A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2 Page 9

  That has to be the fifth time she has asked me that question, and I still have no answer. But she is right—Austin did recite the lines as if he were from my time. Perchance that is why my heart and brain are in such conflict. My heart wants to believe that the Romeo version is the real one. But that was an illusion, “too flattering-sweet to be substantial.”

  I just have to keep reminding myself of the very words Austin whispered as he walked offstage, that it was all but a dream and the real Austin is the boy who taps on his desk, listens to annoying music instead of hardworking instructors’ lectures, and sends silent, brooding glares but otherwise ignores the pleasant-enough-looking girl sitting and gawking beside him.

  I wrinkle my nose.

  That last part may be a bit personal. But the rest is definitely accurate.

  “I do not know,” I tell her honestly.

  Cat tilts her head, watching me for a moment more, and I see the instant she decides to give up the inquisition. I sag in relief.

  “Well, as exciting as all that was,” she says, digging in her purse, “the fun’s not over yet. Jenna got back today, and apparently Angela and her mom are coming over to talk sweet sixteen plans.”

  She whips out her cell phone, showing me the text from her future stepmother. Modern communication is nothing if not convenient. She pockets her phone and stares at the plush gray carpet beneath our feet, the corners of her mouth turning up wistfully. “I wonder if Lucas will tag along.”

  Maybe it is remembering the soft smile on Lucas’s face when he spotted Cat or the romantic scene I just read with Austin, but I surprise even myself by saying, “You know, he seemed rather nice in our French class.”

  Cat’s head shoots up and her gaze sharpens, and I realize I failed to mention our shared subject.

  Eagerly hiking a foot under her, she twists toward me on the seat and starts worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. In her eyes, I can see the battle brewing as she fights asking the question I know she wants to ask. Finally, she gives in. “Did he say anything about me?”

  As soon as the question is asked she shakes her head. “No, don’t answer that. It’ll only make it worse. Ugh, why am I turning into such a girl?”

  I cannot help but grin at the theatrics. It is a shame she is so against claiming her acting lineage; clearly, she has a gift. “And is it so bad, being a girl?”

  “Yeah,” she answers automatically. “It is.”

  Silently, Cat pats her hip, just over the spot where her pear tattoo lays. The night my cousin told me the truth, that she was not Patience D’Angeli from sixteenth-century London but Cat Crawford from twenty-first-century Beverly Hills, she also confided the details of her unfortunate past. I remember at the time it seemed almost impossible to believe that a mother would abandon her family, leaving behind a five-year-old daughter and loving husband, to chase a selfish dream. A forbidden dream in my world. The dream of the stage.

  But getting to know Cat then and being here now eliminates any trace of uncertainty. And watching her deliberately seek out the representation of her pain, the symbol she told me she chose to remind her that the heart cannot be trusted, slices my heart in two. There are many reasons to loathe the woman who gave birth to my beautiful, audacious cousin, but the wounds she inflicted when she left have to be the biggest.

  Aloud Cat says, “Less, being with your family taught me a lot. I’m not the same person I was before Reyna sent me on my gypsy adventure. I have a relationship with Jenna now, and I have Hayley. I’m even slowly giving up my constant need to be perfect. But I’m still scared.” She shrugs. “There doesn’t seem to be a magic button for that.”

  “And Lucas scares you?” I ask, now thoroughly confused. I have been unsure if I should encourage her obvious feelings for him, but if Lucas is dangerous, it makes my decision much easier.

  She sighs. “With Lorenzo it was different. It didn’t matter what I wanted or wished; I knew our relationship couldn’t last. Eventually I’d find my way home again. So even though being with him was amazing, it wasn’t real. Not really. Lorenzo was safe. Lucas isn’t.”

  I gently nod, wanting her to continue, wanting to understand. In my world, in my social circle, people rarely marry for love. It is not that the marriages never lead to love, but freedom to pursue whomever you choose does seem to complicate matters a bit more.

