A Tale of Two Centuries (11 page)

Lucas nods respectfully, then turns a page and grins. He elbows his sister and whispers to her under his breath. Angela’s face lights up as she laughs and whispers back, and I have to add another check to my Lucas-as-suitor list.

Cares for sister, check.

The last on my list, watching for sparks between him and Cat, will not be easy, for not only is Cat determined to hide any interest she has for him, but she also has her future stepmother in the room.

As if the very thought of mothers conjures her, the doorbell rings again. Lucas stands. “That’s my mom. I’ll go let her in.”

Jenna nods from her place on the other side of Angela and pulls the girl into a conversation about a picture in one of the books. Cat watches Lucas leave, then catches
me
watching
her
and looks down at her book.

When Mrs. Cappelli joins us in the crowded dining room, I am pleased to see she is nothing like Lorenzo’s mother.
That
woman was an evil hag who was even worse than Cat’s archrival Antonia was. This Mrs. Cappelli kisses Jenna on both cheeks and ruffles her daughter’s hair before taking the seat Lucas holds out for her—the one he previously sat in, allowing him to walk around the table to the only other empty seat…the one beside Cat.

Very crafty.

And I can add another check:
displays respect for elders.

As Lucas takes his seat, my cousin gives a valiant effort…but she cannot hide the hint of a pleased smile, the subtle shift in her posture to bring her closer, nor the discreet way her eyes keep drifting toward him.

Seeing them together, side by side, is a bit jarring, to be honest. But the visual does help me understand better why my cousin is fighting her feelings so hard. Having him here seems a little too easy, a shade too convenient, even for fate. But there is no denying the palpable attraction between them.

Lucas turns a page, and a dimple flashes in his cheek. “See, this is what I love about America,” he says in a teasing voice that has Cat laughing before he even delivers the humorous line to his joke. “You pay all this money for a huge event and tell people to arrive in their underwear.”

Her eyes widen, and she pulls the book he is looking at toward her. “That’s not underwear, you Italian weirdo. They’re in bathing suits. See, it’s a beach theme.”

Lucas shrugs. “You say potato, I say
potahto
.”

Cat laughs again, failing to realize the rest of the table is watching their interaction with various degrees of pleased smiles.

“Yeah, you would say
potahto,
” she says, shaking her head. “Now say vitamin.”

“
Vit-amin
.”

The different pronunciation, delivered in the exaggerated notes of his accent, sends my often serious, sometimes crazy, but rarely silly cousin into a series of infectious giggles. And the triumphant look on Lucas’s handsome face for causing Cat’s happiness answers any question I had about potential sparks.

Cat lifts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon, seeming to forget, even if for just a moment, all the reasons she should not let herself like him.

“What is it about a guy with an accent?” she asks playfully, and I add another mark to my list.

Sparks, big check.

Chapter Eleven

I ring the Michaels’s doorbell and turn to wave at Jenna, fighting the yawn building in my chest. After watching the tension between Cat and Lucas all night, though she blatantly denied it later, I laid in the soft cloud my cousin calls a bed for hours, memorizing my teenspeak list and thinking of Austin—and the conflicting version of him I met onstage.

This morning I pulled out Cat’s copy of
Romeo and Juliet
and discovered that in Act One, Scene Five, the titular couple kisses. And although I was shocked, my stomach muscles tightened at the thought of what would have happened had Ms. Kent given Austin and me
that
scene to perform.

Would he have tried to kiss me?

Would I have let him?

Would I have enjoyed it?

I still don’t know the answers, but the thoughts led me to ask Cat for help in obtaining Austin’s address—so we could work on our American government assignment,
not
so he could kiss me. Of course Cat suggested I call him on the telephone instead, but that is not how we do things in my time. Granted, maidens do not usually visit unchaperoned and uninvited, either, but at least face-to-face communication would put me on some semblance of an equal footing.

So here I am, dressed in the “frumpy frock” from Cat’s closet (an outfit Austin is sure to mock) arms laden with books from the Crawford library, ringing the Michaels’s doorbell for the third time, and hoping that at least someone is at home.

Perchance I did not quite think this plan through.

Thankfully, just as I am about to give up and run back to the safety of Jenna’s vehicle, the door opens.

Austin’s sister Jamie greets me, her surprise evident in the tilt of her head, the wrinkles in her nose, and the lack of invitation to step inside.

“Juliet?”

