A Tale of Two Centuries (24 page)

I have become too comfortable with the ways of this world. The freedom I am granted, the choices that I have. Here is where I’ve come to be the woman I always wanted to be, and can have the life I always dreamed of. Here is where I can create my own destiny.

I don’t know where I’ll stay. I can’t expect Cat’s father will just take me into his home and accept that I no longer have one of my own. But those are details for later.
If
Reyna agrees.

A very important
if.

She takes her time turning back. I stand frozen in place, waiting to gauge her reaction, conjuring up a thousand possibilities. But when she does turn, I am unable to read her expression.

Seconds tick by in anticipation. Not knowing whether I pushed too far is worse than any outburst.

A car drives down the street. The engine rumbles; its headlights illuminate the porch where we stand, lighting our alcove like the noonday sun, then driving away, shrouding us again in darkness. My cousin shifts on her feet. Lucas coughs.

Finally, just when I think I cannot take the silence any longer, Reyna asks me, “Is your request in earnest?” just as Cat leans close to my ear and whispers under her breath, “What are you
doing
?”

My gaze darts between them, but I do not answer. I can’t. It took everything I had in me even to make such a proposition in the first place. But as I remain silent, I can’t help but feel as though I failed somehow when a flash of emotion crosses Reyna’s face. It takes me a moment to decipher it, but when I do, any shred of hope I held for my future is dashed.

Disappointment
.

The smooth skin around Reyna’s eyes tightens. “Alessandra, staying here would affect much more than just you.” Her stare drills into me. “Such an act would change
history
.”

As she emphasizes the final word, the amber color of her eyes seems to glow and swirl in the darkness, lit this time not from a passing car but from a mystical source within. The girl inside me who still believes in things like signs and hidden meanings wants to believe it is for a reason, that she is sending me a silent message of some kind. But when she speaks again, I realize that is simply the childish, wishful stirring of my imagination. And perhaps a touch of slanted moonlight.

“I am truly sorry,” she says, “but a decision like that is not within
my
power.”

Her emphasis, this time on the word
my
, catches my attention. I furrow my brow, marveling over what she could mean, what force could be at work in this situation that is greater than she is.

Signore?

The fates?

As I consider the possibilities, my eyes leave hers, closing for just a moment. And in the second it takes for my lashes to lift, Reyna disappears. No windswept storm to ride on. No whispered chants. Simply gone.

And I burst into tears.

Chapter Twenty-five

The crunch of boots on gravel causes me to lift my weary head. I’d recognize that unmistakable tread anywhere.

I’m still standing in the open doorway to Cat’s house, the cold night air settling around me like a torn, tattered blanket that suffocates all the same. Until now, the only sound to pierce the thick silence has been my sobs, my cousin’s sharply whispered “not now” to Lucas’s obvious bafflement, and the lonely drone of a car engine fading into the distance. All have formed a depressing yet completely fitting accompaniment to my misery. But as the
thud
of Austin’s confident, purposeful footsteps joins the nighttime symphony, my agony reaches a new low.

The automatic porch light switches on, bathing his raven head in soft light, making him appear every bit the fallen angel I once proclaimed him to be, and I realize this may be—no, it
will
be—one of the last times I’ll ever see his handsome face. Ever hear the deep notes of his voice. Every fiber in my being wants to prolong this moment, to savor it and commit it to memory so I can take it out and relive it in the years to come, but for some reason I’m finding it difficult even to look him in the eye.

“What’s going on, Princess?”

Those deep notes I’ve grown to love so much hold a touch of concern and confusion, and that’s what finally prompts me to meet Austin’s gaze. And when I do, my breath catches at the pure joy—rather than his characteristic cool indifference—shining in his eyes.

Well, that is, until he sees my face.

Then fury, swift and ferocious, replaces it, and the ease with which he took his first steps up the driveway shifts to edgy, tense strides as his long legs devour the distance between us.

“What happened?” he barks at Cat, simultaneously sweeping me into his arms. He glides his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the tracks of my tears, and then places a feather-light kiss on my forehead. Before I can relax into the tender caress, he raises his head and swings around to Lucas. “Someone better start talking. Now.”

Lucas holds his hands palms up. “Hey, man, don’t look at me. I’m as lost as you are.”

Austin narrows his eyes but nods, then turns and targets Cat with his wrathful stare. I latch onto his arm. “Austin, neither of them is the reason for my tears.”

“Then what is?” he asks. A confused, hopeless look crosses his face. “Tell me, please, so I can fix it. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

His eyes bore into mine almost pleadingly as his hands rub my arms, and I open my mouth to tell him, but what can I say? The truth is too complicated.

Austin notices my hesitation, and his back stiffens. He takes a small step away from me. “Unless I’m the problem?”

