My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century

by Rachel Harris

  “No,” she says slowly, her eyes growing wider by the second. “Have you?” She rapid-crawls over to me and smacks her hands against my arms. “Your father allowed you, a female, on the stage? Did the church know?”

  Think fast, Cat, think fast.

  “Of course not,” I reply, rolling my eyes in what I hope is an “I was just kidding” way and not an “I think you’re crazy-town” way. “You just seemed so into it that I assumed the rules were different here in Italy, that’s all.”

  Alessandra’s shoulders sag, and she shakes her head solemnly. “I am afraid not. Women are allowed on the stage, but the church is so fervently against it that not many participate. They equate female performers to promiscuous courtesans, and the desire for applause to immoral behavior.” She bites gently on her lip and flashes her doe eyes at me. “Patience, do you believe it is sinful to want to be on the stage, even if it is but a dream?”

  I stare into her wide, imploring eyes and feel my walls melt. Somehow, without me realizing it, this beguiling girl wormed her way into my heart and forced me to feel protective of her. And now she actually has me wanting to risk a friendship—something I haven’t really wanted since Ella.

  I smile and shake my head. “Less, I don’t think you have a sinful bone in your body.”

  She seems to grow taller before my eyes, beaming as the familiar blush spreads on her neck.

  Cipriano sits up and begins plucking petals off a nearby flower. “You do not dare disagree with the church, do you, cousin?”

  “No, but I don’t think it’s wrong to have dreams, Cip. And I also don’t see anything wrong with a little game of pretend among friends.” Energized by my new plan, I stand up and brush the grass from my skirt. “Less, when you have these dreams of the stage, what it is you imagine?”

  She looks down bashfully and lifts a hand to play with the crown on her head. She casts a nervous glance at her brother, who watches with his trademark reserved cool. “My secret wish, in my heart of hearts, is to shuck for but a moment my role of dutiful daughter and become someone wicked.” The blush extends to her cheeks, and she sinks back inside herself. “It is a frivolous dream, I know.”

  “Pshaw,” I say, waving her excuse away and looking around for props. “The heart wants what the heart wants. Think of it as a simple experiment.”

  I figure teaching them an entire unwritten play or story could maybe result in some future cataclysmic alteration, but little harm will come from just one or two tiny scenes. I send the boys back to the carriage to get the picnic basket Cook sent along with us, and I ask Alessandra to gather a bouquet of daisies. When the boys return, I snag an apple from the basket and quickly explain to my new troupe of actors the concept of Snow White.

  “So the evil queen disguises herself as an old hag and convinces Snow White to bite into the poisoned apple. When she does, she falls into a deep sleep. The seven dwarfs come home and find her, but they think she’s dead, so they lay her out in the woods in a glass coffin. Then the prince arrives and, overcome by her beauty, gives her true love’s first kiss, and she wakes up.”

  Spellbound, Alessandra asks, “And then what happens?”

  I shrug. “They all live happily ever after.”

  A smile breaks across Alessandra’s face as she hears the clichéd phrase, possibly for the first time. She jumps up and grabs the apple. “I will be the evil queen!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” I tell her with a laugh. “And I’ll play Snow White.” I turn to the guys and realize that one of them will have to play the prince.

  And kiss me.

  Now this is huge, because even though it’ll be staged, it will still be my first kiss ever. I can pretend until I’m blue in the face that I’m not attracted to Lorenzo, but there’s no way I’m letting this chance pass me by. Besides, kissing my cousin? Ew!

  “Cip, you can play one of the dwarfs.” Cipriano shifts uncomfortably on his feet and twists his mouth back and forth. I put my hand on his shoulder and say, “Listen, all you have to do is pretend to be upset that I’ve choked the big one, lay me down on the grass, and put the bouquet of flowers in my hand. Easy peasy, right?”

  His head jerks back. “‘Choked the big one’? ‘Easy peasy’? Do all Londoners speak in this bizarre manner?”

  My heart hammers as I realize just how comfortable I’ve let myself get today. Relaxing the act in front of Alessandra is one thing, but doing it in front of Cipriano and Lorenzo is completely different. And maybe even dangerous. When I’m home, back in my own century, I never let my guard down. How is it that I’m forgetting myself while I’m here? What is it about these people?

