I turn toward him, glad he assumes my judder has to do with him stroking my thigh.
Glad he’s not trying to read my thoughts.
Glad he can’t.
I paste on a timid smile. “A little.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth and returns his hand to my knee where it stays until Marcelo and Defne return from Isolacuori with stars in their eyes.
Their effusive description of the revel flushes away my buzz.
Sobered, I stand and whisper goodnights.
Antoni rises in turn and insists on walking me home. Since it’s still dark out, I don’t put up much of a fight. In truth, I’m happy for the company. Antoni may not be Dante, but I trust him.
As we amble along the canal, I ask something that’s been niggling at my mind for the past hour. “I know the wards around Shabbe keep the Shabbins from trespassing into our waters, but what if a Shabbin were already here?”
My question pins his boots to the cobbles and makes his fingers stiffen against the small of my back. “The wards would’ve dragged them out. The magic used magnetizes their blood and forcibly pulls their bodies back to their island.”
There goes my theory about Bronwen being Shabbin.
As we start up again, I say, “Marco should’ve sent Dante to Shabbe instead of Glace.”
Antoni grunts. “If he’d wanted his brother dead.”
I suck in a breath. “Why would you say that?”
“Because Costa killed the queen’s daughter and used her blood to create the magical barrier between their island and the rest of the world.”
My jaw has grown so slack that my chin will no doubt touch my collarbone soon.
“The Shabbins loathe the Regios as deeply as the Regios loathe the Shabbins.”
Then the Shabbins won’t help Dante win the throne.
I’m back to square one. The only silver lining is that I’m armed with more information than I was the last time I stood on the first puzzle piece. Not that any of it is helping me make more sense of how five birds will lead Dante to the throne.
Antoni squeezes my waist. “One day soon, there’ll be peace.”
I frown because I hadn’t realized we were at war.
Eleven
Antoni has been the perfect gentleman all evening, so why do I feel like I’m cheating on the prince with this handsome fisherman? Because Bronwen planted the seed in my head that Dante and I are destined to marry?
The stars are so bright tonight that the flowering vines climbing up the sides of my blue house resemble the tinsel that’s draped over Luce at first snow and left up until first bloom. Yuletide is one of the seasons I love the most, and not because I was born on the shortest day of the year, but because a festive spirit envelops all the Lucins, and everything shines, even the murkiest canal.
When we reach my front door, Antoni, whose hand has been on the small of my back since the tavern, glides it up my spine. He grips my nape gently and tips my face back. For the hundredth time, I push Dante out of my thoughts, because Dante isn’t the one who made tonight special.
I breathe in and out slowly, waiting for Antoni’s mouth to descend upon mine, but he doesn’t kiss me, simply keeps staring with an intensity that heats my flesh.
I try to read his expression, but he’s so intent, so very serious, I cannot fathom what’s going on inside his mind. In the end, I cave and murmur, “What is it?”
“I’m still trying to come to terms that Fallon Rossi’s lips were on mine tonight, and not in a dream but in reality.”
My heartbeats hasten. “You dream about me, Antoni?”
“Every night since I spilled a pallet of fish over you.”
