CHAPTER TWO
Roma
Apollonia wished that Sister Mary would stop fussing. Matins was only a few minutes away and she was as pretty as she was like to get already. “Who am I going to impress?” she asked angrily, swatting at Mary’s hand.
“Sister Apollonia!” Mary chided. “You’re a member of the Papal Curia. Who are you going to impress? Everyone!”
“Not with my hair, I’m not,” she grumbled. “Hand me my wimple.”
“Oh, Sister, no,” Mary complained. “please don’t cover it up! God gave you such gifts of beauty.”
Apollonia closed her eyes and ground her teeth together. Try as she might, she couldn’t get rid of the sound of the orologe on her bedside table, ticking and parceling up the moments of every day with its knife-sharp hands. “Sister Mary Rose,” she asked, playing at calmness, “What would the Mother Superior say about wearing your hair exposed to the view of man and God?”
“Nothing,” said the frumpy nun. “She’d have let you do it, too, because you’re in the Holy See.”