Walls that have taken two weeks to topple erect themselves in an instant, and a fresh onslaught of tears spring forth. I shake my head at how right and how wrong his question is. A half laugh, half cry bubbles up in response, a mucus-filled, disgusting, blubbering sound that is not at all appealing.

His eyes widen. The protective façade falls away, and just before he pulls me back in and tucks me against his chest, I catch him mouth the words
help me
over my head.

Under my ear, the comforting sound of Austin’s heartbeat calms my own, and the feel of his strong hands rubbing soothing circles on my back makes me want to burrow into his skin. Warm breath fans across my cheek as he whispers, “I’m an idiot. It’s all right; I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.”

And therein lies the true problem, for soon Austin and I will be separated indefinitely, and he doesn’t even know it. And instead of focusing on his consoling words or the gentleness of his voice, the only thing I think is,
You might be here, but I won’t be for long.

I don’t know what to do next. Should I tell him about Reyna and where I come from, and risk having him not believe me? Or do I feign a brave face—or at the very least, a non-crying one—and pretend we have forever?

I decide the best I can aim for is somewhere in the middle and throw my arms around his neck. My emotions have a mind of their own tonight, but I will do everything I can to make the most of the little time we have left. My hands lock behind Austin’s head, and the thought crosses my mind that maybe if I never let go, I can somehow bring him home with me.

The image of Austin in my world of rules and regulations, pretentions and propriety makes me laugh—which really comes out closer to a splutter—and I snuggle my face into the soft folds of his cotton shirt. Inhaling the crisp scent of mint and soap that will forever be entwined with his memory, I say, “No, Austin, you aren’t the problem. You are everything that’s right. And I am so glad you’re here.”

His chest expands with a relieved breath and I hear the sound of his lips forming a smile. He places a kiss on the crown of my head, then cups my face in the palms of his hands. “Where else would I be? I go where you go, simple as that.”

I lower my lashes to hide my reaction, and a third hand, smaller and feminine, pats my back—Cat. I look over my shoulder to see her sympathetic smile. If anyone can understand what I am going through right now, she can. We share a look that needs no words, and with reluctance, I step out of Austin’s arms.

“So anyone gonna tell me who that woman was?” Lucas asks, looking between us. “Or maybe what the hell that was all about, worlds of possibilities, portals, and changing history?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Austin’s body tenses. “What woman?”

Lucas ignores him and takes a step closer, lowering his voice as if worried someone will overhear. “Because either someone slipped some funky mushrooms on our pizza tonight, or that woman just disappeared into thin air. And last time I checked, that wasn’t possible.”

Austin wraps his hand around my elbow and repeats his question, this time more aggressively. “What woman?”

His jaw clicks with frustration as he waits for me to answer, and I realize there is no way to avoid answering him. I shift my gaze to Lucas, watching his hands flex and clench at his sides, his body poised as if preparing for a battle he does not understand, and exhale a resigned breath.

I look at Cat. “We need to tell them.”

She closes her eyes and nods once.

This will not be easy.

“All right, guys, let’s go inside.” She takes Lucas’s hand and leads him to the door. “I think you’re both gonna want to sit down for this.”

My cousin doesn’t stop in the living room where we sat before, but continues down the hall to her bedroom. “In case anyone comes home early,” she explains as I walk in after the boys. She shuts the door behind me and locks it, testing the knob to ensure our privacy, then slides her arm around my shoulder. I rest my head against hers.

It’s time the boys hear the truth. I only hope they believe it.

…

The air conditioner whirs overhead, sending shivers down my arms. The springs in Cat’s heavenly mattress squeak, protesting under the amassed weight of four bodies. Austin squishes the feathers of her pillow in his hand, and the scent of rose fills the air. I must admit, all those nights I spent lying awake at home, fantasizing about the first time I would ever share a bed with a boy, I never dreamed it like this. Unmarried. Fully clothed. And with an audience.

The awkward trepidation and uncertainty, unfortunately, was always part of the fantasy.

Lucas looks at me and plunges his fingers through his curls. We’ve been sitting here for a full minute in silence, perhaps longer, neither Cat nor I sure of where to begin. How does one tell someone such a fantastical tale? Then I remember my cousin confided this very thing to me two years ago (interestingly enough, also in a bedroom) during her own time-travel jaunt. I further recall how hard it was for me to accept the truth. I’m not even sure I fully believed it until I saw Reyna appear on the street, watched her clothes transform from the drab servant outfit into her costume of veils, and witnessed the two of them go inside the green tent and vanish a short time later.

But as often as I have played back Cat’s confession that night, marveling at the way destiny works, I never thought I would be on this side of the conversation.

The mattress dips as Lucas shifts, and I hear his breath catch.

“Cat, is that
you?
”

Ripped from my memories, I shift my gaze to where he is staring and land on Lorenzo’s painting.
Well, it looks like we found our opening.

“Uh, yeah,” Cat says, turning to me. “It’s kind of an interesting story.”

