No, definitely not.
“Domenico enters into government?” I ask, not completely surprised. He wasn’t a member when I left, having just reached the required age for some of the smaller offices, but the senior Bencini has long been in service and has groomed his eldest for the same his entire life.
“Yeah.” Lucas consults his notebook again. “The Tre Maggiori.”
My eyes widen, and Lucas turns to the others to explain. “My friend said they were the highest executive offices of the Florentine Republic, which is why we lucked out. Because this guy was so powerful, his birth records were saved, along with some of his personal letters, which made our job a lot easier.”
Austin’s stiff nod makes the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I almost ask Lucas to stop. But then uncontrollable curiosity takes over, and I say, “Tell me what you learned.”
Lucas grabs his notebook, settles back in his chair, and begins telling us—telling me—all about the life I may or may not ever have. “From what we can tell, Alessandra never had any children. It was common back then for fathers to declare their children, especially their sons, in the records as early as possible just in case they ever wanted to hold a public office. And in Domenico’s personal letters, there are also several mentions of—” Lucas looks away and scratches the side of his neck. “Miscarriages.”
My hand flies to my throat.
I always imagined myself with a large family. At the very least, two children like my parents had. A daughter named Lena with my auburn hair, pointy chin, and sense of wonder, and a son named after my father, Marco, with his dark eyes and strong sense of duty.
As the reality of Lucas’s words crash around me, I cannot help but mourn that dream and the children who will never be. At least not in that life.
Beside me, Cat blows out a breath. “Wow.” She squeezes my hand and glances at me but then quickly away, instead choosing to look at Austin sitting across from us as she says, “Well, I guess we found our loophole.”
Even in my disoriented state, I register his hope-filled nod of agreement.
Cat grabs Lucas’s notebook out of his hands and reads over his notes. “I mean, if Less doesn’t have any… I mean, if the line ends with her, then history can’t change that much if she stays.” She glances up. “Right?”
This last question she directs at Lucas, who mumbles a soft, “Bingo.” Then he lifts his chin in my direction and asks, “Alessandra, are you okay?”
I open my mouth and then close it, my mind an endless tumble of thoughts. But in the midst of my confusion, I know there is still one thing I have yet to learn. So instead of answering I ask, “Did Domenico’s letters say anything about me?”
When Lucas’s first response is to bite the corner of his lip, obviously hesitating, I regret the impulsive question.
“There was a brief mention here or there,” he says, dragging the words out as if reluctant to reach the end of what he has to say—another bad sign. “There are a handful of letters he wrote to you when you were staying with your family. Apparently your father became very sick, and you moved back home for a short time to help your mother take care of him”—he clears his throat—“before he died.”
Father.
As I try to grapple with this impossible reality, Lucas stops to scratch the side of his neck…and I realize that there is even more to the dreadful story. The story of my life. “What are you not telling me?” I force myself to ask, my heart still with my father.
Lucas leans back and runs his fingers through his hair. “There’s also a letter to your brother about…about how you died.”
Cold fingers of dread creep down my spine.
I swallow the fear and push it back where it belongs, roiling in my stomach with the rest of my emotions. It sounds like someone else’s voice coming out of my mouth when I ask, “How?”
Lucas folds the top corner of his page, not looking at me. “He told Cipriano that you contracted a fever shortly after returning home from your father’s deathbed and died of the same breathing ailment a few weeks later.”
I nod, not exactly sure why because none of this even feels real—it is as if we are discussing a character in a book. But I need to react somehow. “And how old was I when I died?”
“Thirty-five.”
Lucas says it matter-of-factly, no hemming or hawing over the cruel facts that took my life, and I appreciate his honesty. It was what I asked for, after all.
Thirty-five. It may not be a terribly long life, but it is longer than some. My cousin Patience’s parents died much younger than that from an epidemic. And while it does not sound as though I lived the great life of possibility that I could here, the Alessandra in the history books seems as though she lived a good life. She was taken care of, provided for, and had a husband who wasn’t altogether awful. She had connections and society.
And at least for a short time, she had her family.
My heart begins to hurt.
It’s strange. I know I just heard about my life, or rather my future (past?) life. I know that I am sitting at a table in a library in the twenty-first century, trying to find a way so I can stay here. I know there’s a chair under me, a ceiling overhead, and friends all around. But inside, I feel numb. Almost as if I’m in a dream, or watching the world outside myself. My thoughts are fuzzy, and I can’t seem to grasp what it is I should do next.
I want to hug my father, even knowing that doing so is probably what got me sick in the first place. I want to comfort the strong man who always comforted me, who always sang me songs when I had a cold and bought me dresses to cheer me up. I want to go back home and make sure he knows how much I love him…but will my presence change the outcome or save him? Will I be doing it for him, or for me?
Closing my eyes, I lower my head into my opened hands.
Choosing the right path is suddenly much more difficult than I imagined it would be.
“Stop it,” Austin says, his raised voice startling me. “I see what you’re doing. You’re reverting to that girl you used to be, aren’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Yeah, you are. I get that you love your father. I mean, it’s no secret I hate mine, but I love that you care so much about him. But you’re doing it again, worrying about everyone else and what’s best for them. For once, can’t you think about what you want? Or do you even know?”
