“Apparently, his guards are going door-to-door tonight.”
The realization that Nonna would likely forbid me from attending a party on Isolacuori deflates my mood.
“What’s with the pout? I’d have imagined you’d be vibrating with excitement about attending a ball with your favorite prince.”
“Do you really see Nonna letting me go?”
“I love your grandmother dearly, Fallon, but you’re an adult now. You’re in charge of your comings and goings.”
Sybille’s right, and yet, deep down, I know I would never defy my grandmother because that woman gave up everything for me; it’s only fair I give up certain things for her.
Catriona bustles over in a swish of topaz silk and slides onto one of the high chairs propped beneath the bar, cheeks shimmery with powder, eyes black with kohl. “Evening, girls.” Her long fingers play with her gold choker.
Sybille’s large gray eyes begin twinkling like silver coins. “Is that what I think it is?”
Catriona raises a vainglorious smile. “The prince gave it to me last night.”
My chest feels tight. She saw Dante last night? He wasn’t at the tavern, which begs the question of where? Did she visit the palace? Courtesans are often convened there for private parties with the high-ranking officials of Luce.
Catriona flicks the end of the bow. “Have you two gotten ribbons?”
Sybille sighs. “We’d be wearing them if we had.”
Giana twirls out of the kitchen with a platter of cheese.
I move aside to let her pass and feign ignorance when I ask, “Dante was here last night?”
“No. Our paths crossed in Signore Lavano’s house where I was hired to entertain.”
“If you three are done gossiping, Mother needs help boning the fish, and I could use a hand in the dining room.” Giana’s brown corkscrew curls halo her dark face. Unlike Syb, who’s been straightening her hair since she learned how to, Gia never lengthens her tight spirals.
“I’ll go.” Sybille pushes into the kitchen, gusting herbal steam and sizzling butter our way.
Giana nods to the stairs. “The commander’s ready for you in the burgundy room, Catriona.”
“Ah, Silvius.” Catriona motions to the amphora filled with the golden liquid Marcello brews from fermented honey and clover. “Pour me a drink, will you, micara?” Since I’m the only one Catriona calls darling, I know she’s addressing me and not Giana. “I’m going to need it with that man.”
I thumb the cork from the glass bottle and drizzle the syrupy liquid into a thimble-sized glass.
She upends it as soon as I slide it over, then taps the rim for a refill. “You know, you should join us. Silvius speaks of you all the time.”
Giana recoils as though Catriona invitedherupstairs.
“I’d sooner swim across the channel than join that male in bed.” I punch the cork back into the amphora with a satisfying whack.
“That malepays generously. I’ve no doubt I could get him to offer you a gold coin, what with you being—”
“I don’t need money.”
“Are you certain about that, micara?” Her gaze skims over the mended fabric of my dress, rendering me self-conscious.
You don’t care about such things, Fallon. The same way you don’t care about jewels or praise.
“Fallon’s much too sweet for your profession.” Giana piles copper mugs onto a platter, then tenders her hand for a jug of water, which I deliver.
“Once upon a time, I, too, was sweet.” Catriona lifts the mead to her lips and shoots it down. “It wears off fast, whether you take off your clothes for one man or for many.”
“Let it go, Catriona.” Giana narrows her eyes on the courtesan before turning and carrying her platter away.
