Dante's Dilemma (a Dante Legacy Novella) (9 page)

Without another word, she slipped her hand in Rom’s and headed in the direction of the Rossis’ cottage. “You’re making a mistake,” Serena called after her.

“It’s my mistake to make,” she whispered, even though her sister couldn’t hear.

But Rom did. “Is it a mistake?”

She glanced down at their joined hands and shook her head. “It doesn’t feel like one.”

“Will she tell the others?”

Julietta shrugged. “I hope not. But it’s a possibility. There’s…” She chose her words with care. “There’s a lot at stake, and she might feel the family’s well-being is more important than keeping our secret.”

“I’d rather be up front about it. Tell our families and Tito the truth.”

“And what do you think will happen if we do?” she argued. “My family will lock me away until the wedding. Yours will insist you return to Florence. And your friendship with Tito will be destroyed.”

“My friendship with Tito was destroyed the moment I saw you. The instant I touched you.”

She didn’t debate the point. How could she when he spoke the truth? “How is it possible that one man’s touch can be so wrong and another’s so perfect?”

Rom paused within sight of the Rossi cottage and pulled Julietta into a loose embrace. “If it had been my choice, I’d never have fallen in love with you.” His statement held a touch of apology. “You’re my best friend’s fiancée.”

“It could have been worse,” she insisted quietly. “I could have already been married to Tito. Or what if I’d never become engaged to him at all? We’re from different worlds. My village is several hours away from yours. If not for my engagement, we might never have met.”

“Perhaps that’s part of The Inferno’s blessing. It found a way to bring us together when we’d never have met under normal circumstances.”

Julietta frowned. “This Inferno… It’s the reason I hated Tito kissing me, when it never bothered me before. That’s why I fought him, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” He traced the edge of her torn dress, from her collarbone to the upper curve of her breast. “You seem so fragile. So vulnerable. I don’t dare touch you again, not even to reassure you.”

Julietta smiled. “I’m not all that fragile. I promise I won’t break. But I don’t dare touch you, either. I’m not strong enough to stop.”

“You realize you can’t go through with this marriage, don’t you?”

“I thought I could, until…” She shuddered.
“Dio mi perdoni
, what am I going to do? It will destroy my family if I refuse to marry Tito.”

“Your family will survive. Either Tito will buy the vineyard flat out, or he’ll choose one of your other sisters instead.” He attempted to joke. “Maybe no one’s bothered to tell you, but arranged marriages are a thing of the past.”

Her laugh held more pain than amusement. “Not in Santa Lucia. Not in my village, either. And not when it comes to the Bianchi family.” She spoke with difficulty. “My parents have always done everything within their power to keep my family safe, even during the war when safety had more to do with luck than anything else. Is it any wonder I trust them to make wise decisions on my behalf?”

“Do they not allow their daughters to marry for love?” he asked gently.

“Yes, but only if love coincides with more practical concerns.”

Rom simply nodded. “My friends in Florence might laugh at the old-fashioned, rustic ways of village life. But certain traditions are slow to change. This is one of them.” He fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Even if Tito weren’t in the picture, they’d never agree to a marriage between us, would they?”

She hesitated for a mere second before shaking her head, not bothering to prevaricate. Rom wouldn’t appreciate her giving him anything but the straight, unvarnished truth. “No.”

“Because I’m a bastard.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He took her hand in his and allowed their palms to lock together. “Not to mention the Dante family’s curse. They probably wouldn’t appreciate dealing with that, any more than you do.”

She looked at him with undisguised curiosity, combined with a hint of compassion. “Do you really consider The Inferno a curse rather than a blessing?”

He shrugged. “I suppose it’s two sides of the same coin. It just depends which side comes up when the coin is flipped. Whatever this is, it hasn’t given you any more of a choice than your parents insisting you marry Tito. The Inferno drives you into my arms, whereas your parents force you to the altar to wed a man you don’t love. You didn’t ask for this marriage or for The Inferno. And if you had, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to either one.”

“I’m not sure.” Her brows drew together, and her gaze turned thoughtful. “Do all Dantes experience The Inferno? Even your relatives in Florence?”

“My grandfather’s cousins are a different branch of the Dante tree. So, their Inferno is experienced differently.”

He’d intrigued her. “How does it work with them?”

He drew a shape on her palm. “Instead of the burn you and I share, a mark shows up, a different one for each Dante. When it appears, they know they’ve touched their soul mate. Since it can take as long as a week for the mark to manifest, they must figure out which of the many women they may have touched is the one meant for them.”

“Does the woman also carry a mark?”

Rom frowned. “Eventually, I guess. At least, all the women who have married my Dante cousins bear one. I’ve asked how it works, but they just laugh and wink. So, I’m not sure what causes the mark to appear, though I could speculate about various possibilities.” He smiled. “None of which are appropriate to share with you.”

“Mmm. I think I can guess,” she retorted dryly.

His smile grew. “To be honest, if I must choose one type of Inferno, I prefer this one since I knew the instant we touched that you were the one.”

She had one final question, one that had plagued her from the start. “And how long does The Inferno last?”

“Forever.”

“Truly?” She couldn’t help the doubt underscoring her question. “Forever?”

He nodded. “One man and one woman for all the years they live. I’m not sure I fully understood—or believed it possible—until I met you. But I understand now. I believe now.”

“Do you also believe we’ll always feel this way about each other?”

