Chapter Eighteen
"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow."
-Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2
HE DOES NOT MOVE, FROZEN in place as if I had struck him with a blade. The look upon his face tells me that he almost wishes I would have. I know that I have crossed a line, that whatever happens tonight will alter things for the worse, but I am past discretion. I need this. I need him. With my hands through his hair I push him, so his back is to the headboard. He moves with me, eyes half-lidded with desire and confusion.
I want to rid him of any reluctance -- to lose control and let it be for me. I trace his lips with the tip of my tongue and glide my lips over his. I am gifted with a throaty chuckle. My eyes flutter shut as I melt at the feel of his mouth; his lips are warm and firm but soften at the feel of mine. I deepen the embrace, wanting more, more of his warmth, more of him. His hands clasp my nightdress tortuously, but that is not enough. I need his touch. I thread my fingers through his, unweaving his self-control and move his hands up my hips, moaning into his mouth as his touch ignites torches of fire upon my skin. I want him to set me ablaze, to set me afire, like a common witch in a cage. Slowly, agonizingly, his hands trail their way to my ribs, pulling me onto him. I am lost in this kiss, lost ... so blissfully lost. And then he pulls away, slowly as if he is pained to do so. His breath comes out in warm bursts upon my mouth.
"Dios mio, you are as cold as death, Petra."
My eyes flutter open and I smile liking the way my name sounds coming from his mouth, the way his Florentian accent makes it sing.
"I don't think -"
I put a finger to his lips, quieting his reason.
"Don't think, signore. For once."
But he is persistent.
"Petra, stop." He moves me off his lap and turns away from me, his hair covering his face. "We shouldn't. This ... this isn't right."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this isn't what you want. Not really."
I crawl to him and snake my arms under his, holding his back to me. "But this is what I want."
He stiffens under my touch, not at all pliable to my seductions. Rigidly, he moves out my hold and walks away from the bed. I watch him in awkward confusion. Then, I understand. He is ashamed ... ashamed to have been in my embrace. I cannot move, or say anything, but allow the tears to well up in my eyes. "Am I so repulsive?"
He does not respond, only clenches his hands into fists. My tears fall, for his silence is my answer.
"I am a fool." I cannot even recognize my own voice sharpened with hate and rejection. "I cannot satisfy the captain of the Florentian guard? Must I be of nobility in order to enjoy your royal embrace!"
His head snaps up at my outburst, eyes cold and mouth stern. I want to hurt him as he has hurt me. I want to see regret. I want to see apology and lust once again. But his face is stone and his eyes, stonier still. I grab the mug from beside me and chuck it at him. I miss and it shatters in a shower of clay. He does not even cringe. Ruthless, coldhearted behemoth. I jump off the bed and stalk up to him; I stand as close as we were when I had kissed him.
"Or could it be that you do not live up to your reputation?" It is brief but I see a break in his stoic mask; his eyes are no longer empty, sharpened by my insult. "As is everything in Florentia ... grand fanfare but when it comes to reality ..." I hold his glare, but it is as if I am holding burning coal. "You come short."
If looks can kill, Giovanni's would have sent me to the afterlife over and over for all eternity.
I move past him to the chest that contains my belongings and pick out my thieving trousers, a top, and my cloak. In a huff, I pull on the trousers over my nightgown, pull the gown over my head and dress in my tunic and cloak. I glance over my shoulder, but Giovanni pays me no heed, instead, he glares, clenched-jawed at his bed, as if it is somehow responsible to what has transpired between us.
"Where are you going?" His voice is calm, deceptively calm. I know that it is taking every ounce of his control to remain so, just as it is taking every ounce of my strength not to slap him. "I will sleep in the stables."
"Oh, the stables!" I feign gratitude by fluttering my eyes at him. "Oh, how gallant of you milord, but I would rather you sleep in a pigsty."
He lets out a harsh breath before he asks again, "Where are you going, Petra?"
I hesitate when I hear my name, the very sound of it from his mouth giving me halt.
"Although you are so very important, signore. I do not answer to you."
I walk past him and for a moment I believe that he will hold me back, but he does not. Rejection upon rejection upon rejection. Deflated, I use my last weapon upon him.
