Gladly Beyond

  “No!” Claire cried out, moving involuntarily. Intent on throwing herself between me and danger.

  Ready to die to protect.

  But I was already in motion. Having anticipated what would happen.

  Instead of focusing on Pierce, I concentrated on Claire.

  As soon as she shifted, I moved with her. Keeping my body between her and Pierce.

  Not allowing her to sacrifice herself for me.

  A retort fired just as my body crossed in front of hers.

  “Noooooooo!” Claire screamed.

  Something hit my chest. Hard. Knocking every last ounce of air from my body.

  I slammed to the ground.

  Thirty-Nine

  Claire

  Dante collapsed in a crumpled heap, arms clutching his chest.

  “NOOOO!” I screamed, dropping my phone. Tears blinded. “No! Dante, my love! My heart—”

  “Your achy breaky heart?” Pierce’s snide voice sounded beside me.

  I whirled.

  My vision went red. Rage pounded through me.

  How dare this man steal my future. Again.

  Dimly, I noted Salvatore lunging to take down Pierce.

  But I beat him to it.

  I swatted the gun out of Pierce’s hand, sending it skittering.

  I was a thousand-pounds of fury.

  And I went full-banshee on his sorry ass.

  I kneed Pierce hard in the groin, sending him to the ground. And then I was on top of him.

  Jabbing, scratching, biting, pulling.

  Sobbing. Hysterical.

  Never more grateful in my life for my own size and height and his lack of it.

  “You will n-never t-take anything from me AGAIN!” Screaming. Berserk.

  I raked my nails across his face. Punched him in the eye.

  “GAME. OVER.”

  Salvatore hauled me off Pierce at that point, pushing me aside. He flipped Pierce and pinned his hands behind his back with ruthless efficiency.

  Three police officers ran up the stairs, instantly converging on Salvatore and Pierce, everyone jabbering in Italian at once.

  I staggered to Dante, coughing on the ground behind me. He was trying to rise on his hands and knees.

  “Dante, honey, babe. You g-gotta stay down . . . s-stay d-down.”

  I was bawling. Frantic. My hands roaming all over his body.

  He was breathing. He was alive.

  We could work through anything as long as he stayed alive.

  I clutched his shoulders and forced him to lie on his back. He was still coughing, choking.

  Feverishly, I ran my hands over his chest.

  And then paused.

  There was a clear bullet hole smack in the middle of his shirt. Right over his diaphragm.

  But no blood.

  I pushed his shirt up and then sagged in relief. Collapsing on his chest.

  Sobbing in earnest.

  “You’re okay,” I choked. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” I pulled back to glare at him. “But w-why the H-HELL didn’t you tell me you were w-wearing a b-bullet-proof vest!”

  Dante was still coughing.

  “T-Tennyson,” he managed to choke out. “Tennyson said . . . needed to wear it . . . promise . . . couldn’t tell you . . .”

  Crying uncontrollably, I buried my face into his neck and held him. Shaking. Shattered.

  And so damn relieved we were both still alive.

  People had swarmed out of the church and surrounding houses, watching all the excitement.

  At some point, one of the Italian emergency responders gently lifted me off Dante.

  I clutched Dante’s hand to my face as they carefully pulled off his shirt and then the bullet-proof vest. Dante had a nasty red welt smack in the middle of his chest which would likely develop into a terrible bruise.

  But no blood.

  He had just had the breath knocked out of him.

  “Sto bene, grazie. Sto bene,” he said over and over to the medics, waving them away.

  They helped him to his feet anyway.

  “Really, I’m okay,” he repeated, shaking out his arms and legs. “See. Just fine.”

  I didn’t wait for the medics to give him a green light.

  The second he was upright, I buried my face into his bare shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist, careful to avoid his bruised chest.

  He sagged, clutching me tight.

  “Claire. Love.” He breathed into my hair. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, refusing to let go.

  “I can’t believe this is over. We’re safe.” His lips brushed my hair. “We’re safe.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I half-sobbed. “If I had only known you were wearing that vest—”

  “Tennyson said you couldn’t know. That it was important somehow.”

