“Fallon?”
I suppress my guilt under a bright smile, because I’m destined for a throne, not a fishing boat, and Dante is destined for me, not for a foreign princess. “Just tell me where and when, and I’ll be ready.”
Dante’s mouth curls. “I’ll be counting down the hours until we meet again. The minutes. The seconds.”
My heart pelts my chest as he backs up with a wink, leaving me feeling so very wicked. I replay all that happened and what’s left to be done: have a dreaded conversation with Antoni. I decide to be blunt and honest. He can’t possibly hold my feelings for Dante against me.
Besides, I never made him any promises.
As possible openings lope through my mind, I finally head back to the dining room.
It was time.
Bronwen’s words clang yet again inside my head, heightening my already frenzied pulse.
If he takes me to the castle for our date, and I locate the bird statue . . .
The idea of someone steering my destiny is more frightening than comforting. Especially since forecasting the future isn’t a Fae power and humans are powerless.
What the underworld is Bronwen?
Fifteen
“Had a nice evening last night, Beryl?” The lord, whose plate I’m clearing, palms Beryl’s bouncy behind, guiding her toward his lap.
“Didn’t everyone, Signore Aristide?” She’s so accustomed to flirting that her bright smile looks genuine.
The man has a foul reputation, but he pays handsomely, so no one complains.
“You aren’t going to follow in Catriona’s footsteps and inflate your prices now that you’ve bagged a royal, will you?”
I stack the soiled ceramic dishes slowly. Before I can think better of revealing my eavesdropping, I blurt out, “You tended to King Marco also?”
Aristide tips his gaze to me. “This beauty slipped off with the prince.”
The handful of cutlery I’m gathering clatters against the plate. Dante mentioned he was worried about me, but when exactly did he worry? While sleeping with Beryl or while entertaining his princess?
The lord smirks. “Methinks the serving girl is jealous, Beryl.”
I picture stabbing him. With a fork. In the cheek.
She bops the tip of his long nose. “Leave her alone, Aristide.” As he buries his face in her cleavage, eliciting a titter from her dark-pink lips, she glances at me and mouths,Sorry.
For what? Having slept with Dante, or Aristide’s bawdiness?
“Enjoying the show, Signorina Rossi?” The lord’s voice is muffled by her oiled skin.
I shake myself out of my stupor and leave before he can smash my pride to more smithereens. Sullenness swallows me whole, and my eyes sting so hard that I keep them trained on the floor. So focused am I on harnessing back my tears that I almost plow into the customer entering the tavern.
Of course, it has to be Antoni.
He steadies me with such gentleness that I want to latch on to his hand and tug him out of the tavern. I want to shut out the world and lose myself in him. A fresh wave of guilt washes over me because using him in that way would make me no better than everyone else in this room.
Mattia and Riccio step in after Antoni and drop greetings I’m too tense to return. After a deep swallow, I point them toward three empty spots at the bar and wind my way back to the kitchen to drop my stack of dirty plates.
Instead of heading back out immediately, I stay in the kitchen. I need a minute.
Or ten.
