Page 44 of Backhanded Compliments

“Thank you. It’s more comfortable than a dress.”

Octavia glances down at the black satin dress clinging to her slenderframe. It’s simple, but with her dark red lips, blown-out, glossy hair, and shining diamond jewelry, she looks ready to be the center of attention at this gala. “I’m sure it is,” she says with a smile. “Maybe next year we’ll all wear them.”

Luca isn’t sure what Octavia wants from her, but she’s saved from responding by Karoline ushering them out of the villa and to the cars. Luca finds herself crammed in the far backseat between Octavia and Remi. Juliette, Claudia, and Nadia sit in front of them.

As soon as they enter the city proper, Remi presses her face against the glass to try to see Vesuvius against the skyline. Claudia points it out in the distance, a dark rising mound on the horizon.

The car weaves through Naples traffic with vigor and speed. Luca presses her fingers into the seat in front of her to keep from swerving into Octavia. She must use a similar perfume to Juliette’s, because Luca’s senses are invaded by the intoxicating sweetness of grapefruit. She tries to focus instead on the bright lights laid out like winking fairies that weave between ancient structures and modern builds.

Not a moment too soon, their destination comes into view through the front windshield. Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, or MANN, is a long, rectangular building painted deep crimson, framed by weathered gray stone. The cars stop in front of it, and Luca tries to climb out without stepping on Octavia’s dress.

“This city is extraordinary,” Octavia says, turning to her. “I always miss it when I’m away.” She is even more extraordinary in the shimmering lights strung from the palms above them. She is long and graceful, her high cheekbones painted an artful and rosy pink, her brows arching and elegant, but she is completely impassive.

Luca is aware she’s staring, and Octavia lets her for a moment before holding out her arm. “Shall we?” she asks, her crimson lips lifting at the corners for a barely there smile. Her eyes, almond-shaped and piercingly green, see through her, and Luca suddenly panics that Juliette told her sisters about their kiss.

Luca nods, unable to find her voice, and links their elbows together. In heels, Octavia is the same height as Luca.

“Have you been to the museum before?” Luca asks as they walk up the stairs through the flashing cameras and into the lobby.

“I have, yes. My mother is a historian in Rome. I imagine that will explain our unusual names,” Octavia says.

“Oh, yes, Octavius became Augustus, didn’t he? First emperor of Rome?”

“Very good. I didn’t pick you as a history buff,” Octavia says, clearly impressed.

Luca ducks her head. “I watched the TV showRomeover Christmas.”

Octavia chuckles, and Luca counts it as a win.

“Octavia Minor was also the wife of Mark Antony. There is a porticus named after her in Rome,” Octavia says. “I guess I should be thankful she didn’t name me Cali.”

Luca doesn’t get the joke and Octavia pats her arm. “Caligula. The worst emperor in Roman history? Well, at the very least, his name meant Little Boot, so I’m grateful it’s not my name.”

“Octavia seems to fit you,” Luca says. It feels like marble in Luca’s mouth—strong and uncrackable, but beautiful and polished.

Octavia shrugs. “One grows into their name, I suppose.” There is a soft bitterness in her voice that strikes Luca as odd. Before Luca can ask any questions, they’re ushered into the museum’s grand entrance hall. Austere white walls rise to show off the beautifully painted ceiling. A wide staircase guarded by two lounging statues leads their group into another hall. Starlike bulbs gleam from the ceiling, engulfing them all in a glittering warmth. It’s as if they are the city’s first inhabitants from thousands of years ago, lit by the glow of torches.

Luca can’t help but fall silent in the face of such an expansive history as she takes in the sculptures that are artfully guiding them down the long, narrow hallway. The marble pedestals display ancient Romans—soft-bellied women and lean men, the color chiseled away by time or design, their faces cold and dull. As they pass a naked man with his arm up, Luca catches sight of a carving on his wrist, etched in a language that Luca can’t read but assumes is classical Latin.

She pauses and Octavia lets go of her arm without a word, sliding away to continue through the museum.

“Wonder what his soulmark says?”

Luca startles and twists around to see Juliette next to her. “I do, yes.”

“I bet it was difficult to find your soulmate back then. Everyone had the same name. His is Aelia, I think,” Juliette says, tilting her head. The lights catch on the honeyed gold flecks in her irises.

“I hope they found each other,” Luca says, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Juliette looks at her, eyes tracing her face, as if searching for something. A sad smile plays on her mouth. Luca swallows, wondering how to bridge the gap between them. She hates that all her words tangle and clog in her throat.

Juliette breaks the silence. “Come on, we’ve lost the others.” Then, she spins on her heel and continues down the hall as if they’d never spoken.

She follows Juliette through the entryways until they reach one labeledTHE GABINETTO SEGRETO.Luca doesn’t understand but as she steps inside, she’s greeted by a rather spectacular collection of phallic iconography.

“Oh,” Luca says, blinking. The room is dimly lit, but the cases show off dozens of erotic artifacts, while quite raunchy frescoes and mosaics dominate the walls. Heat floods her face, and she clears her throat, which makes Juliette laugh.

“Welcome to the Secret Cabinet.”

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