  Cat leans her head back against the seat, suddenly looking tired. “Lucas lives here, Less. In my time. And unless his family moves again, he’s always gonna be here. But if I give in to this feeling of connection and explore the possibility that he and I could ever have what Lorenzo and I almost did, then what happens if Lucas stays here but leaves me? What if he gets to know me, the real me, without my mom’s tabloid craziness and my dad’s glitz and glam, and loses interest?” She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “People have a tendency to do that.”

  A bump in the road jostles us, and Cat throws an arm out, instinctively protecting me. When she looks up, I see that rare vulnerability back in her eyes.

  Outside my darkened window, the world passes in a blur of green and blue, reminding me of the horror of yesterday’s ride. So much has changed in the last twenty-four hours, and if my time-travel experience is anything like my cousin’s, more change is to come. But it will not solve everything—Cat’s fear is proof of that. I guess some things take a little more time…and perhaps one of the reasons Reyna sent me here is to help finish the work fate began.

  A Cat-like plan starts forming in my brain.

  I wrap an arm around my cousin’s shoulder and squeeze her tightly. “You will always have me.” She looks up, a rueful smile on her face, and I shake my head. “It matters not whether I’m here in body or merely in your heart. We are family, Cat.”

  All through the drive back home, I think through the night ahead. And the more my plan comes into shape, the more excited I become. Now I just have to ensure that Lucas is worth my efforts. And hope that he joins his mother and sister at the meeting tonight.

  The moment we open Cat’s front door, an effervescent woman with big blond hair and a bigger smile envelops us both in a generous hug. Cat gives me an indulgent grin, and I know I am finally meeting the infamous soon-to-be stepmother.

  “You must be Alessandra,” Jenna says, stepping away to close the still-open door. “Peter has told me all about you, and I’m just so sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you.”

  Guilt washes over me anew at the deceit. It would have been difficult for her to be present when she had not even been aware of my arrival. “It is perfectly all right,” I tell her. “Mr. Crawford has been more than accommodating.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure he has, but there are some things women are just better at, am I right?” She wraps her arm around my elbow, then repeats the gesture with Cat and begins leading us to the dining room. “But now that I’m here, we’ll get all caught up and become instant friends, I can tell.”

  She jumps into an energetic retelling of her recent travels, and I try to follow their conversation, but my chest grows tighter and tighter. Jenna is everything I expected her to be. She is jovial, welcoming—and reminds me so completely of my own mother that an overwhelming sense of melancholy crashes around me. In a way, I am grateful. It is as if fate put her here to provide me a sense of comfort in the midst of chaos, a bittersweet reminder of home and all that I am missing. But watching the spirited way Jenna converses, smooths her hand along Cat’s hair, and repeatedly finds ways to show her affection, it also prompts an intense longing for home.

  How I wish Mama could be here with me.

  The doorbell rings, making me jump. Aware that there are no servants to answer the door as I have at home, I say, “I’ll get it,” hoping the walk to the entryway will shake off my unhappiness. I can’t spend my time here wishing for home. I need to embrace every moment I have while I can—before the other two signs are revealed.

  With a decisive nod at my encouraging internal speech, I stroll through the atrium, choosi
ng to focus on thoughts of how my mother would react to the scandalous clothing I arrived in instead. With a wide grin, I open the door.

  On the other side of the threshold stands an adorable girl fidgeting with the strap of her handbag. And behind her, instead of the mother who was to bring her, is Lucas.

  Smiling at the way fate works, I glance around to see if they came alone.

  Lucas nods to the rumbling vehicle parked behind him. “Mom’s on the phone in the car.”

  The trace of an Italian accent takes me aback. Cat did say he spent a few years in Milan, so I should have expected it. Misjudging my reaction, Lucas quickly adds, “She’ll join us in a few minutes. Angela was just excited to get started.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, I look at the girl who appears fascinated with the flower doormat. Cat told me she was shy. Being nervous around strangers myself, I offer a smile of solidarity when she glances up. She grins in return.