  I open my mouth to explain, having no clue what I can possibly say that will make sense, and Cipriano shakes his head.

  “You certainly keep life interesting, cousin. And while your expressions are quite unusual, I believe I understand them. And yes, it shall be easy peasy.”

  He tugs a strand of my hair and smiles. My body unfreezes, and I laugh, relieved, at the silly term rolling off his proper-Italian-speaking, sixteenth-century tongue. He plucks up the bouquet and scans the area, and after a few steps, he points with the flowers in his hand to a patch of grass. “This will be the place.”

  Still smiling, I nod in agreement. “It’s perfect.”

  I turn to the rest of my cast, and Alessandra starts waggling her eyebrows with a smirk. Faking nonchalance, I wave a hand at Lorenzo. “And I guess you can be the prince.”

  He takes a step forward and rakes his hand through his curly locks. “And I shall give you true love’s first kiss,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

  Lorenzo’s chocolate-brown eyes find my mouth, and he smiles devilishly.

  My breath catches, and the sound of the ocean roars in my ears. My body temperature skyrockets. I lift my hair in a ponytail off my neck in an effort to cool myself and lick my suddenly parched lips.

  He steps toward me as if it were an invitation.

  Poking him in the chest, I say, “Whoa, buddy. True love’s first staged kiss. That means all you’re getting is a chaste peck, Buster.”

  Behind him, Alessandra shakes her head and snorts.

  Lorenzo places his warm hand over mine and lowers his head to look deeply into my eyes. The edges of my world go fuzzy.

  “I would never dishonor you,” he tells me softly.

  Then he steps aside, and I have to shake my head to clear it. Alessandra. I need to focus on Alessandra.

  As I watch her prance around the meadow, apple in hand, a thought occurs to me. Maybe this is why Reyna sent me here. Maybe this is the lesson I’m supposed to learn—finding a useful outlet for my uniquely dysfunctional family heritage.

  It’s at least worth a shot.

  The four of us go over the scenes again, and I explain the concept of blocking. After I lead them through a quick dry run, we’re ready to go.

  “Action!” I call.

  Alessandra walks toward me with a pronounced limp and a sneer upon her otherwise adorable face. Her voice is harsh as she says her lines, and I have to remind myself that while I’ve seen the movie countless times, this is all new to her. But the way she embodies the role, reveling in the evil hag’s vicious laughter when I bite into the apple, you’d never know it. As Dad would say, the girl’s a natural.

  And she isn’t the only one owning her performance. For all Cipriano’s usual seriousness—or maybe because of it—he brings an honor and dignity to the dwarf part I highly doubt was ever there before. He hobbles around and carries me effortlessly toward the spot he chose, stepping back with great sadness. He may be over the top with the emotions, and his actions are a bit stiff, but I’m enjoying watching him through slitted eyes so much I almost forget the ending.

  Until Lorenzo kneels over me.

  Of course, with my eyes half closed, I sense him before I see him. I feel the heat radiating off his legs, inhale his woodsy male scent, and hear his quickened breathing. My own breathing stops, along with time
itself, as his calloused hand gently cups the back of my neck and tilts my mouth toward his. Warm breath fans across my face. And then, finally, his firm lips press against mine.

  Lorenzo’s kiss is surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant, as if he’s holding himself back—not exactly what I expected from a guy like him. But I’ve waited almost sixteen freaking years for this, and I’m going to savor the moment. Ignoring my own previous warning about it being staged, I thread my fingers through his hair, anchoring him to me, and kiss him back with abandon. His lips taste sweet, and every nerve ending in my body screams in excitement.

  I can’t help thinking, It’s really happening.

  Lorenzo’s lips curve into a smile, and I crack my eyes open to see him staring at me. His eyes feather closed again, and he lightly skims the back of his hand across my cheek as he presses another soft kiss against my mouth. His tongue flicks out and glides over my lips, and all the air leaves my lungs. Then he releases me.