She hesitates, perhaps waiting for me to jump in, but if such a thing as being an expert on explaining time travel exists, or at least a seasoned speaker on such a topic, my cousin would be it. I wave my hand, indicating she should go on, and she rolls her eyes.

“All right, then.” She tucks her legs underneath her and settles in like she is about to tell us a bedtime story, and proceeds to tell Austin and Lucas about her magical, fantastical trip back to the sixteenth century.

During the telling, Lucas’s eyebrows creep so far up his forehead that they nearly meet his hairline. Austin blinks his long, beautiful lashes, then fixes his deep blue gaze on me. His thoughts remain hidden in their depths, and I hug my legs to my chest, wishing I had some of Reyna’s powers so I could determine what he is thinking.

After explaining how it was she came to arrive in my time, she pauses, then looking at me, says, “And that’s where I met Less.”

One, two, three—

“Wait, what?”

At his outburst, Austin’s thoughts no longer remain hidden. Blatant incredulity is written all over his face, and even though I have been exactly where he is now, most likely questioning and doubting the very same things he is—such as my cousin’s sanity or if this is all a joke—I can’t help wishing he would just accept the truth without question. That somehow, he would just
know
.

But that, I suppose, would be too simple.

Instead of answering him, Cat strolls over to her desk and opens a drawer. As she pulls out a bright purple binder and flips the thick pages inside, Lucas watches her every movement. He hasn’t said a word yet, not even a grunt or disbelieving snort, but the squiggle between his eyebrows implies he shares Austin’s concerns about her sanity.

Austin isn’t watching my cousin, however. He’s watching me. And afraid of what I will see when (if?) he finally does accept the truth, I cast my eyes to my lap.

Cat plops down in the middle of the bed, seemingly unfazed by their obvious doubt. Only those closest to her know how she hides her insecurities, and knowing her as well as I do, I see the slight tremor of her fingers, the tension in her shoulders.

“When I came back home, I didn’t think anyone would believe me.” She laughs. “Hell, I didn’t plan on ever
telling
anyone, either, but just in case I needed to, I collected proof.”

“Proof?” I ask, wondering why she never mentioned this before.

She flinches, and my apprehension escalates. I know she didn’t forget to show this to me—she kept it a secret on purpose. But why would she feel the need to hide?

Tapping her manicured nails on the binder’s cover, she focuses her gaze on Lucas instead of me. “You see, as if the ability to travel through time wasn’t crazy enough, my gypsy girl let me bring my backpack with me. And along with much-needed toothpaste, deodorant, magazines, art supplies, and various electronics, I had my camera. Whenever people weren’t looking, or sometimes even when they were, I snapped shots.”

She opens the binder and begins flipping through pages of buildings, outfits, and food. I spot the familiar sight of Mama’s profile, and my heartbeat stutters over the gaping hole her absence has left. Then Cat stops on a page containing a picture of me covered in green goop, and blood rushes to my face.

“We all agree this is Less, right?”

The boys nod, and Austin’s lips twitch with amusement. I flash Cat a disgruntled look.
Could she not have chosen a less embarrassing photograph to prove her point?

Cat grins and flips another page, and then it is time for her breath to catch. I look down and discover why.

It’s a photograph of Lorenzo.

Lucas jerks and grabs the binder. She places her hand on his arm. “Lucas, meet Lorenzo. Lorenzo
Cappelli
, your Renaissance ancestor, and the artist who painted me there.”

Almost as one, four sets of eyes shift to the painting.

A muscle pops in Lucas’s jaw, and I can’t imagine what he is presuming. Cat bites her lip and picks at a nonexistent hangnail. “Luc, I know how it looks, but nothing happened. It was completely innocent. Most of that painting is artistic interpretation.”

I bite my tongue, deciding it best I not share my suspicions about all that Lorenzo glimpsed that day, and look back at the binder, pondering what else it contains.

Cat begins flipping pages again, an obvious attempt to refocus Lucas’s attention when she says, “But that’s not the painting I wanted to show you. He did one of Less, too.”

Now
my
eyes widen. Austin sits up straight and cracks his knuckles. When my cousin points at a page, he strains his neck to look over her shoulder, trying to smooth his facial muscles. But I see the tension snapping just below the surface. Knowing I never posed for such a painting, nor have any intention ever to do so in the future, I say, “That’s not possible.”

Lucas huffs. “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”

Cat lifts the book to her chest. “This is different. This is a painting Lorenzo did right before you got married, or, err,
get
married. He did it as a wedding gift to your bridegroom or some craziness.”

The word
bridegroom
hits me like a bucket of cold water. Austin visibly recoils.

Sure enough, she lowers the binder and exposes a printed replication of a portrait of me, sitting on my beloved fountain in my family’s courtyard. I am dressed in a gown Mama recently had done up for me, my current favorite, a light green surcoat with the most beautiful embroidery.