The Love Lottery (3 page)

Psyche slipped out of her spouse's arms and sashayed across the marble floor. After adjusting his fig leaf, Cupid sidled closer to Lia. She unfolded her note and held it up for the god to see before tossing it onto the fire.

Damn. Maybe if he'd gotten closer, he could have read it, too. He flashed his own wish to Psyche before feeding it to the flames.

"Want to tell me what you asked for?"

Cupid rolled his eyes, shook his head and shadowed Lia's movements.

"It won't come true if I do." Shaking out her skirt, she stopped in front of Dante.

Don't look down. Don't…

His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts. Beautiful, lush breasts. His palms itched with the need to touch them. Gods! He cleared his throat. "So, where are you off to now?"

"Well, I— Oh!" She jumped and bumped into him.

Dante caught her around the waist, steadying her. The heat of her skin pulsed through her thin dress, arrowing straight to his loins. A heartbeat later, her nipples pebbled against his chest. He swallowed a groan. If he could feel that, she undoubtedly felt his erection. He studied her face. Dilated pupils swallowed her hazel eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Her hands slipped up his torso and eased around his neck before her fingers teased the short hair curling at his nape.

"Cupid just pinched my bottom."

"He is Italian." Too bad the mischievous god couldn't have poked her with a gold-tipped arrow. Then she'd fall in love with the first thing she saw—him.

Dante's gaze dropped to her mouth—the bow-shaped top lip, the full bottom one. Would she taste like pasta or ambrosia? He held his breath.

Only one way to find out.

He lowered his head, nudged her nose, urging her to tilt her head just a bit. As she complied, her lids fluttered closed, and her fingers held the base of his skull. A soft kiss first. Then he'd deepen it, and when he was done, she'd be his forever.

He dipped his head. Light as a butterfly he swept across her mouth, felt the soft give, the heady elixir of Chianti. He shifted for another taste and—

"Kissing must be the Italians’ favorite pastime!" The nasal voice cut like a chainsaw through soft cheese.

***

Gods in heavens! Lia shoved out of his arms, stumbled backward. The heat of the fire flared along her right. Dante had kissed her! A real kiss. Could her wish have been granted so easily?

Ignoring the quartet of tourists pushing into the temple, she fingered her lips and turned toward the statue of Cupid. He leaned close to his wife and whispered in her ear. Psyche's hands covered her mouth, and her eyes were crinkled.

"Look at the frescos." Another woman hissed while gawking at a picture of the two gods cavorting in bed.

"Come on." Dante hooked his arm through Lia’s and dragged her out of the temple and across the
palazzo
.

Doves swirled around them before settling back on the warm cobblestones. Tourists snapped their picture. Lia smiled for them. Maybe she could ask them to send one to her, a remembrance of her and Dante's first kiss. Did she look kissed? His lips had barely touched hers, yet she could taste the bread he'd eaten.

"Where are we going?"

He steered her into a narrow street. Rivulets of water ran down the shadowed passage. The scent of tomato sauce drifted out of the open windows in the stories above. Blue pots dripped verdant herbs from window sills. He released her arm to rest his palm flat against her back.

"Christabel's Tower."

The tower. Their tower. The one where he'd said goodbye to her six years ago. The one she visited almost daily, looking for a sign that he'd returned.

"Why?"

His black eyes flashed in the dim light, but his fingers tightened, gathering her dress and pulling her against his side as a couple of men walked down the street. The fair haired one raked her with his gaze. His lips quirked under his trim mustache.

"Enjoy her while you can, Trancredo. Tomorrow morning will be here soon."

Gods, no! They were going to draw for her? Lia tried to hide behind Dante, but he kept her firmly attached to his side. He didn't say anything, but his muscles had all the give of stone. Lia swallowed hard. If the gods had known he was in town, why had they urged her to enter the Love Lottery? Her thoughts chased around inside her skull as they reached Christabel's tower.

The square stone structure jutted five stories into the blue sky. Narrow arched windows and bands of dark stone marked each level. Dante heaved open the eight-foot door. The hinges remained silent as they crept inside. Globe lights competed with the scent of beeswax to fill the eight-by-ten-foot space.