  I lean forward, eyes still closed, trying to find his mouth again. When I only feel the cool air, I open my eyes to see him staring at me hungrily. He slides his hand down my arm and interlaces our fingers, then gently guides me to my feet as he announces the ending line in a rough voice. “The princess has awoken.”

  We hold each other’s eyes for three full beats. Then Alessandra’s gleeful laugher rings throughout the meadow, and she rushes toward me, throwing her arms around my neck. I fall into her and release a shaky breath, grateful not only for the support for my wobbly knees, but the mask of her curtain of veiled auburn hair. A few more seconds gazing into Lorenzo’s eyes, and he’d have seen the roiling emotions coursing inside me flit across my face.

  I squeeze Alessandra tighter. “You were wonderful,” I tell her, closing my eyes against the full impact of all the new feelings of the day. “Just as I knew you would be.”

  She dances in my embrace, bouncing on her toes. “I am forever in your debt for this glorious experience!”

  Peeling her arms from around me, I stand back and smile at her never-failing exuberance. “Watching you out there was more than enough. Really, it’s the stage’s loss.”

  Lorenzo picks a flower and hands it to her. His fingers graze my arm. “A greater actor could not be found in all of Christendom. Shall we enjoy a late-afternoon snack and make merry in celebration?”

  Alessandra positively glows at our joint affirmation, and when Cipriano stops her for a hug and whispers in her ear, I swear it’s as if she swallowed a fluorescent bulb.

  I cop a squat on the ground as Cipriano unpacks our basket of fresh white bread, tangy cheese, and a leather satchel of wine. He hands me a jeweled silver goblet, and I meet Lorenzo’s gaze over the rim. Without thinking, I run my tongue across my bottom lip, tasting him again, and he winks.

  Alessandra pokes me in the ribs and wiggles her shoulders with a grin. She leans over, breaks off half the bread, and does the same with the cheese. “Brother, what do you say we go for a walk over to that cypress tree across the meadow?”

  Cipriano stares in open confusion, and she pouts and jerks her head in my direction. If my cheeks get any hotter, I swear they’ll self-combust. I flatten my lips and widen my eyes at Alessandra, but she bats her eyelashes innocently. Cipriano’s face finally clears in understanding, but his mouth twists in contemplation as he eyes Lorenzo.

  After a moment of wordless communication between the two friends, he nods. “We shall walk to that tree, sister, which is in obvious sight from here. Clear, unobstructed view of the entire meadow. The perfect choice for sightseeing.”

  Lorenzo smirks and punches him playfully. “The art of subtlety is not one of your many gifts, my friend. Rest assured, not a finger will be placed upon Signorina Patience. You have my word.”

  Stupid regret pools in my stomach. Good, I tell myself. Been there, done that. Who needs a repeat performance?

  An annoying inner voice answers back, Me! Me!

  As if he can hear my internal dialogue, Lorenzo kicks up the right side of his mouth in a grin. I examine the heavy white bread in my hand, watching through hooded eyes while he scoots to a safe distance beside me.

  “Cipriano sure knows how to overreact,” I tell him, relying on the blasé, comfortable persona I’ve worn for so long. I know today’s supposed to be the first day in recreating myself in a new image, but this boy makes me way too nervous. Baby steps. “As if anything would happen between us, anyway.”

  Lorenzo sighs and squints at the cypress tree now covering my cousins. “Cipriano has much on his shoulders, so you must not judge him too harshly. He leaves for Milan in only a few short months and is concerned for his sister, and now for you.” Lorenzo turns to look at me. “He believes he is leaving you both unprotected.”

  “Leaving?” I ask. This is news to me. “Why’s he going to Milan?”

  Lorenzo’s head jerks back, obviously surprised I don’t know. “He has been learning the family business so he can establish their presence in Milan. As you are aware, the D’Angeli family has posts in the port cities of Florence, London, and Venice, allowing an unencumbered three-way trade route. Cipriano’s presence in Milan, a city praised for its well-crafted armor, will only increase the familial wealth.”