He gave it to her straight. “The Inferno strikes once and only once, Julietta. Dantes have a single soul mate in the whole of the world. Most of the time we are fortunate enough to find her, as I have found you. Sometimes a Dante spends his entire life looking and never discovers the woman meant to be his mate. In that case, he either spends his days alone, or settles for a pale reflection of the real thing.”

“Is that what your mother did after your father died?”

He shook his head. “She rarely spoke of The Inferno. She believes it’s a curse and claimed it died with my father.” She caught the underlying pain sweeping through his words, and her heart went out to him. How horrible to be told the love your parents felt for one another was cursed. “But I always thought she lied in order to protect the life she shares with Luigi. Now that I’ve experienced The Inferno, I’m even more certain she lied. There’s no question in my mind that what I feel for you will last until the end of my days.”

Exhaustion settled over her, catching her off guard. “I’m sorry, Rom. Everything is happening so fast. I can’t think straight.”

He tucked her close. “It’s natural to have doubts, especially when what your heart tells you is at odds with what your head is saying.”

“Or my family.”

“Yes. At some point you’ll need to choose between head and heart. Between what your family expects and what is right for you.” He cupped her face and tilted it up. “You’ll need to choose between me and Tito.”

“When you hold me, touch me, the choice is so simple.”

He kissed her, his mouth slow and delicious on hers. He didn’t rush the embrace. Nor did he deepen it, much to her disappointment. Finally, he released her. “It isn’t the choice that’s difficult. It’s what happens after you’ve made that choice. I won’t force you, Julietta. It has to be your decision.”

Midday the next day, Rom approached the cottage the Bianchi family was using until Julietta’s wedding. He could tell the instant Julietta sensed him. She stood in front of a window box, gently prying a clump of dying roses free from their hard-packed dirt bed. Once again, she wore a simple cotton dress, faded from repeated washings and the bleaching rays of the sun. She’d tied a gardening apron around her trim waist and protected her complexion with the same wide-brimmed straw hat she’d carried when he’d first come across her in the meadow. This time she wore her hair up, the hip-length mass gathered in a heavy knot at the nape of her neck.

At his approach, her back went rigid, and she stilled, as though taking a moment to gather him in and absorb his very essence. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said without turning around.

He responded with simple honesty. “I couldn’t stay away.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her reproving frown belied by the amusement in her gaze. “And what will you say if people ask why you’re here?”

“I’ll tell them the truth,” he answered promptly. “Tito told me his fiancée possesses shockingly plump fingers and asked me to resize the engagement ring.”

She laughed at his teasing. Then her humor faded—no doubt at the reminder of all that stood between them. In its stead came a pain Rom would have given anything to ease. “The ring’s too constricting to wear.” She touched a spot beneath the bodice of her dress. “I put it on the chain that holds my crucifix.”

The irony of her comment didn’t escape him. “That ring will never be the right fit because you and Tito aren’t the right fit.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And we are?”

“You already know the answer to that.” She frowned at the flowers she’d upended, and he joined her, clicking his tongue in dismay. “You’re like these plants, Julietta. If you stay in Santa Lucia, you’ll be as choked and root-bound as they are.”

“And if I don’t stay? Where will we go… after? Assuming there is an after.” She stroked the faded roses with a gloved hand. “Florence?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t told her about his job offer or his plan to move to California. He didn’t want to panic her. But she deserved to know. Deserved to have all the facts before she made her final decision. “Not Florence.”

Her brows pulled together. “But your job is in Florence, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “I’ve been offered a new job. One that will give me the freedom to become a better craftsman. To create my own line of jewelry and receive credit for it.”

She swiveled to face him, her expression alight with joy on his behalf. “Rom, that’s wonderful. Where’s this new job?”

He took a deep breath. “In America. San Francisco, to be precise. That’s a city in California.”

Her excitement stuttered, fading away, and she stared in disbelief from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat, her eyes dark and shadowed. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious.”

She averted her gaze and returned the small spade she held to her gardening basket. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and she moistened her lips.

“America,” she repeated. “You want me to go with you to America?”

“As my wife, yes.”

Julietta stared blindly at the uprooted roses. “I anticipated having to leave home. If I don’t marry Tito, I couldn’t very well stay. But, I thought we’d live in Florence. I… I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking. I don’t know if I can leave my family and move so far away.”

“We can do it, together.”

“Just like that?” she marveled. “Move away from all we’ve ever known? My roots are here. My family is here. I… I don’t even speak English.”

He strove to find the words to convince her. “For some people, it would be impossible. But not for us. We’re not like most people from Santa Lucia.” He looked around, searching for an analogy. His gaze landed on the nearby grove, and he gestured in that direction. “It’s not like we’re those orange trees, trapped in a grove.”

Despite the underlying seriousness, she shot him a look of amusement. “Then what are we?”

“We’re whatever we choose to be. Don’t you see, Julietta?” Passion filled his voice. “We’re people, people who don’t have to follow the dictates of those who would force us to be something we’re not.”

She slapped the dirt from her gloves and planted her hands on her hips. “How do you know I’m not happy being an orange tree?” she asked in exasperation.

He plucked a pair of shears from her gardening basket. “Do you see those geraniums in the window box over there?”

“I see them.”

“Despite the lack of attention, they’re flourishing. The rain nourishes them, the sun warms them. They are happy to remain in their box doing whatever it is geraniums are content doing.”

“So now we’re geraniums?”

“No.
We
are roses.” He examined the dying plant she’d removed from the box and shook his head. “Look at the poor thing. The roots are wrapped so tightly around themselves, they can’t get sufficient nourishment. Roses don’t do well stuck in a box.”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “And Santa Lucia is our box?”