My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century (5 page)

Two verbal gaffes in one sentence—so much for my nailing the old-world gig.

Alessandra’s forehead scrunches up. “Your manner of speaking is quite strange at times. I have yet to travel to London, but it must truly be an unruly place.”

Her lips purse as she continues to stare. Then, as if realizing what she said, her mouth opens and her eyes widen. A pink glow blooms on her cheeks as she grabs my arm. “Oh, Patience, my sincere apologies for my ill manners. I do not know what came over me, but I assure you I did not mean to offend.”

She looks so horrified I have to fight back a smile. Not only is it impossible to imagine her ever trying to hurt anyone’s feelings, but her “unruly London” comment kinda gives me an out. For whatever reason, Alessandra’s natural innocence is severely cramping my ability to continue the Patience charade. I’m forgetting to keep my walls up—something I
never
do—but with her excuse, I might as well embrace it. Plus, if I go with it, I may even get her to stop looking like a sappy Hallmark commercial.

“None taken,” I say as formally as I can. Then with a smirk, “Now are you gonna tell me who the dude is that made mild-mannered Cipriano run like a banshee or what?”

The pained look washes from her face and is replaced with one of complete shock and confusion. She shakes her head and laughs. “I do not know what a
dude
is, but the
gentleman
in question is Lorenzo, Cipriano’s best friend.” She glances back at the boys, now visible again. “He is an impressive artist, and he comes from one of the wealthiest families in all of Florence.”

She had me at the
impressive artist
part. “And I take it he’s cute, too. Is he, like, your beau or whatever?”

Alessandra jerks back like I just suggested she prance around the square naked or something. “No! I believe I understand your meaning, and Lorenzo is certainly
not
my suitor. He is like a brother to me—the three of us grew up together.”

I purse my lips, knowing there has to be more to the story, but fall in step beside her as she resumes walking. As we near the end of the row, I finally ask, “If you’re not into the guy, then what’s the problem?”

At that same moment, a rich, deep chuckle hits my ears. My stomach involuntarily clenches, and my gaze sharpens on the back of this mysterious Lorenzo.

Alessandra sighs. “
That
is the problem.” She places her hand on my arm, holding me in place, and solemnly looks me in the eyes. “You must be careful, Patience. Lorenzo is beautiful, and it is not uncommon for a girl to walk away from meeting him with a piece of her heart left behind. But he is just eighteen and not yet ready for marriage.”

I roll my eyes and laugh, then realize she’s serious. Smacking my lips, I nod. “Yeah, I assure you, there’s no danger on my end. Trust me. I’m not exactly looking for marriage myself.”
Because that would be crazy-town.

What I don’t tell Alessandra, what I haven’t told anyone, is the other reason I’m certain to be free from any danger. The truth is, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Or even a date. There’s a taunting lyric from one of Dad’s favorite seventies songs that pretty much sums things up:
Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.

Yep, that’s gonna be me.

Alessandra shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe me, but she removes her hand. We close the distance, and Cipriano flashes me an open, honest-to-goodness lighthearted smile. Finally my stern cousin looks like a normal teenage guy. This Lorenzo must be some kind of miracle worker.

“Lorenzo, this is the cousin I was telling you about.”

Slowly the guy turns, and I fall headfirst into the richest chocolate-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He blinks, and long, luscious lashes feather across his bronzed cheeks. I feel myself gawking, just like I did with Skater Boy yesterday at the piazza, but I physically can’t drag my eyes away. Lorenzo doesn’t smirk or act all conceited like the other guy, either. He simply stares back, his eyes casually skimming over me, causing my skin to warm and break out in a whole body tingle.

Time seems to stop, and the sounds of the market mute. Alessandra was right. This boy is beautiful.

And he’s looking at
me.

Lorenzo’s full peach-colored lips form a devastating smile, exposing one slightly crooked tooth. He kneels down in front of me and takes my hand in his.

“You are an angel, a vision sent from Signore.”

