Page 20 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
“You never spoke your opinion aloud,” he assured me.
“I hope not,” I mumbled, for in my youth I had tended to say what was on my mind.
Yes, dear reader, you’re right, but I’m not as bad as I was when I was younger (last week).
“I grew into a man in that dungeon, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that my bright bird girl kept me alive in the darkest days.”
Questions hovered on my lips, questions like,How did I miss all this?And,Is he going to kiss me now?Because I was very new at this, but if I was understanding the signals correctly, when Cal got that deeply intent, broody look in his eyes, his intention was not merely to wish me a Happy St. Lucy’s Eve.
A timid knock on Casa Montague’s front door diverted us both, and I wondered if I looked as annoyed as did Cal.
Glad to have something to do besides stare upward at the sky like a mad astrologer, Tommaso hurried to the door and threw it open.
A serene woman’s voice said,“Buonasera, Tommaso. Is the family within?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Vittoria!” I abandoned Cal and ran to the entry, ending my headlong run in my sister’s long-missed embrace. When I pulled back, I saw what I missed in my haste; Vittoria’s animated face was smoothly smiling, pleased to see me and yet repressed, as if some great weight restrained her. This was not the joyful, outspoken bride who had left our home two years ago. Troubled, I touched her cool cheek with mine. “Vittoria…”
She smiled more fully.“Cara sorella, I’m so happy to see you. I’ve dreamed and longed for this—”
Before Tommaso closed the door, my gaze searched beyond her into the quiet, empty street. “PierAntonio? He’s not with you?”
“Sadly, my husband could not come so soon to our celebration, so he sent me on ahead. He wishes to assure everyone he’ll be with us as soon as business permits.”
Something was…not right. She was too calm, too pleasant, too…not Montague in her ways. She met my eyes, but within hers was a barrier of some kind. A sadness, perhaps? Or a self-discipline learned in a hard school. I asked, “Vittoria, what’s wrong? Is PierAntonio ill? Are you? Can I help?” Then another thought struck. “How did you get here?” For she was alone, without conveyance or servants.
Her controlled smile frightened me. “Shh, Rosie, all is well. There’s nothing you can repair. Concentrate on these holidays, your last in Casa Montague, and hold them close in your heart. Then go forward to wed your prince. Now.” She looked around.“Where is Mamma and Papà? Where’s the family? Where’s the feast?”
I almost missed the slight tremble of her lips, but I knew I’d been warned away, and although it went against my nature to notfixthings for her, I directed her to the kitchen. I watched as she glided up the stairs, as if to see her beloved parents after so long a time held no excitement for her.
Cal appeared out of the shadows. “Your sister has returned. You’re pleased.”
“Yes. To have her here after so long is…pleasing.” There. We had both concluded I was pleased and both recognized something was not quite right, but now was not the time to address that. Now was the time for a kiss.
Cal took my hands and led me to an arch where hung a sprig of mistletoe. He leaned toward me…
Another knock, more firm this time, on Casa Montague’s front door.
I exhaled like an exasperated horse.
Without waiting for Tommaso to answer, Holofernes opened it and came in from the street. Beyond him, I caught a glimpse of a conveyance of some kind. A humble cart and… Holofernes shut the door behind him and nodded at Cal in a meaningful way.
Cal nodded back. To me, he said, “Rosaline, I go now. We’ll meet tomorrow when we dine at the palace.”
“What?” I was outraged.
I got a necklace.
He got a painting.
And now he’s out the door for some obscure reason? “Where are you going?”
I’ll say this for the prince. He didn’t tell me I sounded like a shrew, or to mind my needle, or any of those condescending bromides men used on women. “I have duties.”
He probably did have duties. But… I’m a Montague female. I have wiles. I don’t often use them, but I do by God have them. Now I smiled, I coaxed, “Tonight? It’s St. Lucy’s Eve. Surely you can stay and relax after your arduous tasks. Go with us to mass. You can excuse yourself for one night.” I could already see the denial forming on his lips. “You’re the prince!”
“I’m the prince,” he agreed. “And a man. Tonight and every St. Lucy’s Eve, I go to fulfill a vow.” He lifted my hand and kissed the backs of my fingers, then turned my palm up and pressed a passionate kiss therein.