I grin and bob my head. “Alessandra, actually.”

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not stoked to see you or anything,” she quickly adds. Jamie glances at the large load of books in my arms, and her nose crinkles. “Is this about the workshop?”

“N-no,” I stammer, no longer feeling as though the sneak attack approach was the best course of action. “I go to school with your brother—Austin? By any chance is he home this afternoon?”

Honestly, I am unsure at this point how I wish her to answer.

“Oh, sure, come on in.” She widens the opened door, allowing me to step inside the cool entryway, and takes a few books off the top of the teetering pile. “You know, you really did great yesterday. Totally pissed off Kendal.” She closes the door behind me and sighs. “Watching her fume was totally worth all of the preparation, even if I don’t end up snagging a part. I can’t believe I used to look up to her. And I really can’t believe my stupid brother used to date her. Speaking of which, AUSTIN!”

I jump, at both the subject change and her sharp bellow up the stairs. A door closes somewhere above. Eyes on the ceiling, I swallow down my mounting apprehension. “But you were so good yesterday,” I assure her. “I am certain you will be chosen.” Then, sensing an opening, I add, “Your brother appeared quite comfortable with the material as well. Acting must run in the family.”

Jamie snorts. “Austin act? That’d take way too much time away from surfing.” She glances at the curved stairway a few feet away and then leans in conspiratorially. “But he was good, huh? He must’ve read that scene at least a hundred times helping me get ready for the audition. I knew it would be one of the pieces they’d have us do—I mean, come on. It’s the
balcony scene.
It’s a given, right? And I read
Romeo and Juliet
in school this year, so I was kinda gunning for that part. But it’s totally no biggie. I dig Ophelia, too.”

Trying to keep up with Jamie’s excited, bountiful chatter makes my head spin. I grasp the insight buried within her speech and say, “So Austin helped you prepare?”

She nods. “Yeah, he’s so good at languages and stuff like that, and the words in those plays just go right over my head. Man, people talked crazy back then, huh?”

I smile but withhold a comment in reply.

But then I think about Jamie’s words and the fact that Austin supposedly has a talent for “stuff like that,” and I find myself even more confused than I was before my arrival. Cat told me Austin rarely even makes it to class, and when he does, he does not spend that time impressing the professors with his scholastic aptitude. But the boy Jamie describes sounds intelligent and talented.

So the nagging question remains: which Austin is the real Austin?

At the sound of heavy clomping, I lift my head and see the mysterious boy himself coming down the stairs. His hands glide across the smooth banister, stretching his worn black shirt across the width of his shoulders. A wisp of a memory begins to surface, but before I can place it, Austin’s eyes cut to mine. He freezes.

“What are
you
doing here?”

The accusation in his tone scares any reply right out of my head, but Austin does not—
doesn’t
—wait for one. Instead, he continues his trek down the stairs and through the adjoining dining room to the kitchen beyond, leaving me with a heavy pile of books and a mouth still open.

Jamie winces. “Sorry about that. He’s not usually so
rude
!” She yells the last word, but when no reaction comes from her brother, she rolls her eyes and leads me into the kitchen.

Austin lifts his head from the open refrigerator door and takes out two bright red cans of soda, my cousin’s beverage of choice. He meets my gaze and lifts a can in question.

I place the books on the smooth, granite countertop and accept his offering with a smile of gratitude. I take a sugary gulp and nearly choke when he says, “Don’t you look nice today.”

Pleasure flows through my veins. I swallow and begin to say thanks—but then I see the taunting gleam in his eyes and realize he is mocking me.

I glance down at my outfit and suddenly feel silly.

Did I forget the Austin from class yesterday?

I rub the soft fabric of Cat’s cardigan sleeves and hear the sound of Jamie mouth something to her brother before turning on her heel and stomping from the room. As I listen to her retreating footsteps, anger replaces my fleeting embarrassment. Just because I don’t dress like my modern-day peers does not give him the right to disparage me for it.

A true gentleman, at least one from
my
time, would never treat a lady in such a manner.

I raise my head to tell him that very thing and am startled to find Austin’s face so close to mine. The words die on my lips.

“I can see through you, you know,” he says, his voice low, eyes flashing. “You’re not as innocent and perfect as you want us to think. No one is. I can see that you’re dying to break out of the prim and proper prison you’ve built for yourself, but you’re too scared to admit it. You want more.” He pauses. “Don’t you,
Princess
?”