His fingers brushed her hip before he laced them through hers and led the way up the stairs. A soft breeze swirled down the steps, carrying the sound of bird song.

Her lungs sawed for oxygen by the time they reached the top, and her hands shook. Her reaction had nothing to do with the climb and everything to do with the man at her side. She licked her dry lips. Would he kiss her again? A deep one? She buried her trembling hands in her skirt.

Releasing her, Dante crossed to the open window. The wood floor gave under his weight, but the pair of starlings roosting on the windowsill didn't move.

"I've missed this place."

It was heaven now that he was here.

"There's no place like it." He turned and propped his hip against the wall. His black eyes trapped her.

Say something. Anything. Don't give him any reason to see you as the awkward girl anymore.

"The towers are commonplace throughout Italy." Oh, gods, not that. That was a school lesson! "It's where the nobles used to hide when faced with invaders."

"I haven't been out of school so long I've forgotten my history lessons." He smiled at her then shoved away from the wall and stalked closer. "The view has gotten more beautiful."

Her heart battered her breastbone. He didn't seem to be talking about the vineyards and olive groves running down the mountain. Could he really see her, the woman, or was this her wish at work?

"Your sister, Sophia, said you studied in Rome, Paris, and Napa Valley." Fairytale places she could never visit. "Surely, they had just as grand a view from their windows."

He stopped in front of her, close enough that her dress brushed the top of his sandals. Raising his hand, he cupped her jaw then ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

"They didn't have you."

He kissed her forehead, her eyes then nudged her nose with his. His warm breath washed over her, and she fell into his essence. Her eyes closed, and her palms rested against his chest. His heart thudded under her hand, and her heart echoed its beat.

An eternity later, his lips settled over hers—soft at first. Then they firmed, taking control. He urged her to open, and his tongue swept in, bringing with it the bitterness of his cappuccino and the sweetness of bread.

Her knees buckled, and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders. His body heat branded her palms, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to be closer, craved it with everything in her. A moan crawled out of her throat. She pressed herself fully against him—thigh to thigh, chest to breast. Her fingers had just found the knot of his toga when he pulled back.

What? Her eyes flew open. He was stopping. Now? She’d felt his erection against her belly—he wasn't immune to her.

"Why?"

He stepped back, away from her, snuffing the fire flaming between them. Running his fingers through his hair, he shook his head.

"You have to withdraw your name from the Love Lottery."

Instead of reaching for him, Lia clasped her hands. She wanted him to confess his love for her, not talk about the lottery.

"I don't understand."

"Lia, I wasn't just learning the latest culinary techniques while I was on the outside." He opened his hand to her.

A chill snaked down her spine despite the sultry breeze blowing through the window.

"I was looking for your family. Your blood! I wanted to do that for you, to show you that you belonged somewhere. Had relations that mattered."

She recoiled and bit her lip to keep from releasing her pain in a long scream. Somewhere, but not here. Not with him. Not in Amores.

"Oh, gods!"

"I'm sorry, but I—"

"You're just like the rest of them." She held one hand up to ward him off, the other wrapped around her stomach to stop from shattering into pieces. How could she have misread the signs, misread him? Think for one moment he understood that family were those around you, not genetic shackles. "Poor
orfana
. She doesn't belong. She has no blood kin." The childhood taunts returned to swamp her. "Sure, she's good enough to kiss or have an affair with but never good enough to bring home to Mama."

"No! Lia, I—"

She refused to hear any more. Turning, she flew down the stairs. If he didn't want her, what was the point in staying? She might as well live on the outside. Behind her, sandals pounded on the steps. Swiping at the tears, she sprinted across the landing. A carpet of blue butterflies greeted her arrival before surging over her head toward Dante.

She heard his muffled curses but didn't stop.

There was nothing left for her here.

She'd been a fool to think there ever was.

