Page 89 of Dance with Death

As the song ends, I follow the lead of my masters and politely applaud. Lorenzo applauds the loudest, his hands smacking together annoyingly just behind my head. Olivia stands and moves beside the piano, taking a simple bow and Lorenzo is beside her within moments. Renata pushes to stand from her chair, but Lorenzo holds up a palm.

“Wait,” he begins.

I’m surprised he starts in English, though I assume it’s for Olivia’s benefit as she’s American. Much of my life here is spent listening to other people speak in a language I don’t understand, so this is a nice reprieve for my straining mind.

Renata looks surprised—and unsurprisingly annoyed—as she halts mid-rise and lowers back into her chair.

“I need to ask the family for permission,” Lorenzo says.

Renata replies in Italian.

“English, please, so Olivia understands.”

Renata tilts her head to the side. “Permission to do what?”

“To marry Olivia.”

Vigo barks out a single laugh, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms around me and Bianca on either side of him.

Renata sighs. “You wish to marry our talent slave?”

“Yes. I’ve fallen in love with her and I want to take care of her.”

“Dearest Lorenzo, you’re already taking care of her. You don’t need to marry her to take care of her.” Renata looks at them appraisingly.

“I wish for her to become a part of the family, to be treated as such. I wish for her to be my wife and bear my children.”

Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.

Poor Olivia.

To think of being forced to marry and bring children into this nightmare. But when I look at her, I see this news doesn’t come as a surprise, as if they’ve discussed this before. Her cheeks blush pink with hope, not fear—I can see it in her eyes.

“It’s not unheard of for a family member to marry a talent slave,” Vigo states. “Though I think it’s only been done with a Head of House. PerhapsIshould marry her.”

I glance surreptitiously at Vigo and see his smart-ass smirk and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. I actually have to breathe through the nausea that rolls through my insides.

Renata lifts an annoyed eyebrow at her brother. “Do youwishto marry her, Vigo?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs.

“I don’t know why you insist on being so flippant. These are serious discussions, Vigo. In a year, you’ll be forty and it will be time for you to select your own bride. I suggest you stop making light of marriage, knowing full-well that your own is on the horizon.”

His smirk fades away as she speaks. “I have no desire for a bride.”

“It’s not a choice, Vigo. You need to continue the family line with the Vittori name.”

“And why don’tyoujust have the children?” Vigo says to Renata. “You never even had a chance to legally change your name before Giovanni died. You’re still a Vittori.”

Who is Giovanni, and what does he have to do with Renata’s last name?

“I would never besmirch my husband—rest his soul—in such a manner as to marry again. And if I did marry, my name would no longer be Vittori, now would it? How do you propose the name should be passed along then?” she snaps at him.

Vigo shrugs and boredom washes down his features.

“Youwillselect a bride next year,” she says with a snap of finality before returning her attention to Lorenzo and Olivia. “As for the two of you…” She pauses. “What do you have to say about this, Olivia?”

Olivia swiftly lifts her head from its bowed position, looking first at Lorenzo beside her. He gives her a gentle nod and she looks at Renata.

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