“Austin, it’s just not that simple.”
“Yeah, it is,” he says, his voice suddenly desperate. “And if you can’t figure that out, all this”—he sweeps his arms out, taking in the library and beyond—“will be gone. Reyna’s holding a ticking clock, and it’s getting louder. It’s so freaking loud it’s like a time bomb, counting the seconds until you’re gonna be forced to choose. And you will have to make a choice, Alessandra. There’s no getting out of it. So tell me, what do you want to do? Stay here with me?” he asks. “Or go home to Domenico?”
The desperation in his eyes turns to fury, and I swallow hard. Heat flushes through my body as my blood pounds through my veins.
I’ve never seen Austin this angry…I’ve never been this angry.
“Do you truly think I would choose that insufferable man over you? This isn’t about us. It’s about the man who gave me life. I can’t just forget about him or the rest of my family. My mother is my best friend. My brother is the most amazing man I know. I love them, Austin.” Then his words sink in. I reach out to grab his hand. “And what do you mean stay here with you? What happened to you coming with me?”
He scoffs. “And watch you marry someone else?”
My head jerks back in shock. “Marry? I wouldn’t marry him. Not if I had a choice—not if you were with me.”
Austin laughs, a cruel sound with a distinct edge that sends quivers shooting down my spine. “I hate to break it to you, Princess, but I’ve been sitting here doing my own research. You really think your parents will let you be with me? A stranger with no family, no money, no land?”
A vein bulges in his th
roat as he closes his eyes. And pain lashes my stomach. He’s right. My parents love me and would never do anything to hurt me, but a girl in my time does not have much choice in these matters.
Cat knows that most of all.
“Don’t you see, Alessandra?” Austin asks, opening his eyes again. “The only way we could be together is if we started our own lives, away from your family. So it is a choice between Domenico or me. You can either choose what we have together, the excitement I’ve seen in you the last few days, and fight for that…or you can do what you’ve always done. The right thing. The expected thing. Go back home to Domenico.” He pauses. “And get rid of me.”
In Cat’s bedroom, I promised him that would never happen. But I didn’t know everything then, didn’t realize the lives that could be affected by my oath.
I take a breath. “I just need time to think.”
“Then it’s too bad that’s one thing you don’t have.” And with that, Austin gets up from the table and walks out.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The beam of light shining down on me is just as bright as I envisioned in Reyna’s tent. I draw a deep breath, winded and spent from the rest of the scene, and look down at Reid as Romeo as he delivers his line on the stage before a packed theater. This is it, the last lines I may ever speak as an actress, and as I feel the energy in the room, hear the silence as the audience hangs on our every word, the realization is bittersweet.
“Sweet, so would I, yet I should kill thee with much cherishing,” I say, the words almost painful as I say them. My chest is so tight, it squeezes my lungs, and I draw a shuddering breath. I can’t believe I may have to give this all up tonight. “Good night, good night!” I tell Reid, and quite possibly this world. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!”
And with those words, I step back through the set acting as my bedroom window, and away from the spotlight.
As Reid says his final speech, I jog down the makeshift staircase, skimming my hand over my hair, the color of which is back to the same old boring auburn shade it was when I arrived (thus appeasing the hairy, scrunched-up monster otherwise known as Mr. Williams’s eyebrows). My sweaty palm slides across the wooden banister, and I skip the last step, making it to the side of the curtain just as Reid walks off, applause already rising behind us.
“You were amazing!” he says, grabbing me around the waist. His smile is full of life and humming with the force of all we accomplished. “You ready to take your bow, Miss Forlani?”
I nod, unable to find words. He leads me out onto the stage, and the crowd’s praise and ovation swell into a thunderous wave crashing around me. I close my eyes and soak it in. The love, the adoration, the acceptance. This moment is everything I hoped it would be when I cried out for adventure in my courtyard. Yet it doesn’t feel complete.
The absence of Mama, Father, and Cipriano is like a living entity beside me, reminding me that I am straddling two worlds and will soon have to make a choice. And not being able to share this moment with the boy I’ve grown to love in this world nearly crushes me.
Here it is, opening night, and I’m standing on an enormous stage overlooking a sea of people. I just gave the first and perhaps final performance of my life, and Austin may not have even seen it. It was possible he left after Jamie’s scene, no longer feeling the need to stay for mine. I couldn’t look down from my perch on the balcony and know for certain he was watching in the audience, smiling and sending me encouraging thoughts. I can’t hear him now in the front row, yelling my name or letting out a sharp whistle. It isn’t that the roar of the applause and the congratulations from my fellow actors isn’t wonderful. But without Austin to share it with, it feels empty.
Cat and Lucas both suggested I give him space to calm down and to think, so I did. Twenty-four hours and counting of space. As tempted as I was to pick up the phone or ask Lucas to drive by his house, I didn’t. And when I saw his father’s assistant picking Jamie up from dress rehearsal, I didn’t stop and ask her where Austin was or what he was doing. I knew.