There is that nickname again, delivered this time with such derision that I take a step back. And in the face of such blatant antagonism, my blood begins to boil with an emotion that is anything but prim and proper, although nothing I have felt since meeting this exasperating boy is.

Breathe, Alessandra. A true lady does not display fits of anger.

I glance at Austin and see red.

Even when the gentleman so greatly deserves it.

To keep from lashing out in an unladylike fashion, I turn to my stack of books, preparing to carry on with my reason for today’s visit…but then Austin laughs.

“What, no comment? No Shakespearean reply?” He compresses his lips into a thin line. “Guess I was wrong. I thought I saw some fire hidden in you the other day, but maybe you
are
just a sweet, spineless little angel.”

Though he does not mean to compliment, in reality I should be pleased. In my time, those are often the characteristics most sought after in a wife…the very role Mama has groomed me for since birth.

But instead, I spin around and spit, “Well, I see through you, too!”

Austin’s eyes widen, perhaps both by the content of my declaration and the vehemence in which I delivered it. To be honest, I am rather shocked myself. But I press on.

“You like to pretend you
don’t
care about anything, but I see you. I see how you are with your sister. How you stood up for me in class. And how you were at the audition—I was on that stage with you, Austin. I know you are a lot smarter than you want people to believe. So perhaps I am not the one who is scared!
You
are the one who is hiding.”

And at that, I collapse against the counter.

A flash of heat erupts under my skin, and my head begins to throb. The edges of my vision darken and the sounds of the kitchen—a slow tick, a low hum, a soft clanging—dim to a faint garble.

Oh, Signore in heaven, what did I just do?

Lifting a trembling hand to my mouth, I look to the boy who is able to bring forth such fervent reactions from me. “I cannot believe I just said that.” I swallow and push against the counter, thrusting my full weight back onto my feet. “My sincere apologies for my lack of manners. No matter how you behaved, it is no excuse for my actions.”

A squiggle appears on Austin’s forehead, and he watches me with shrewd eyes, as if I’m a puzzle to figure out. The edges of his mouth twitch, and then, wonder of wonders, he laughs. Genuinely this time, not in ridicule, and it must be said, the sound is glorious.

He lifts his chin and asks, “You really care about that stupid project?”

My mind spins at his confusing reaction and change of subject, but I nod. “About doing well on it, yes. And I need your help. I grew up in Italy and am unfamiliar with the ways of American government.”

Or even modern Italian government, but I do not say that aloud.

Austin crosses his arms against his chest, flexing the muscles in his strong arms. My mouth goes dry.

“All right, then,” he says slowly. He nods once as if making a decision. “I have a proposition for you—a
challenge.
When it comes to government I know way too much, but if I’m gonna pick up your slack and actually help you with this, you’re gonna have to do something for me.”

He pauses, dragging out the suspense, and I wrack my fuzzy brain for any situation in which
he
could possibly want or need
my
help. I bite my lip as Austin crowds me against the counter.

That inexplicable heat builds in my core again, along with a delicious twist in my stomach.

Placing both hands on either side of me, trapping me between the cool granite and the warmth of his body, Austin’s gaze lingers on the lip I am worrying with my teeth as he says in a low, sensual rasp, “You need to loosen up.”

My breath comes out in stilted, ragged bursts, and an uncomfortable giggle escapes.

The right side of Austin’s mouth kicks up at my reaction, but he does not back away. “You need a guide,” he continues. “A tutor to teach you how to take a chance, grab what you want, and not give a damn. And if after a couple weeks with me you’re not convinced you need to break out of that sheltered, prim and proper,
fake
life of yours, I’ll back off. I won’t say another word about the way you dress, the way you act, or the fact that you sound like an eighteenth-century novel.”

More like sixteenth
, I almost say, but I stop myself in time.

The part of me that is insulted at Austin’s classifying my life as
fake
is lost in a rush of excitement, curiosity, and a voice screaming in my head that this is what brought me here—my cry, my
need,
for adventure. Austin lifts an eyebrow, challenging me to reach out and take this adventure, to experience all that the twenty-first century holds. My pulse pounds in my chest, and I fight for breath.

I don’t know if I do it to get space or to see if I affect the boy before me anywhere near as much as he affects me, but I boldly place a hand over Austin’s heart and smile when I feel it beating just as fast as my own.

Absorbing his intoxicating heat and his promise of more, I grin and say, “Deal.”