His eyes twinkle with amusement, and alarm bells ring in my head. Even though I can’t help the zing down my arm—come on, in
any
language that’s a smooth line—I straighten my spine and pull on my hand. But his grip tightens.

Obviously this guy is a player and used to girls falling at his feet. Unfortunately for him, I’m not gonna be one of them.

Lorenzo stands and plants a kiss across my knuckles, a move straight out of a romance novel. He winks, undeterred by my lack of a swoon, and with his free hand runs his fingers through his curly golden locks.

My heart goes a little wonky, but it doesn’t mean anything. Experience taught me long ago how fickle that particular bodily organ can be.

Determined to get control of the situation, I yank my hand back and wipe it on my skirt. “Thank you for the compliment,” I say, and then, feeling Alessandra watching me, I flash a confident smile. “I hear you’re good friends with my cousins.”

Those perfect lips of his purse, as if he can’t fathom why I’m not a puddle of drool by now. He nods slowly. “
Sì
, I have known them both since we were babes.” Then that twinkle thing happens in his eyes again as he leans forward and lowers his voice into a stage whisper. “But I fear Cipriano will have to explain himself for keeping
you
a secret for so long.”

I curl my lip and scoff. Now that I have his number, the lines are
so
not working on me.

My gaze sinks to his mouth.

Nope, not at all.

Cipriano shakes his head. “Lorenzo, I have not kept her a secret. You know she has only just arrived from London. However, had I known you would attack her like a bird of prey, I might have considered keeping her in seclusion.”

I do a double take at the joking smile on Cipriano’s face. This simply cannot be the same guy I met yesterday.

Lorenzo’s gaze slides over my face, and I stuff down the warmth bubbling up in response. He turns to Cipriano and laughs, and then parts his lips to toss back a reply. Before he can, an unsmiling older woman approaches and interrupts him.

“It is time we take our leave.”

Instantly the playfulness vanishes. Lorenzo nods once, keeping his head down until she steps a few feet away. Alessandra touches his shoulder, and Cipriano shakes his head. “Things still unpleasant at home, I see.”

Lorenzo nods again and gives a tight-lipped smile. “I expected nothing less.”

When he turns to me, his face is softer than it was before, and my breath catches. But a nanosecond later, the player comes back. “Patience, I must leave you now, but I
will
see you again.” He bites his lower lip and raises his eyebrows. “Of that you can be sure.”

Lorenzo grins before turning and walking over to the glacier-like woman, falling in step behind her. I watch him disappear into the crowded market and ask, “Was that his mother?”

Sweet Alessandra actually grunts. “Yes, a most unfortunate situation.” She shakes her shoulders, then turns to me with bright, curious eyes. “But he certainly seemed enamored of you. Pray tell, have you become another victim to Lorenzo’s charm?”

Flicking the net around my hair, I snort. “Not hardly. I mean, he was cute. I guess.”

“Cute?” Alessandra says with a laugh. “A word used for pups. I believe our Lorenzo may have finally met his match.”

Cipriano rocks back on his heels, mouth pinched, and saunters down the path, clearly not comfortable with the thought of me hooking up with his friend. At least one of my cousins is thinking straight. And soon, Alessandra will figure it out, too.

This is one girl who refuses to be added to Lorenzo’s extensive list of groupies.

Traipsing over to a nearby stall, I close my eyes and inhale the sweet smell of the merchant’s roses. In the darkness, a flash of vulnerability on Lorenzo’s face after his mother showed up flickers in my mind, and my betraying stomach does a somersault. Disgusted, I lift my head.

Who knows
, I think as I stomp behind my cousins on our way back home.
Maybe I’ll even prove it to my stupid, giddy hormones.

Chapter Six

The D’Angeli carriage rolls through the cool, dark streets of Florence, the flickering torches on the passing palaces providing the only source of light. Inside the carriage, shadows dance across my family’s faces from the lantern hanging above.

It’s the perfect setting for a ghost story.

