Dario held out a perfectly shaped plum to Mina. Again an explosion of sweetness overwhelmed her as the plum melted in her mouth in a ball of juice. Strangely Ciro, who had been carefully avoiding her for weeks, spoke next.
‘They take three days to make. My mother worked in a nobleman’s kitchen. Hard work, hot and tiring, but we did get plenty of food. It was my job to stir the syrup as it was reheating each day.’
Ciro’s eyes slid away from Mina’s again. Lisette passed her the carafe of water. It had a tart, lemony taste.
‘Cuts down the sweetness,’ Vincenzo said, then nodded toward the stage. ‘Now we will see some playing.’
A masked player was looking out from the curtains and nodding, signalling to someone. The steward’s staff banged once again, and the audience quieted, resuming their