Avoiding me.
As I exit the stage and make my way down the hall to the dressing room, I notice Kendal standing outside the door. Ever since Mrs. Shankle posted the cast list for Back to the 80s: The Totally Awesome Musical! and the class saw my name listed beside Tiffany’s—and Kendal’s next to Eileen’s, one of the nerds—we have given each other a rather wide berth. A part of me thinks I should step aside, give the role to her since there’s a good chance I won’t even be around for our first rehearsal—but the part of me that still believes in miracles, that is awed at winning the role and eager to play it, holds me back.
But even though I may not be willing to step down, there is something my adversary needs to know before I meet with Reyna. My steps quicken with determination, and Kendal’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “What do you want?”
Her snarky attitude is almost enough to make me keep on walking, but instead I bite the inside of my cheek and press on. “Kendal, I thought you should know that you did a wonderful job out there tonight. I have never seen the role of Katherina performed so well before.”
Of course, I have never seen the role of Katherina performed before ever, but she doesn’t have to know that. Plus she really did do a good job.
She scrunches her mouth and studies me—for so long I begin to wonder if anyone has ever truly given her a compliment. Then I see something I never thought I would. Kendal’s shoulders seem to relax…a smidgen…a very small smidgen…and her lips curve into what may be considered an actual smile.
“Thanks,” she says. Another miracle. She shrugs. “You did good, too.” Then, as if her praise wasn’t enough to stun me into total speechlessness, she adds, “I’m looking forward to working with you on the musical.”
And I burst into tears.
Kendal steps back, as if it is contagious. I almost laugh. For some reason, her unanticipated act of kindness took all of the fear I have about my meeting with Reyna, all my heartache over my fight with Austin and wondering if I’ll ever see him again, and all of my confusion over which path I should choose to fight for, and brought it to a blubbery head.
“I am, too,” I tell her through sniffles, although my future still hangs in the balance. “It will be an honor to share the stage with you again.”
Kendal eyes me quizzically, no doubt considering rescinding her extended olive branch on account of my apparent madness, and I decide it best that we part before I do something completely crazy like hug her. I bid her farewell, and watch as she walks confidently—and perhaps hastily—away, down the emptying hallway. Then I shuffle into the cluttered, deserted dressing room.
Romeo and Juliet was the last scene performed in the workshop. While I stood in the wings, watching each performance and waiting to see if Austin would sneak backstage and find me, everyone else came in here, threw off their costumes, and changed, and then hurried to the awaiting media room for post-performance interviews. Ms. Kent expects me to make a stop in there as well, and I know that I should—hearing their accolades will be nice, although perhaps not quite as fun to hear their criticism—but right now, I need the quiet.
All around me, cast members’ discarded costumes hang off surfaces. Balloons and teddy bears sent by their well-wishing relatives and admirers cover the counters. And the cloying scent of far too much perfume clouds the air. I pad across the floor, careful to sidestep a dulled prop sword, and stop in front of the brightly lit table with the cardstock sign labeled Alessandra.
Amongst my scattered hairbrushes and makeup sits a dozen beautiful red roses in full bloom with an envelope floating above it, inscribed with Jenna’s swirly handwriting: Congratulations, Alessandra! Another card, this one sticking out of a bouquet of friendly white daisies reads: Who owned that stage?
I smile as I open the cards my loved ones sent me, telling me how proud they are and how much they care. There’s even a
small piece of folded parchment from Reyna, simply saying, Well done. But search as I do under the piles of makeup brushes and bottles of hairspray, there isn’t a single note from Austin.
In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me with dead eyes.
I have lost him.
A movement in the glass behind me captures my attention. I blink as an enormous bouquet materializes in the glass.
“Delivery for Juliet.”
My heartbeat stalls at the familiar deep timbre, then sets off again, hammering the now erratic pulse against my breastbone. I whirl around, breathless with hope.
“Austin?”
The vase of blossoms lowers. “Hey there, Princess.”
My fingertips tingle, and I clench them at my sides so I don’t just bolt into his arms—there’s too much I need to say to him first.
I swallow and wet my lips, open my mouth…and don’t know where to begin.
It’s not as if I haven’t thought about this moment every second since he stormed out of the library yesterday. I’ve rehearsed the same words over and over again—the words I wish I would have said then—so many times that they’ve now become meaningless. Yet now, standing here with him, none of it seems to be enough. So leaving behind my beautiful, well-prepared speech, I simply say, “Hello, yourself.”
Austin shifts his weight. “Look, Alessandra.” He thrusts his fingers through his hair. “Yesterday… Yesterday I—”
He breaks off, cursing under his breath, dumping the vase of blooms on the nearest table. With four long strides, he covers the distance between us and takes hold of my shoulders. “Yesterday I screwed up. I never should’ve left you like that. I just kept thinking about that guy putting his hands on you and I couldn’t stand it. The thought of losing you…” He swallows hard. “But when I was watching you tonight, I—”
“You watched my performance?” Everything about Austin’s speech has been perfect, but knowing he witnessed me up on that stage means more to me than any pretty promise or apology ever could.
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