***

Dante joined the circle of bachelors waiting in the
palazzo
leading to Cupid's temple. Twenty men, including
Signore
Sienestra. All wearing their best togas. He'd already heard three of them rhapsodizing about drawing Lia's name. He clenched his fists.

He'd really messed up in the tower. Instead of mentioning the stupid lottery, he should have confessed his love, asked her to marry him, to be his family. As for his quest to find her family…

He had hoped to give her peace of mind from the bullies. How could she have thought he’d ever considered her an outsider? That blood relations mattered to him? She belonged here, with him.

Gods give me another chance!

The crowd stirred behind him, but he kept his attention on the portico. Dawn blushed across the clouds. The ceremony would start soon.

"Dante."

He closed his eyes. The wrong Lombard sister.

"Alessa." He'd gone to her house right after the swarm of butterflies had allowed him to leave the tower. All night he'd paced the salon, but Lia never came home. "Have you seen her?"

"No." Alessa worried the tassel on her belt. "And they won't let me in the temple to see if she's there, either."

If. Such a small word, yet his whole life hinged on it.

"You don't think she ran away, do you?" There'd been something so broken in her green eyes. The thought that she'd left for good dogged him. He had to get another chance.

"This is her home. She loves this place and the people in it." Alessa swiped at her tears. "If the stupid
Consiglio Comunale
would have just opened their eyes, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Gods, the council wasn't the only one who was blind.

"Maybe I could try to see if she's inside."

"The maids are locked up tighter than the Vestal Virgins." Alessa flicked a hand toward the temple. "Besides, the ceremony is about to begin."

The mayor emerged from the temple's columns carrying the foot-tall urn. Black images of Cupid and Psyche chased each other around the scarlet surface. The council formed two lines behind him, but they parted from him at the bottom of the steps. They filed to the stone benches under the pines, while the mayor set the urn on the wrought iron table in the middle of the courtyard. Clearing his throat, he removed a scroll from his sleeve and shook it out.

Dante groaned. The proclamation reached nearly to the ground.

"I don't see Lia."

"That's because the maids haven't emerged." Alessa shook her head. "And they won't, until the mayor is finished."

"And when will that be?" He glanced at the crowd. People crammed the open space, held back only by the arc of bachelors waiting for the opportunity to reach into the urn. The rest of the citizens—old, young, married and single—pressed behind them. Only the outsiders weren't present—as decreed, they would sleep until the lottery ended.

Sighing, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. There was no way he could enter the temple without being stopped.

Finally, the crowd gave a smattering of applause, and the mayor rolled up the scroll. Dante's jaw went slack as his sister emerged from the pillars. Men hooted. He whipped around. How long had she been putting her name in the jar? Blushing, she hurried to the urn, dropped a slip of paper inside then scooted to the mayor's side.

"Relax." Alessa chuckled behind him. "They're harmless."

They would be after he finished breaking a few bones.

"That's not your sister."

"No one has ever drawn her name in the two years she's entered but…there she is." Alessa nodded toward the temple.

A hush fell over the crowd, and he jerked around. Lia floated down the steps. Her green gown shimmered around her lithe body. The gold hem skimmed the glistening cobblestones. Her hair fell in brown waves around her shoulders. Red rimmed her eyes. Her steps stuttered when she spied him. She quickly averted her gaze and stomped toward the urn.

Dante stepped forward, but hands clamped onto his shoulders, holding him back. He jerked right then left, but they held him tight.

Facing him, Lia raised her chin and her hand.

He shook his head. Don't do it.

The paper hung from her fingers; then she released it. It disappeared into the urn.

Around him, men sighed. Dante dropped to his knees. He'd lost her. Gods, please!

The black figure of Psyche climbed over the lip of the urn. A moment later, a piece of paper emerged. The next girl in line froze in place. A gentle breeze lifted the scrap from Psyche’s hand and carried it toward the men. Dante leapt to his feet and chased after it. Three others broke ranks and dashed forward. Zephyrus, the West Wind, kept it beyond their grip until plastering it against Dante's chest.

Had the gods really answered his prayers? Peeling the paper off his chest, he opened it and smiled.