Nina Pennacchi

But there is always the little matter of private insults and those made in public. Isn’t that so, Anna?

“Anna, I have known I loved you for many months. I’ve been a coward to have not come forward before, and I hope you can forgive me. Am I a fool to think my feelings may be reciprocated? The truth is that . . .” He stopped, embarrassed, and his smile became that of a little boy, upset but adorable. “The truth is that since the first time we danced together—even before you trampled on my foot for the tenth time—I fell in love with you.”

“Deny, always deny, Anthony,” Christopher had told him a few days before.

“Even when there’s no possibility whatsoever of being believed, Christopher?” the boy had asked.

“Especially then. You have nothing to lose, right?”