“Often the same thing, viewed from different perspectives.” Matteo leans forward. “May I ask you something, Marco? Something personal?”
I nod, suddenly nervous.
“Do you truly believe? In all of it—God, salvation, the Church’s teachings? Or is it the institution you serve?”
The question strips away pretense. Not the political inquiry I’d expected, but a genuine spiritual one.
“I believe in God’s love,” I answer slowly. “I believe Christ came to show us how to love one another. The rest…” I gesture vaguely. “Some Church teachings reflect human interpretation more than divine will. But at its core—yes, I believe.”
“Even when those teachings condemn people for who they love?”
My heart stutters. Does he know? Has he somehow guessed my secret?
“I believe God’s love is broader than human understanding,” I say carefully. “And that many interpretations of scripture reflect the prejudices of their time rather than divine intent.”
Surprise flickers across his face. “That’s… not the answer I expected from a pope.”
“What did you expect?”
“Dogma. Tradition. ‘The Church’s teaching is clear on this matter.’”
I smile sadly. “The Church’s teaching has evolved throughout history, Matteo. On slavery, on usury, on the role of women. Why should our understanding of human love remain frozen in time?”
He studies me with new intensity. “You really are a reformer.”
“I’m a shepherd trying to understand my flock.” I glance at the ancient Bible displayed in a nearby case. “Christ challenged thereligious authorities of his time when their rules became barriers to love.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. Cardinal Antonelli enters, his expression carefully neutral.
“Your Holiness, the scheduled time for the meeting has concluded. The press is waiting for the photo opportunity.”
I look at my watch, startled to discover we’ve been talking for nearly an hour—three times the allotted duration.
“We’ll be out shortly, Eminence.” When the door closes, I turn back to Matteo. “It seems we’ve scandalized our staffs by talking too long.”
He laughs, the sound warm and unexpected. “A scandal indeed. The Pope and Prime Minister actually conversing rather than exchanging rehearsed pleasantries.”
“A dangerous precedent.” I rise from my chair, and he follows suit. “Though one I wouldn’t mind continuing in the future.”
“I would like that.” He hesitates, then adds, “There are matters concerning the Vatican Bank that we should discuss. Connections to… recent events.”
The assassination attempt. I nod slowly, intrigued. “Perhaps at our next meeting.”
As we walk toward the door, Matteo stops suddenly. “You know, when I was a boy, my grandmother insisted I attend Mass every Sunday. I always had questions the priests couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer.”
“And now?”
“Now I find myself speaking with a pope who might actually answer them.” His gaze holds mine. “It’s unexpected.”
“God specializes in the unexpected, Matteo.” I smile. “It keeps us humble.”
Before we rejoin our waiting staffs, he offers his hand again. This time, the handshake feels less formal, more like a gesture between potential friends.
“Until next time, Your Holiness.”
“Until next time, Prime Minister.”
As we emerge into the corridor where photographers wait, I notice Cardinal Antonelli’s tight expression and the similar look of exasperation on Matteo’s chief of staff. Our scheduled twenty-minute formality has transformed into something neither side had anticipated.