“Antonia is a miserable wretch,” Alessandra mutters, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt.

“
Sì
, her mother is not much better.” Even in the dim light, I can see the deep frown lines etched on Aunt Francesca’s face. “I have known the woman for quite some time, and I fear her viciousness has passed down to her daughter.”

I’m glad the darkness of the cab hides my cowardly sinking into my seat. I may talk a big game, but seeing my aunt so rattled is freaking me out. I haven’t known her long, but one thing I’ve already learned is if there’s
any
possible kindness in someone, or a silver lining in a situation, she’ll mine that baby until it’s discovered.

Maybe tonight
will
be as bad as Alessandra’s making it out to be.

My aunt leans across and places her hand on mine. “We must remember, girls, that regardless of our hosts’ actions this evening, it is our duty to treat them with respect according to their station. You must bring pride to your family name.”

Uncle Marco clears his throat. “It cannot be as bad as you make it.” He looks around, meeting our eyes and expecting assurance—in his guyness completely not understanding the subtle art form that is women’s cattiness—and not receiving it from any of us. He tries again. “Tonight is a party, after all. There will be plenty of things to distract us from Stefani female spectacles. In fact, I am quite confident that our own Patience will be the star of the evening.”

The star of the evening?

I swallow hard and take a breath before asking the dreaded question. “Uncle, how many others will there be tonight?”

“I am not certain. Along with our family, and our host family, the Rinaldi and the Cappelli families are both expected to be in attendance.” He turns to Aunt Francesca and gives her a weighted look. “As well as an important business associate, Signor di Rialto.”

My aunt’s eyes widen as my brain replays the word
important.
Alessandra slides her arm around me and whispers in my ear, “Lorenzo is a Cappelli.”

Great.
So now I’m expected to be the belle of the evening in the midst of mysterious important people, and regardless of how hard I’m trying, I’m a complete cultural idiot. I have no clue how to act, what utensils to use, or what topics to bring up. Are women even allowed to start a conversation?

I hate feeling like I’m under a microscope, and now, to top it all off, Lorenzo’s gonna have a front-row seat to watch the insanity.

Awesome.

Our carriage stops in the courtyard of another stone palace. Countless torches fill the air, lighting the square like a red-carpet premiere. All around me, servants bustle about. One of them comes to greet us, leading us up the stone steps and onto the equally bright second floor. I scan the crowd of standing guests, pretending I’m not searching for Lorenzo, and catch his eye from across the room. The right side of his beautiful mouth lifts in a sexy grin.

Good heavens, I’m in trouble.

Alessandra playfully bats my arm and gives me a knowing look. I straighten my shoulders, ignoring her infectious giggle. Despite what she thinks, one look from Lorenzo—a smile he probably practices for hours in the mirror—isn’t about to change my mind. In fact, it only proves my theory. The boy’s a player.

I steal another glance and find him watching me intently.

And he’s extremely dangerous.

I continue my inspection of the room, where enormous portraits of sour-faced men stare back at me. Rich, expensive rugs cover the length of the hardwood floor. The entire room exudes haughtiness. I know people like this in Beverly Hills, people who think showcasing their money makes them superior. It never does. It just makes them look like pompous jerks.

A stunning girl around my age approaches from the other end of the gaudy hall, giving me the once-over with a barely contained sneer. The skirt of her crimson gown brushes the floor with each sway of her hips, and as her feet bring her closer, I register the pure venom in her annoyingly beautiful brown eyes.

This must be the infamous Antonia.

A much older man walks beside her, his dark hair curling over the collar of his russet doublet. As they walk, Antonia leans toward him territorially. Possessively. Almost as if the man’s her
date
instead of her father.

Uncle Marco speaks up. “Patience, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Antonia Stefani, the daughter of our hosts for the evening.” I force a smile on my face in greeting. She doesn’t return it. “And this,” Uncle Marco continues, indicating the older man beside Antonia, “is Signor Niccolo de Rialto.”

