CHAPTER 6

As I suspected, the Rossi feast began down in the Palazzo Pubblico, the public palace, at the bottom of the clamshell-shaped plaza. I shoved back dark memories of the last time I’d feasted and danced in the hall—the place where Lord Vanucci had approached me and I first learned that Lord Paratore had captured Lia. For this night, I wanted to enjoy the feel of being in my new, gorgeous golden gown—a symbolic gift from Lord Rossi—on Marcello’s arm, dancing with him.

I mean, I’d waited seventeen years to have a boyfriend, and now I had one. At last. I wanted to just enjoy the day, the evening. Back home in Colorado, I’d only been to one dance, and it was with a guy I asked out.

Guys are just scared of beautiful girls, Dad said.

Sure, Dad, I said. Only ugly girls go to dances.

The right one will come around, he promised. You’ll see.

And Oh. My. Gosh. He had. I wished Dad were here to meet him. To do that Dad-Boyfriend thing he would’ve been so bad at…but would’ve figured out soon enough. I think he would’ve liked Marcello. Liked how he got all protective around me. And listened to me. And looked at me like he thought I was fascinating.

When I caught sight of Marcello waiting for me in the main hall, I couldn’t stop staring at him. His curly hair was neatly tied back. He wore a white silk shirt that was kind of loose, but over it was a finely woven tunic with a fair amount of gold thread in it, obviously to represent the house of Forelli. It made him look all the more buff. Leggings encased his thighs and were tucked into new leather boots.

He smiled at me with that grin…and I floated across the floor to him, my handsome prince.

He met me halfway and took my hand, bent, and tenderly kissed my knuckles, sending shivers of delight up my arm and neck. He straightened but still held my hand in his. “You, m’lady, look more beautiful than ever in Forelli gold.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was sure I was blushing. But I didn’t feel like an idiot. I felt all giddy-ish. Light. Like my lungs were full of perfectly clean air. It was like I could breathe, really breathe, and it made everything sharper, clearer around me. See every detail with better than my normal twenty-twenty vision.

Like I told Mom. I was living fully, for the first time or something.

I’m down with this love thing, I thought, sneaking another look at my man.

I tried out that L word again, silently in my mind, as we paraded as a group through the piazza and down to the larger building. Men and women, commoners and nobles, bowed and curtsied when we passed as if we were royalty.

It was cool. But I hoped the whole heroine-worship thing wouldn’t last forever. We were just two girls in the right time, at the right place. I chuckled to myself over my lame joke. Right time, right place.

“What is humorous?” Marcello asked, leaning toward me.

“It is nothing,” I said. “I simply amuse myself at times.”

“It is so good to see you smile, beloved,” he whispered in my ear, and his warm breath and sweet words made me want to haul him into a dark, secluded corner and kiss him like crazy.

I managed to squelch that desire—I swear, it was like when you want to pull a fire alarm—but just barely. “I can’t stop smiling, m’lord,” I returned, staring into his eyes. “Not when I’m with you.”

We stood there for a moment, people swirling around us, laughing, greeting one another, kissing on both cheeks in Italian fashion. And our deep stare into each other’s eyes was as intense as a kiss of our own. It was like he was speaking to me, singing to me, all through that long, silent, sexy-as-all-get-out look.

“Sir Forelli,” said a man—maybe for the second time—and we both started and looked in his direction. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. I felt Marcello’s arm tense beneath my hand.

“Lord Rodolfo Greco,” he said, his tone careful, curious. He paused for a second and then said, “May I present to you Lady Gabriella Betarrini?”

I sensed other men moving in our direction, caught sight of Luca, his mouth grim, when Marcello lifted one hand.

Lord Greco clearly sensed their presence, but his eyes remained on me. He took my hand and leaned down to slowly, elegantly kiss it. “As beautiful as it has been rumored,” he said, still holding my fingers in his.

“Agreed,” Marcello said, sliding his hand into mine, making Greco release me.

“May you know that not all in Firenze are your mortal enemy,” Lord Greco said softly. Then, with a slight bow, he moved away, cutting through Marcello’s men, who now had formed a double circle around us.

