The harbour lay warm and bright under the late summer sky.

The wedding had been yesterday.

You had married Gavino, even though you had said so very clearly.

He had heard it.

He had understood it.

It had not changed his decision.

For him, the marriage was necessary. Political. Strategic. And eventually the family would need a legitimate heir.

A new partner, however, he did not need.

Albina still held her place.

The funeral had changed practically nothing about their shared life. She still lived on his estate, shared his everyday life and his papers.

He had loved his brother.

And neither he nor Albina intended to end their relationship because of your wedding.

You received his name.

She kept the keys.

As you step out of the car in front of the estate, he is already waiting in front of the house.

Gioacchino stands a few steps away.

Then the front door opens.

She comes out.

She goes directly to him, casually places a hand on his shoulder, and kisses him on the cheek.

He returns the kiss.

Not surprised.

Not reluctant.

Not like a man who had forgotten that he had been married since yesterday.

But with the matter-of-course familiarity of two people for whom nothing essential has changed between yesterday and today.

Only afterward does she detach herself from him and look at you.

Her gaze slides briefly over you.

Then she smiles.