I need to gather my emotions and sort through my thoughts.
Sybille’s parents are working in tandem, plating dishes and stirring pots. They dance around each other in perfect synchronicity, two centuries of matrimonial life having made them perfectly attuned to each other.
The show is mesmerizing, and before I know it, the knots in my stomach have loosened.
Marcello cocks a thick eyebrow. “Everything all right out there, Fallon?” Although he can grow his hair to his shoulders, I’ve never seen him sporting it any other way than sheared close to his scalp. Unlike Defne who is constantly toying with its length and look.
“Great. Can I be of any help in here?”
Marcello and Defne exchange a look because I usually steer clear of the kitchen, not really liking the sight of feathers being plucked from pigeons, or animal flesh being pounded. Just the smell of blood causes my insides to squirm.
“No need, sweetheart. We’ve got it all handled.” Defne smiles at me, her teeth a blast of white against her brown skin that’s several shades darker than her husband’s.
I’m about to pick up a spatula and poke it into the cauldron simmering by the fire to show them how useful I can be, when Giana bustles in with an empty casserole dish. She drops it into the basin of sudsy water and rolls up her sleeves, but I bump her away and stick my hands inside the water before she can.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I all but exclaim.
Her lips press into a line and a muscle feathers her slim jaw. She relents, but before leaving, she murmurs, “You can’t hide in here all night.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Fallon . . .”
My nape prickles from her parents’ stares, our quiet exchange obviously not going unnoticed.
“When you’re donenot hiding, go on break. You haven’t taken one since you arrived this afternoon.”
“No need for breaks.” My soles are screaming that there’s a definitive need for one, but I don’t think I could sit still if I tried, and if I went out on the pier for a breather, Antoni would join me, and I’m not sure about him or anything anymore.
Giana shakes her head before leaving the muggy wood and slate kitchen with a platter of soft cheese, grapes, and a steaming sourdough loaf.
I scrub until my skin prunes and my fingers ache, and there’s nothing left to scour because the fire beneath the stoves has been snuffed out.
“Want to talk about it?” Defne asks, taking a clean dishrag from a shelf to help me dry all the clean dishes I slotted onto the dripping tray.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “How did you know Marcello was the one?”
Her gray eyes comb over my profile, which is still angled toward the sink I’m draining into buckets that Marcello will carry outside and dump into the used-water trough of the island, so that the fire-Fae on waste duty can purify it. “Our dreams aligned. And he made me laugh. Still does every chance he gets.”
My teeth are still poking a hole inside my cheek.
“Andhe tells me I’m the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. Silly, I know, but his daily reminders make me feel special.”
“It’s not silly. It’s admirable.” Dante makes me feel beautiful. And he makes me smile. And our dreams definitely align since he crossed the channel to merit the throne, and I’ve sort of agreed to collect iron relics to be at his side.
“More importantly, though, Fallonina, Marcello and I keep no secrets from each other.”
I really need to learn to school my features so they stop parading all my thoughts.
“Now, get yourself home. I prepared a dish with some leftovers for your mother and Ceres. Send them both my love, and tell Ceres to come by some day. It’s beenagessince I’ve seen her.”
“I will.” Reluctantly I fold my damp rag and set it on the wooden island, grab the lidded dish, and push my hip into the swing door.
The dining area is quieter but far from quiet, the diners having made way to the drinkers. Card games are being waged at the far end of the tavern, while a steady flow of patrons are trundling up and down the stairs, hand in hand with their favorite doxy.
I finally look toward the bar for Antoni but find only Mattia and Riccio upending shots with a chattering Sybille. My stomach writhes with more nerves. Has he left the tavern or only the dining room? I stare at the ceiling. If he went upstairs with a girl, then at least, it’d take the decision as to what to do away from me.
“He’s on the dock, tossing stones into the canal.” Giana breezes past me with a tray of empty drinks. “You’re the first girl he’s truly taken an interest in.”