Ah. The
important
associate. I don’t know if it’s customary to shake hands, curtsy, or what, so instead I do a little head bob. “Lovely to meet you both.”

Light-blue eyes the color of blown glass shine back at me. “The pleasure is all mine, Signorina D’Angeli,” Niccolo says, wrapping his warm hand around mine. He squeezes my fingers, and a slow smile steals across his face.

Antonia’s sneer grows into a full-fledged, hostile glare.

Well, that’s awesome.

I take my hand back and look from one to the other, then to my uncle for some kind of help. What did I do this time?

Thankfully, Antonia’s mom picks that exact moment to herd us into the dining room. I pull Alessandra aside and slow her stride, allowing the rest of our group to walk ahead of us. “Okay, what is Antonia’s deal? Seriously, that girl looked like she wanted to toss me out on my ass.”

Alessandra sighs. “I told you she was a wretch.”

I follow her into the spacious dining room and nod. “Yes, you did. And I shall never doubt you again.”

Keeping my head down to avoid any other awkward encounters, I find my way to my seat and ponder this latest development. Antonia is definitely the concept of
mean girl
personified, but something tells me her contempt for me is more personal than that.

I sit down, distracted by my thoughts, and study the candied fruit on my plate. When I eventually lift my eyes, they run right smack into Lorenzo’s chocolate ones.

“I did say we would meet again, though I must confess, I did not think it would be this soon.” He rests his elbows on the table and leans closer, his player grin twitching the corners of his lips. “But I will be sure to remember this fortuitous moment in my prayers.”

The boy is good; I’ll give him that. But I can stay strong in the face of such delicious temptation. The only reason he’s even acknowledging my existence is because I’m fresh meat and didn’t fall all over myself at the piazza earlier. He’s just like every other guy out there, intrigued by a challenge. But this is one he won’t conquer. I’m from the twenty-first century; I’m smart enough not to fall for his Renaissance game.

I nod politely, refusing to engage in the flirtatious repartee. Musicians carrying strangely shaped guitars enter the room and begin serenading us. I watch as they encircle our table, fully aware that Lorenzo is watching me. Of their own accord, my eyes dart back to him. His eyes, glowing in the table’s candlelight, dip to the neckline of my surcoat and leisurely work their way up my neck to meet mine. He winks, and my breath catches.

Traitorous hormones.

A servant reaches over to place a cup on the table in front of me, and I grab it from her hands, tossing back the liquid to wet my parched throat.

And immediately begin choking.

With a shaking hand, I try to put the cup down and end up spilling wine all over myself. The minstrels stop playing. I catch Lorenzo’s concerned gaze and nearly die of embarrassment. Well, that and lack of oxygen. My eyes water from the burning inside my nose, and I struggle to stop sputtering. My throat aches. I pound on my chest and glance around to see all eyes focused on me.

My uncle was right—I
am
the star tonight. The evening’s
real
entertainment.

With hot tears running down my face from choking, I manage to rake in a ragged breath. And another. I cough again and then breathe deeply, my head hanging low like a rag doll. I exhale in shaky bursts and look up to offer my audience a wan smile.

Alessandra puts her hand on mine. “Cousin, are you ill?”

I dab at my soaked surcoat as a servant refills my cup and laugh halfheartedly. “No, I’m fine. Thank you. The wine just went down wrong, that’s all.”

Shaking my head weakly, I focus my gaze on my lap, waiting for conversations to continue and everyone to forget this ever happened.

From the other end of the table, Antonia asks, “Is our refreshment not to your liking?” My head snaps up at her scathing tone. She smiles condescendingly, then turns toward the other guests. “Perhaps our newest Florentine prefers London wine to our own.”

I hear Alessandra’s sharp intake of air and feel my own blood boil. Who does this chick think she is? Everyone seems poised for my response. Lorenzo nudges my foot under the table. My aunt looks over Alessandra’s head, an unspoken plea in her eyes. Uncle Marco’s head is down, looking at his plate.