  I turn my head and meet my cousin’s gaze across the meadow. No wonder he’s serious so much of the time—I can’t imagine having that kind of responsibility on my shoulders at his age. He’s only twenty years old, yet he’s about to move to a foreign city by himself without a cell phone, e-mail, or even an Internet connection.

  Cipriano lifts his chin in acknowledgment, and I smile back, seeing him—seeing the hardships all the young people go through at this time—through new eyes. He turns to Alessandra, continuing their conversation, and I turn back to Lorenzo.

  His head is thrown back, watching the clouds drift across the sky. The Romeo persona he usually hides behind is gone, and in its place is an open, younger, more vulnerable-looking Lorenzo. One that instantly feels more dangerous.

  “Your uncle trusts his son,” he says, not taking his eyes off the sky. “Believes in him and supports him. You do not know what I would give to experience that for one day from my own father.” He sighs and closes his eyes, the light autumn breeze ruffling his hair. “He would love nothing more than for me to follow in his footsteps and take up our family business as Cipriano is doing. But I am not a banker.” His eyes snap open. “I am an artist.”

  We sit quietly, his words echoing between us. I’ve tried to keep the topic of my own past out of this experience, not knowing anything about Patience’s previous life or what will happen when I magically transport back to the future. But right now, I need Lorenzo to know I understand where he’s coming from. We may not have that much in common, but this I get.

  I scoot closer and lay my hand on top of his. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  He tilts his head in question.

  Here goes nothing.

  “My father—” I hesitate. I can’t say that my dad wishes I had an interest in our “family business,” too. Women in the sixteenth century weren’t really invited to join the workforce. I shift my feet under me and try again. “I mean, I don’t know exactly how you feel, because I can’t take up our family business, but if I could, my father wouldn’t have understood my passions. Uncle Marco, either. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have an artist’s spirit how it completely consumes you.”

  His eyes widen eagerly, and he scoots closer toward me on the grass. Our knees touch, and although there are a bazillion layers of fabric between us, ripples of awareness shoot out to my limbs.

  “You are an artist?”

  I decide to let the shock and awe in his voice slide, and I nod. His face breaks into a breathtaking smile, and I lose myself for a moment in just how gorgeous this boy really is. He scrunches his mouth, which just makes me think about kissing it again, and guides my finger to point to the sky, pressing his chest close behind me.

  My eyes flitter close
d, and I feel my body start to sink against him.

  “What do you see?”

  At his wonder-filled whisper in my ear, my eyes open, and my spine straightens. I blink to focus. “Clouds?”

  I hear the soft chuckle under his breath and instantly feel stupid. This is a test. An artist’s test. A test I am going to pass with flying colors.

  “I meant to say that I see an azure sky with wisps of magnolia-colored clouds,” I clarify, a smug smile creeping up my face.

  “Very good,” he says, his voice still a sexy whisper. “My father would look up and see nothing more than commonplace blue and white. He has no imagination.”

  Proud that I proved myself imaginative, I sit taller.

  Then Lorenzo asks, “What about shapes? What objects do you see in the clouds?”

  This test is harder. I let my eyes relax as I gaze above, hoping and praying I’m not as closed off as his dad. I’ve always loved art. It’s the one place I can make a name for myself—the one area I can just be me, without the mess of who my family is. But I’ve never really stopped to see the beauty in everyday things like cloud formations.

  As I watch above, shapes suddenly pop out at me, and a grin creeps up my face. I haven’t stared at clouds since I was a kid, but he’s exactly right. This is art. I clear my throat. “Well, right there—that one? That is a huge clock tower, and to the left below it is an elegant arched bridge.” Despite myself, I snuggle back into his hard chest and sigh. “I love bridges.”

  Lorenzo stiffens behind me, and I look up to see him staring intently in Cipriano’s direction. I remember his promise not to touch me and go to move, but he snakes his arm around my waist, securing me against him. And for once, I don’t feel the need to move.

  As if nothing happened, he carries on. “They are quite beautiful,” he says, his whisper huskier now. I swallow and close my eyes as he presses his nose between my shoulder and neck, grazing my skin softly as he inhales deeply. “However, you missed the cherub floating down the celestial road.”