  I hiccupped, letting the thought ping around my brain. Branwell’s bulkier, looser clothing had hid the vest from me. I never suspected Dante was wearing it.

  “If I had known you were wearing the vest . . .”

  “Would you have attacked Pierce if you knew I was okay?”

  I had to admit the truth. “No. Probably not. I would have been more cautious. I would have held back.”

  “That hesitation would have made all the difference. And not for the better. Pierce could have easily shot you too.”

  So close. I had been so close to losing him. Again.

  But we were still here. Warm. Alive. The sheer joy of holding his breathing body.

  “You kids hurt?” the Colonel’s voice asked from behind me. Concerned.

  I lifted my face enough to turn and look at him.

  His face was simply genuine worry.

  “Uhm, hello?! I am not okay.” Pierce groaned from the ground where he was handcuffed while being treated by a medic. “I’m the one Claire decided to beat up.”

  “Self-defense if I ever saw it.” The Colonel snorted, glancing back at Pierce. “Not to mention attempted murder of D’Angelo here. With Claire’s phone as evidence and a courtroom full of witnesses, I have a feeling you are about to become well-acquainted with the Italian judiciary system, Mr. Whitman.”

  I held Dante as the medics loaded Pierce onto a stretcher, him grumbling the whole time. I rolled my eyes. He had always been a whiner. Though Pierce did have the beginnings of what promised to be a spectacular black eye.

  From there, the carabinieri demanded Dante and I answer questions. Dante kept an arm around me as he chatted with them in crisp Italian. The Colonel remained at my side the entire time. Supportive.

  “What a day this has been.” The Colonel turned to me as the police finished their questions. “I am so sorry for this mess, darlin’. I should have said something sooner. I’m sure you’re frazzled today, but would you have a few minutes tomorrow to chat? I have questions for you. And I’m betting you have questions for me.” He shot a glance at Dante with his arm around me. “I would be honored if you brought Mr. D’Angelo with you.”

  “Thanks, Colonel.” I leaned forward from Dante’s arm and gave the Colonel a soft kiss on the cheek. “I would like that. It’s a date.”

  The Colonel smiled, patted my shoulder and walked over to Salvatore, who was waiting for him.

  My adrenaline had finally eased somewhat. At least I was no longer shaking.

  I glanced up at Dante. He smiled at me, eyes warm.

  It was the only warning I got.

  A second later, he had whirled me around and pressed my back into the stone wall of the church.

  And then he kissed me, lips fevered and branding. Not caring that the piazza was still full of people.

  Da-yum but the man could kiss.

  “You are never—” Kiss. “—ever—” Kiss. “—to scare me like that again,” he growled.

  I took his head in my hands. “Well, you are n-never allowed to die on me again. You hear that?”

  “I’ll probably need a lot of encouragement.” Complete deadpan.

&nbs
p; “Anything it takes.” Kiss. Kiss.

  “Really? That sounds all sorts of promising.” His voice pure honey.

  I laugh-choked, pushing at his shoulder. “I’m just so g-glad you’re okay . . .”

  “I am so much better than just okay, cara mia.”

  “Shut up. Too much talking.”

  I lost myself in the moment. In him. In the knowledge that this wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.

  A new path.

  Somewhere we had never traveled.

  A while later, he suddenly chuckled. Pulled back.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” Humor glinted in those plaid eyes. “It was awesome.”

  I laughed, tucking my face against his warm skin.

  He jostled my shoulder.

  “C’mon. Tell me.”

  I pulled back.

  “Cerise, my nanny.” I smiled up at him. Bright. Carefree. “Remember? She was big on life skills.”

  Forty

  Claire

  So that’s how it all played out, Colonel.” I sat back.

  Dante and I were in the Colonel’s . . . drawing room, I supposed, for lack of a better description. The room was too grand to be anything else. High, vaulted ceiling with scampering putti chasing nymphs painted in panels. (Baroque. Restored. Lovely.)