“M’lord,” said a servant, nervously clearing his throat—and we all looked in his direction. He was standing on his tiptoes, trying to see us over the shoulders of Marcello’s men. Marcello waved them away. “Yes?”

The small servant bowed, and the corners of his mouth curved in a knowing smile. “I am to escort you and Lady Betarrini to your table.”

I looked around, suddenly remembering I had a sister and mother—and feeling a bit guilty for forgetting them for a moment—but saw they were already ahead of us, seated at a table that was elevated above the rest. Lord Rossi was at one end, with Romana and Fortino—also in shades of gold—to his right, along with other friends of his I recognized from last time I’d been here. Two were numbered among the Nine—I remembered that much—but I racked my brain for their names. I’d always been lame with names.

The Fiorentini, I saw, were seated at a table of their own. Apparently, negotiations had only gone so well. Well enough to be invited to the party, but not well enough to make it to the inner circle.

“You’ll remember Lord Lombardi and Lord Esposito,” Marcello whispered in my ear, studying me. Man, was I that easy to figure out? Or was it just that this guy knew me so well already?

Meeting Greco, a potential enemy, stirred up memories of meeting the creepy Vanucci. “You’ll be close to me all evening?” I asked Marcello as we reached the dais.

“Never out of reach,” he said. “It’s all right, Gabriella. This will be an entirely different evening from the last time we were here. Even with our Fiorentini friends nearby.”

I smiled at him, liking how he’d read into my fears and so easily comforted me. It was a bit awkward still, with Romana sneaking looks at us through dinner, just as she had back at Castello Forelli. There were several toasts to the “Ladies Betarrini,” and some sly comments that connected me and Marcello. Nah, no real secret there…

I felt a little sorry for Romana. I really did. It wasn’t hard for me to remember sneaking looks at Marcello and her, feeling totally jealous. I took a bite of perfectly roasted chicken and stared at my plate. I wished we could just talk, like girls back home did.

Hey, I know this is awkward. Weird. But are you—we—okay? You’re all good with it? You have your guy, I have mine? Because, we have to, you know, figure it out since we’ll see each other every day and stuff.…

I swallowed hard. Maybe he hadn’t felt love for her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have it goin’ on for him. And now she’d been tossed to Bachelor Number One, back from death’s door, suddenly on the market. That worked out for local politics, but what about Romana? What if she was no evil poisoner but just a pawn?

I looked across the table at her; she caught my eye and then hurriedly turned to Fortino, all light and charm. She’d been avoiding me all week. Apparently she wasn’t ready for any heart-to-hearts.

Thankfully, we were soon finished with our meal and moved to the other hall for the dancing. Again and again, Marcello intervened when men inquired if they could dance with me, as did Luca, beside Lia. “For reasons of security, we must decline your kind offer,” he said. “Only the Nine get a chance to dance with these women.”

Belatedly, I remembered Mom and Lia might not know any of the steps. “Lia,” I whispered, “what about the dancing?” I looked over her shoulder to our mother, who was totally acting the part of the charming, medieval merchant, chatting with one of the Nine, her face animated with interest. I bet she was missing her video recorder and notepad. We’d barely been able to get her to sleep since she arrived.

“It’s all right,” Lia said. “Luca gave us both lessons back at the castello. We’re ready.”

I smiled and raised a brow. “Ahh, right. Dancing lessons. Spill it. How much did you like your lessons?”

“He did a fine job of instruction,” she said lightly, cutting me off. But she didn’t move away fast enough for me to miss the smile. Oh yeah, I thought, you’re falling for the funny dude. You always fall for the funny, charming dude.

I looked after her in satisfaction. It was all going to work out, somehow. I felt it, deep inside. As crazy as it seemed, I had hope, real hope, that I might be able to stay here, with Marcello, long-term. Like, forever.

“M’lady,” he said, his low voice rumbling in my ear. I looked over to him. “May I claim the first dance?”

I forced myself to remember my place. “Dancing with anyone other than you, m’lord, would be the most terrible form of torture,” I said.

“But it will make our dances all the more sweet,” he said with a smile, and I laid my arm atop his as he led me to the center of the ballroom. The strings played and the group moved, in perfect, elegant timing, as one.

But with the way Marcello looked at me, touched me, held me in his arms, we may as well have been the only couple in the room.