  Angela seems very sweet…but, if I had to guess, I would have to say the other Cappelli sibling was the one eager to get inside.

  Stepping back, I motion for them to enter. “Prego, vieni.” Angela’s small smile grows as she steps over the threshold.

  As I lead them to the dining room, I go back over my plan. Tonight’s agenda is simply to observe. In true Cat style, I have fashioned what she calls a checklist, and I will (hopefully) mark items off as the night progresses. In determining if Lucas is a proper suitor for Cat, the first attribute I will be looking for is his heart. Though my cousin never sees these qualities in herself, she is the kindest, most loyal, and most loving person I have ever met. She deserves to have someone who cares about her just as ardently as Lorenzo did and who has as much love to give her as she will give him.

  After ascertaining the condition of Lucas’s heart, since I already know about his talent and shared interest in art, I will watch how he interacts with others. In particular, his younger sister, a person with whom he spends a great deal of time and undoubtedly knows him best. I will also watch how he behaves around his mother and Jenna.

  Mama always said you could tell a lot about a person by the way he treats his elders.

  And finally, I will pay close attention to both Cat and Lucas and how they interact with each other. If I am to support his suit to win her heart, I must see a hint of the sparks and smiles I saw her share with Lorenzo.

  Truly, it is a tall order for one evening.

  The sound of laughter guides our path to the dining room. When we enter, Cat is looking at Jenna, the future stepmother she once despised, with a radiant smile. The shell she sometimes erects to protect herself from the outside world is gone.

  Launching into my self-assigned role, I turn to Lucas and am gratified to see the soft look in his eyes again. The one I felt across the chaotic cafeteria, and the one that got my begrudging admission that perhaps there could be another for Cat.

  Lucas’s heart, check.

  Then Cat turns and sees us, and her smile falters—not in an angry or upset-that-Lucas-came way but in a sad, regretful way. The taut muscles in her neck work as she swallows heavily, as if she is repressing the words left unspoken between them, and she shifts her attention to Angela. “Hey, Ang. Good to see you.”

  The shy girl from the threshold blossoms under my cousin’s attention, and her rounded shoulders straighten. She skips over to Cat and throws her arms around her—and judging by Cat’s wide eyes, the action is a surprise for her as well.

  “You, too,” Angela says, pulling back. “As much as Lucas talks about you, I thought I’d see you over the break. Guess Christmas got a little crazy, huh?”

  A touch of pink glows under the bronze of Lucas’s skin, and I rub my mouth to hide my grin. As for my cousin, she appears both pleased and guilty over Angela’s inadvertent slip. Lucas clears his throat, and his sister scrunches her forehead, seeming confused over the sudden tension in the room.

  “I have some great ideas for your party, Angela,” Jenna says, her voice pitched a bit higher that before. She pulls out a chair and ushers the future birthday girl to sit in it, and the rest of us follow in turn, taking seats around the large oak table. Patting the girl’s hand, Jenna smiles and says, “I think the first thing we should do tonight is pick out a theme.”

  Lucas takes a seat next to his sister and grabbing a scrapbook in front of him, begins flipping the pages. “Are all sweet sixteens costume parties?”

  “No, but that’s a great question. Cat’s was because she wanted a Renaissance-styled gala, so the theme dictated costumes,” Jenna explains. “But oftentimes a theme just gives us a direction for decorations, vendors to choose from, and occasionally, the suggested style of dress.”

  Lucas nods respectfully, then turns a page and grins. He elbows his sister and whispers to her under his breath. Angela’s face lights up as she laughs and whispers back, and I have to add another check to my Lucas-as-suitor list.

  Cares for sister, check.

  The last on my list, watching for sparks between him and Cat, will not be easy, for not only is Cat determined to hide any interest she has for him, but she also has her future stepmother in the room.

  As if the very thought of mothers conjures her, the doorbell rings again. Lucas stands. “That’s my mom. I’ll go let her in.”

  Jenna nods from her place on the other side of Angela and pulls the girl into a conversation about a picture in one of the books. Cat watches Lucas leave, then catches me watching her and looks down at her book.