  I had just finished explaining to him about Ethan and Caro. Dante had already covered the ‘talents’ of his family.

  At San Savino, the Colonel had experienced the regression with us as my Uncle Richard. I was still shaking my head over it. I was also pretty sure the Colonel had been Mary, Caro’s former nanny and chaperone. My soul recognized that sense of rightness.

  Dante and I had talked it over the night before. Pierce had hiccupping shadows because there had been lives—like the one with Blackford—where Dante had a complicated love/hate relationship with Pierce’s soul. The same with the Colonel. Because the Colonel had been close with me in past lives (so it seemed), there were some lives where Dante had known and cared for him, as well.

  For his part, the Colonel had found the entire experience fascinating.

  He had already offered to hire Dante and Branwell too, excited to have access to their unique abilities.

  Pierce had confessed everything, his face splashed across news outlets world-wide. Someone even leaked the video footage I shot. (Whoops.) His father had flown down from London, appalled and horrified and deeply apologetic.

  Not that any of that would keep Pierce out of prison. Attempted homicide is prosecuted just as heavily in Italy as it is in the States.

  Before we broke up, Pierce had planted some malware on my phone, allowing him to track me and send nasty texts with ease. He said he just wanted me back, but it was more than that . . . he wanted me cowed and afraid. A sick sort of game.

  I cuddled closer to Dante on the sofa, resting my head on his shoulder. I couldn’t get close enough to him.

  “I want to know how you knew about Pierce, Colonel,” I said.

  It was the old man’s turn to look apprehensive.

  “I have been concerned about you for some time. Your mother mentioned you were getting terrible texts. I wanted to help, so I hired Salvatore to look into it—”

  “B-but why? Why would you want to help a virtual stranger?”

  He fixed me with those blue eyes of his.

  “You are so much like your grandmother, you know—”

  “Yes. I believe we’ve covered that in past conversations.”

  “But you”—he took in a deep breath of air—“you also bear a startling resemblance to my own mother.”

  I blinked. Turned to look at Dante.

  Yep. He looked just as surprised.

  “Adelaide and I fell madly in love,” the Colonel continued. “I would have done anything for her. But you have to understand. It was a different era. I was heir to an enormous estate and had painful responsibilities to my family. I couldn’t commit to Adelaide at that time. Not like she wanted. We broke off and next I heard, she was married to your grandfather. It wasn’t until much, much later that I did the math and realized that Tom’s birth was—shall we say?—suspicious.”

  An icy chill traced my spine. I stared into his eyes.

  Eyes that were the exact same color as my own.

  I covered my mouth with a shaking hand, vision suddenly blurry.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Colonel?”

  “I am an old man, Claire.” He spread his hands wide. “I thought I had no children or grandchildren. No one to pass things on to. I wanted to be sure, you see. So, forgive me. I had housekeeping at the hotel take some hair from your brush. They also took a tube of lipstick—”

  “For a DNA sampling?”

  He nodded. “I feared you suspected something. But I wanted to be sure. I actually confronted Adelaide about it when you were a teenager—”

  “When we were in Florence?”

  “Yes. I arranged for both of you to visit—”

  “But Grammy always said it was a legacy from a distant cousin . . .”

  He fixed me with his blue eyes. Shrugged. “Adelaide and I met. Chatted. I asked to know the truth about your father’s parentage. She refused to confirm or deny. She felt your grandfather was Tom’s father in every way that mattered. She made me promise to drop it. So I did, for years. But after Adelaide’s death . . . well, I wanted to know you so badly . . .”

  “You staged this whole audition thing just to meet me?”

  “Yes. I was going to tell you that night at dinner, but you seemed so concerned over the portrait of me with Adelaide. Anyway, now you know.”

  I gasped, trying to keep my crying polite.

  I don’t know why it meant so much to me. But it did.

  I had a . . . grandfather. A living one. Someone tied to Grammy.

  It was almost like getting her back.