"But if you must know. I intend to spend the night with someone even lower than I am. As is only fitting of a dirty desert dweller like myself."
I do not look to see how my words affect him, for I know that they won't. It is my fault to have ever thought he would feel the same about me. That he would want me as I want him - for he is everything I am not. He is honest and steadfast. Whilst I am ... I am nothing. Rejecting me is the smartest thing Giovanni de Luca has done in his life, for who would enjoy the embrace of a killer?
***
THE PIAZZA is a different world when the sun is not present. Streetwalkers and dim lit taverns litter its streets. It is a fitting place to be - amongst the dejected and the shameful. I fall into the rhythm of the night as seamlessly as the air around me. My numb body stirs with remembrance at this old dance of mine. This is where I belong; this is who I am, amongst whores, thieves and murderers.
He made me forget. He made me forget what I truly am. My heart is sore with his rejection, for I had the audacity to feel again. I should thank Giovanni. He has done me a great service, for I had forgotten my main goal. I let friendship, compassion and dare I say it, love, cloud me of what I truly need: the welfare of my own self. I steel my nerve and walk into Fat Pete's shop. I find the bear of the man awake, but I am not surprised for the night is made for creatures such as us.
"'ello, poppet. Was beginning to think you were never gonna show."
I cringe, is this how Giovanni sees me? The answer is as clear and rancid as Fat Pete's breath. I wrap my fingers on the counter, twisting and turning my options in my mind. Rejection has left me clear-headed, for there is no future for Giovanni and me, it was only delusion and unrequited at that. However, my aims remain the same. No harm is to come to the Florentians, and that I peacefully leave after the traitors of the court are found. I will miss Annabella terribly, and the other people I have come to know, but my parting gift to them will be life, for they shall not suffer the wrath of those wretched demons.
"Tell your master I will do as he wishes, but for a price."
Is it possible for someone to look uglier as they smile? Fat Pete certainly does, his sneer wide and lopsided upon his equally lopsided head.
"Which is..."
"That the Azdags come for me and me only. None in Florentia are to suffer their punishment."
"I will make sure he gets your message, poppet."
And with that, I walk back into the dark.
***
"A maid that cleans Signor Giovanni's quarters told me that his bedroom and study were a disaster a couple of days ago ... about the same time you moved back here..." Annabella holds my hands and continues:
"Has something happened, Petra?"
I smile at my friend. "Are you implying that milord de Luca has hurt me?"
Annabella's eyes are wide and shimmer with tears. Giovanni is like her older brother. Such a thing would shatter her heart.
"Rest assured, my friend. He is the most honorable man I have ever come across." I hope that Annabella does not hear the bitterness that seeps through my words.
She sighs. "He is!"
A knock at my door saves me from further questions. "A package for you, Signora Fortuna." A maid places a box on my bed and retreats.
Annabella reaches it first. "Oh! What is it?"
"I have no idea."
We stare at it for a while longer, before curiosity has me tearing the wrapping away. I take off the top and stare breathlessly at the gift within. It is a dress made of the finest black lace. Annabella squeals as she takes out the matching masquerade mask made of red and black silk.
A card flutters to my bedroom floor.
'J'accepte vos termes, ma sorcière.'
I turn it over and it reads: 'I agree to your terms, my witch.'
"What does it say?" Annabella's eager voice is leagues away.
My heartbeat quickens as I began to fit puzzles pieces in their rightful places. The card is written in the language of the North.
"Nothing of consequence."
I slip the card in my pocket and distract Annabella by twirling the gorgeous gown around, watching its expensive material change from black to red and back.
Although my heart has dropped to the pit of my stomach, I smile and laugh along with my friend. My sister. We fall on the bed wondering aloud, who would have sent me such a marvelous gift.
"Do you suppose it is Giovanni? An apology gift?"
Although I wish for nothing but for that to be true, that is simply not the case.
I look away.
"Oh, so it is! That's what the card says!"
I let her believe that for the truth is nowhere near as innocent. I trace the lace sequence of the dress, numb with the knowledge of what awaits me in Ethban.