  When Mrs. Cappelli joins us in the crowded dining room, I am pleased to see she is nothing like Lorenzo’s mother. That woman was an evil hag who was even worse than Cat’s archrival Antonia was. This Mrs. Cappelli kisses Jenna on both cheeks and ruffles her daughter’s hair before taking the seat Lucas holds out for her—the one he previously sat in, allowing him to walk around the table to the only other empty seat…the one beside Cat.

  Very crafty.

  And I can add another check: displays respect for elders.

  As Lucas takes his seat, my cousin gives a valiant effort…but she cannot hide the hint of a pleased smile, the subtle shift in her posture to bring her closer, nor the discreet way her eyes keep drifting toward him.

  Seeing them together, side by side, is a bit jarring, to be honest. But the visual does help me understand better why my cousin is fighting her feelings so hard. Having him here seems a little too easy, a shade too convenient, even for fate. But there is no denying the palpable attraction between them.

  Lucas turns a page, and a dimple flashes in his cheek. “See, this is what I love about America,” he says in a teasing voice that has Cat laughing before he even delivers the humorous line to his joke. “You pay all this money for a huge event and tell people to arrive in their underwear.”

  Her eyes widen, and she pulls the book he is looking at toward her. “That’s not underwear, you Italian weirdo. They’re in bathing suits. See, it’s a beach theme.”

  Lucas shrugs. “You say potato, I say potahto.”

  Cat laughs again, failing to realize the rest of the table is watching their interaction with various degrees of pleased smiles.

  “Yeah, you would say potahto,” she says, shaking her head. “Now say vitamin.”

  “Vit-amin.”

  The different pronunciation, delivered in the exaggerated notes of his accent, sends my often serious, sometimes crazy, but rarely silly cousin into a series of infectious giggles. And the triumphant look on Lucas’s handsome face for causing Cat’s happiness answers any question I had about potential sparks.

  Cat lifts the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon, seeming to forget, even if for just a moment, all the reasons she should not let herself like him.

  “What is it about a guy with an accent?” she asks playfully, and I add another mark to my list.

  Sparks, big check.

  Chapter Eleven

  I ring the Michaels’s doorbell and turn to wave at Jenna, fighting the yawn building in my chest. A
fter watching the tension between Cat and Lucas all night, though she blatantly denied it later, I laid in the soft cloud my cousin calls a bed for hours, memorizing my teenspeak list and thinking of Austin—and the conflicting version of him I met onstage.

  This morning I pulled out Cat’s copy of Romeo and Juliet and discovered that in Act One, Scene Five, the titular couple kisses. And although I was shocked, my stomach muscles tightened at the thought of what would have happened had Ms. Kent given Austin and me that scene to perform.

  Would he have tried to kiss me?

  Would I have let him?

  Would I have enjoyed it?

  I still don’t know the answers, but the thoughts led me to ask Cat for help in obtaining Austin’s address—so we could work on our American government assignment, not so he could kiss me. Of course Cat suggested I call him on the telephone instead, but that is not how we do things in my time. Granted, maidens do not usually visit unchaperoned and uninvited, either, but at least face-to-face communication would put me on some semblance of an equal footing.

  So here I am, dressed in the “frumpy frock” from Cat’s closet (an outfit Austin is sure to mock) arms laden with books from the Crawford library, ringing the Michaels’s doorbell for the third time, and hoping that at least someone is at home.

  Perchance I did not quite think this plan through.

  Thankfully, just as I am about to give up and run back to the safety of Jenna’s vehicle, the door opens.

  Austin’s sister Jamie greets me, her surprise evident in the tilt of her head, the wrinkles in her nose, and the lack of invitation to step inside.

  “Juliet?”

  I grin and bob my head. “Alessandra, actually.”

  “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not stoked to see you or anything,” she quickly adds. Jamie glances at the large load of books in my arms, and her nose crinkles. “Is this about the workshop?”