  It took only ten seconds for my crying to go from polite to ugly.

  I pushed off the couch and let the Colonel wrap me in his arms.

  “I would like to keep you in my life, darlin’. I never got a chance to know my son. He was gone before I even realized he existed. But I would definitely like to get to know my granddaughter. Will you accept a lonely old man as a friend?” The Colonel’s eyes were suspiciously bright.

  “Y-yes,” I hiccupped. “B-but only if I can call you Gramps.”

  He pulled me to him. Fierce.

  “Ah, there’s my girl.” He tucked me close, smelling of aftershave and peppermint. I lapped up every second of it.

  I pulled away from him only after leaving an enormous wet spot on his shoulder.

  “Wow.” I wiped my thumbs under my eyes. “I’ve cried more in the last few days . . .”

  Dante stood up and hugged me, obviously not wanting to be left out of the loop.

  “Would you be willing to stand one more surprise?” the Colonel asked.

  I smiled and nodded.

  He led us through to the formal dining room. A white sheet spread out on the table.

  A familiar drawing on top of it.

  “Oh!” I clutched Dante’s arm, torn between laughing in glee or staring in astonishment. “You have it. I mean, of course, you have it. But . . .”

  “It’s beautiful,” Dante said.

  I stared down at the drawing. A little smaller than Caro’s copy.

  This one was on paper. Done in a mixture of silverpoint and chalk. Detailed. Shaded. One corner very slightly charred.

  Caro had made an excellent copy. But this . . . this breathed the master’s hand.

  “May I?” Dante gestured toward it.

  “Please.”

  Gently, Dante touched just the very edge of the paper. Eyes glazing with concentration.

  “What an amazing talent,” the Colonel whispered at my side.

  A second later, Dante stood upright. Turned with a smile.

  “I’ve always said Michelangelo was as talented as he was ugly.”

  I laughed a
s the Colonel clapped his hands in delight.

  “I think this calls for a celebration!”

  It did indeed.

  Epilogue

  Claire

  I’m still trying to understand how something—which began so empty—ended so full.

  Sometimes, you just have to accept the happiness that comes your way.

  I arrived in Florence so alone it hurt. A vast well of . . . nothing.

  But in the end, I acquired not only a grandfather, but the other half of my heart and his family menagerie.

  I had learned one more truth from Grammy:

  A soulmate will load your fear on his own back and hold your hand through the dark, leading you into the light.

  Only those who truly love you have the power to heal you.

  The sun was out, cheery and sunnily Italian, threading through the vines overhead as we ate lunch on the rooftop terrace of the D’Angelo palazzo.

  We were eating Mexican food—because, hey, Taco Tuesday—and, as Judith eloquently put it, a true American can only go so long without chips and salsa. #Truth.

  The Colonel—Gramps—flirted shamelessly with Nonna. Turns out he knew a little Italian himself. Though Dante said it was more sailor-raunchy than polite.

  Given how much Nonna laughed, I don’t think she minded.

  I was living with Gramps now in his villa. Yes, I was cataloging his enormous art collection along with Dante and Branwell.

  But my job was secondary to my role as the Colonel’s granddaughter. We laughed, drank bourbon together and cheated shamelessly at poker.

  It’s a gift . . . when Fate brings two lonely people together.

  But, then, my life was full of gifts.

  Earlier in the week, I had asked Dante and Gramps to take a pilgrimage with me to the Palazzo Vecchio in downtown Florence.

  I handed my camera to a passing tourist who kindly snapped our picture.

  The three of us together. Me in the middle with Dante and Gramps leaning in from each side. All grinning in front of Michelangelo’s David. Ethan in his top-hatted glory resting against the statue base behind us. A faint smile on his lips.

  Dante had the photo framed the next day. It now sat on my nightstand. Next to the picture of me and Grammy in the same place all those years ago.

  Today, I relaxed at the lunch table, downing delicious carnitas swimming in fresh salsa and avocado. I probably would have fallen sooner for Dante had he wooed me with his amazing culinary skills.