Venom (51 page)

Cass didn’t know what to say. She stared into Luca’s eyes—patient, warm, kind. He would be an excellent husband. An almost-perfect husband. But would he be the perfect husband for her? Cass didn’t know.

Just then, something moved in the shadows. Instinctively, Cass tensed up. Her head whipped around as a figure emerged from the taverna behind them.

It was Falco, holding a canvas sack over his shoulder. He froze, watching her and Luca, and Cass saw them as he must: standing close like lovers, their arms intertwined. He was still at a distance, but his stare radiated heat. Not anger, just his own peculiar energy.

Luca did not appear to notice her attention had been distracted. “Will you go with me?” he prompted. “As my wife?”

“I—” Cass looked up into Luca’s face. Her fiancé would love her and protect her. He understood pain and loyalty. He would die to keep her safe.

Falco was moving now, walking toward the shoreline. Cass’s heart rose into her throat. Her first love. Falco understood her desire to be free from expectations. The man who would support her in living the life she wanted to live.

But what life was that?

Cass stood frozen, unable to decide. Luca was still staring at her expectantly. Falco reached the two of them, raising his blue eyes just long enough to give her a single soft look as he passed by.

As Falco waved an arm to signal a passing fisherman, the sun dipped completely below the horizon. And with the darkness came clarity. The answer had been in front of her the whole time. Cass knew what she must do.

C
ass sat at Agnese’s bedside, the two of them sharing a late supper together, while Luca was attending to business at his family palazzo.

“I daresay you’ve had a more exciting week than Signorina Rambaldo’s,” Agnese commented. She raised a forkful of vegetables to her lips.

Cass smiled, pleased at how smoothly her aunt manipulated the utensil. Maybe Agnese was getting stronger. “
Too
exciting,” she said. “I’m looking forward to lazing about the villa for a few days. Would you believe me if I said I was even looking forward to next week’s studies?” Agnese had arranged for Cass’s literature tutor to present a few more lessons.

Agnese’s gray eyes sparkled. “No, I would not.” She fidgeted beneath her velvet coverlet. “Would you call one of the servants to help lift me up in the bed a bit?”

“I can do it,” Cass said. Before her aunt could protest, Cass stood from her chair. She wrapped her hands under her aunt’s arms and helped readjust her position. She felt a brief pang as she realized how light her aunt was—like a bird, all hollow bones. Their faces touched
briefly, and Cass caught a whiff of rosewater perfume. It reminded her of her mother.

“How’s that?” she asked brightly.

“Lovely, dear,” her aunt said. “I’m only just beginning to realize how strong you are.” She pointed at a white box on her dressing table. “Would you bring me that parcel, please?”

Cass fetched the package from across the room. It was a medium-sized box with a lilac ribbon tied around it. As she went to place it in her aunt’s hands, Agnese shook her head with a smile. “It’s for you.”

“Me? Why?”

Agnese’s thin lips curved up into a smile. “I meant it for your birthday, but after the week you’ve had, I thought you deserved a little present.”

Cass untied the lilac ribbon, slipping it into her pocket. Slipper would enjoy playing with it later. She lifted the lid off the box. Nestled beneath the cover was a thick book, bound in soft black leather. Cass folded back the cover. The pages were blank.

“It’s a new journal,” Agnese said. “As much as you’ve had to write about lately, I figured you might have run out of pages.”

Cass cradled the leather-bound book to her chest. It was the perfect gift. Her aunt didn’t even know her old journal had disappeared, yet somehow she had figured out exactly what Cass needed. Maybe that was the magic of family. Maybe the invisible threads that connected Cass to her aunt weren’t as frail as she had always imagined. Maybe they were giant ropes that would hold the two of them together in the stormy republic of Venice.

For the first time, Cass didn’t think being bound to her aunt would be such a bad thing. She had more to learn from Agnese, about life, love, and the world.

“Thank you,” she whispered, surprised to feel tears pressing behind her eyes. “It’s perfect.” She excused herself quickly and headed back to her bedchamber.

Cass pushed into the room and took a seat at her dressing table. She pulled a quill from her drawer. She lit her oil lamp, letting her fingers trace the flower patterns in the smooth surface. For a moment she sat, staring into space, thinking about all that had happened in just a few short weeks.

There were still so many questions Cass wanted answered: first and foremost, where was Feliciana? If Cristian hadn’t harmed her, where was she? Poor Siena wouldn’t be whole until her sister returned safely.