And Niccolo, my uncle’s
important
associate, is right beside him, focused on our exchange.

Great.

It’s not too late to salvage this. I count to five and clear my throat. “No, Antonia, I assure you the local wine is delightful. I just expected water in my cup and took too big of a sip. My apologies for disrupting the meal.”

Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, I grab a pear slice and sit up tall. Even though I hate myself for doing it, I look at Lorenzo, needing to feel some type of assurance. His eyes narrow slightly in question, but the smile that breaks across his face seems genuine. My insides warm.

And then Antonia opens her mouth again.

“Water?” she asks, her shrieking voice like nails on a chalkboard. “Are you insinuating we are trying to harm our friends and guests? Do you dare insult the Stefani family at our own table?”

Say what?

My head jerks back as if she slapped me, and I look at Lorenzo with wide eyes. His nostrils flare, and his lips draw together in a tight line.

“Antonia, do you dare insult a
guest
at your own table?” he asks in a commanding voice. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but I did not hear Signorina Patience imply any devious actions at all. She simply misunderstood. And perhaps London water is safer than our own here in Florence. Are
you
insinuating you know more about her homeland than she does?”

Oh, snap!

That shuts her up. Antonia’s mouth puckers, and she shoots me a look of disgust. After a beat, the minstrels start playing a lively tune, perhaps to cover up the palpable tension at the table, and I give Lorenzo a grateful smile.

I can’t believe he just did that. Along with his Romeo persona, he must just have a thing for saving damsels in distress. It would totally fit with the whole fairy-tale hero vibe he tries to project.

The glacier-like woman from the piazza leans in and whispers something in his ear, and just as before, the light and joy he seemed to radiate completely go out. He nods once, stiffly, then starts eating, keeping his head down. The woman turns her attention to me, aiming a lethal stare from across the table, and I throw my head against the back of the wooden chair.

If looks could kill, I’d be a barbecued pineapple.

…

By some miracle, I make it through dinner, and now I’m just waiting for the blessed words, “It’s time to go home.” All I want to do is take off my damp dress, curl up in bed, and try
not
to replay my fantabulous choking exhibition over and over.

Standing to the side of the room, I watch Uncle Marco say his good-byes to Niccolo. They both glance in my direction, and I clench my fists. All I can do is hope I didn’t completely ruin their business arrangement.

Aunt Francesca sidles up to me and laces her arm around mine. “I am proud of you.”

I turn to her, shaking my head. “Proud of what? My ability to cause a scene and spaz out with nothing more than a cup of wine and my sparkling wit? You’re right, I am quite talented.”

A peal of laughter erupts from her throat before she catches herself. Her eyes dart around the crowd, and she tightens her mouth to hide her smile. “You have such a wondrously strange vocabulary, Patience, but you amuse me greatly.” She hugs me closer and presses a light kiss on my cheek. “I am so glad you have come to join us. Our lives will be richer and merrier because of it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I blink. “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I say, meeting her gaze for a moment before looking down at the ground. It’s strange, feeling completely accepted, especially after such an embarrassing performance. What’s even stranger is having these words of affection come from my mother’s doppelgänger.

My aunt starts walking, and I fall in step beside her, our arms still linked. “What I meant,” she says, “was that I am proud of you for controlling your tongue. It is not easy in the face of such antagonism.”

First the mushy words and now a compliment. I literally don’t know what to do with myself. Alessandra joins us, taking her place on my other side, and we walk out of the dining room, our skirts swishing in unison.

“Tonight’s party was the most interesting one I have ever attended, cousin.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “And witnessing Lorenzo put Antonia in her place was a rare treat indeed.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame the night’s over. I had a whole second act planned. Maybe next time, right?”

“Over?” Alessandra asks with a quick look to her mom. “Are we not staying for the music and entertainment?”

“Of course we are, Daughter. A guest should not leave until dismissed by the host or has a pressing engagement like Signor di Rialto. Unless Patience truly is ill?” She turns to me, concern flashing in her eyes.