
3. “WHERE ARE THEY?”
4. “Where are they, impudent child?”
5. “Vincenzo, enough! You’re terrorizing her!”
6. “Good!”
7. “Come here.”
8. “Watch the child!”
9. “Watch both of them. Don’t let them out of your sight!”
1. “Oh, drat!”
2. “Oh, God!”
3. “Tie them up!”
4. “Watch them closely.”
5. “I’ll be right back.”
6. “I’ll deal with you later.”
1. “It was all her idea!”
2. “I knew it.”
1. “You’re welcome.”
Midnight in the Piazza Page 17