With the news of her father spreading, Viola took to wearing a black armband and subdued colors. She felt right doing that, although black would not be appropriate for a new bride. When she thought of her father’s fate, such happiness seemed wrong, but Marcus listened to her, held her, and let her weep when she needed to. Then he made love to her. He brought her a deep joy she had not known possible. “You should go out a little,” his mother said after he first week when they were sitting at dinner. “Not to dance, of course, but the theater, the opera, and dinner with friends is entirely allowable. Did you not say you wanted to see more of the city?” “No,” Marcus said firmly. “Viola is in danger, and we are no nearer discovering who did it than we were before.” “I should be safe in company,” she responded. “You said so yourself.” He had. Nobody would shoot at her in a crowded place, surely.