And was Feliciana’s disappearance connected to the murders? What was the significance of the flower inside the circle? Could it be connected to the Order of the Eternal Rose that Luca had asked her about? She’d seen the symbol on rings worn by Cristian and Donna Domacetti, and on the outside of Angelo de Gradi’s gore-filled workshop. Were the three of them involved in something sinister? And if so, how did Joseph Dubois fit in? Cass was certain Dubois was the key to linking everything else together. And what had Luca meant when he implied that the murders were part of something larger?

She sighed, and pushed thoughts of Cristian and conspiracy out of her mind. She felt older, much older, than she had only a month ago. She had done some things in the past few weeks that could be viewed as wrong, hurtful even. But she had lived, and loved, and made the right decision for herself in the end.

Cass thumbed through the pages of the journal, surprised when her finger caught midway through. A loose piece of parchment fell
out of the middle of the book. Cass could hardly believe it. It was Falco’s sketch—the faceless nude girl he had given to Cass weeks ago. Agnese must have been the one who found the cloak thrown over the side table. The old woman had known about the drawing the whole time.

What if Agnese thought that Cass had posed for the sketch? Her cheeks burned. She stood, preparing to rush back to her aunt’s bedchamber and account for the drawing.

But then she stopped. Obviously, Agnese wasn’t upset, or she’d have confronted Cass when she first discovered the drawing. She recalled the conversation from Palazzo Domacetti, how the women at tea had insinuated that Agnese hadn’t always been stodgy and strict. Cass struggled with the idea of her aunt ever being young and impulsive, but many people had surprised her lately. It only made sense that there was more to Agnese as well.

Cass smiled down at the sketch as she remembered the way Falco had teased her about being embarrassed of her own body. He had seemed so crass back then, before she fell in love with him. Cass touched the drawing to her heart, just for a second. Then she hid it deep within the journal’s empty pages. This was one story she would keep to herself. Not everything needed to be explained.

The thought reminded her of something Liviana had said to her once. Before Livi got sick, she and Cass had been playing in Agnese’s garden when a funeral party brought a body to be interred in the cemetery. The girls has snuck through the gate and hidden themselves behind a monument, watching as the shrouded body was carried inside a tomb by men wearing black.

“But if they lock the door,” Cass had said, “how will his soul get out so it can go to heaven?”

“I don’t know,” the younger girl had answered. “Maybe souls can walk through walls, like ghosts.”

“And will he float up through the sky?” Cass asked. “Or will angels come down and carry him away?”

Liviana had shrugged, but her face remained serene, as if these were questions that simply didn’t bother her.

“But don’t you want to know how it happens?” Cass persisted, thinking of her own parents, who had died just a few months earlier. Were their bodies trapped somewhere, their spirits unable to ascend?

“Not everything is simple,” Liviana had said. “Sometimes things are better off left as mysteries, don’t you think?”

Cass didn’t think so at the time. Now she wasn’t as sure. Maybe she should forget about flowers inscribed in circles and missing bodies and corruption that ran so deep that men got away with murder. Maybe she should focus on enjoying what time she had left with her aunt. Cass didn’t know if she could do that, but she knew what she
could
do.

She ripped a single blank page from her new journal.

She looked up from her letter and crumpled it. She tore another page from the book.

Cass sighed. She set that letter aside too. She’d never be able to send it anyway. Falco was gone. She might never see him again.

Cass dipped her quill into the ink and touched it to the first page of the journal. She wrote:

Extra-special thanks to Lexa Hillyer and Lauren Oliver for supporting and believing in me even when I had doubts. This has been a Cinderella-like experience, and I’m hoping the clock doesn’t strike midnight for a very long time. Also to Jill Santopolo, Julia Johnson, and everyone at Philomel who helped mold this book into something truly deserving of the Philomel brand. Beth Scorzato and Eleanor Herman, thank you for your awesome pitches and your tireless commitment to historical accuracy. Stephen Barbara and the people at Foundry Literary + Media, thanks for your part in making dreams come true and for getting the word out internationally. This book is going to be published in more languages than I will ever know how to speak. How cool is that?

Mom, Paul, Vicky (ahem, alphabetical order, no fighting), thanks for your never-ending support, random edible gifts that kept me from starving, and for not disowning me when I went AWOL from the family for weeks at a time. You guys are right—I do too much. (But I don’t see that changing anytime soon.)

More thanks:

To Jennifer Laughran, for good advice and not giving up on me.

To all my awesome critique pals, and to the Blueboarders, some of whom provided more guidance and encouragement than they will probably ever know. Also to Connie, for knowing when to be my cheerleader and when to tell me to suck it up.