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There is no greater torment than being alone in paradise.
Alessa was in a coffin.
Not dead. Not yet.
Adrenaline flooded her veins, sharp and sour, as the air in her lungs went stale.
She woke with a start, swinging wildly. Fingers curled into claws, she struck something warm and hard.
A hiss of breath. In the anemic predawn light, Dante clutched his arm.
“What are you doing?” Alessa yanked the sheets up to her chin. “I told you not to come near me!”
He grimaced, shaking his hand as if scalded. “You were having a nightmare. I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”
“Then you should haveletme.” Her words, so similar to Lorenzo’s, struck like a blow. “Don’teverdo that again.”
He shot her a dark look. “Believe me, I won’t.”
At a sharp rap on the door, he motioned for her to stay back and strode around the screen. For all his initial reluctance, he took the job seriously.Tooseriously.
Alessa pulled on a robe and followed.
Dante was glaring at the door, a stack of clothing in his arms. “She ran away. The maid, or whoever.”
“Can you blame her?” Alessa asked, innocently. “You’re a bit intimidating. You should smile more.”
He gave hera look.
“If it makes you feel better, they run away from me, too.” She waved toward the bathing room. “You can get cleaned up in there.”
Dante bristled before skulking off.
She hadn’t meant to imply he was dirty ingeneral,but any attempt to clarify would only make it more awkward, so she bit her tongue. If he’d decided to take offense at every little thing she said, that was his problem. She covered her face with a pillow, but managed not to scream into it.
Fingers of dawn crept across the floor as she found the energy to face the day. The Consiglio was probably gathering below, waiting to hear her decision so they could summon her next Fonte, but she still had no idea who to choose. She’d give them a list of those she’d ruled out and let them decide. She was a coward, but at least she’d be a coward who wasn’t responsible for making the wrong choice again.
Dante emerged a few minutes later in a crisp white shirt and military-grade trousers. They were a bit tight, but the Captain had done a fair job guessing his size, and she wasn’t complaining about how they hugged his body. Hard to say whether Captain Papatonis would be satisfied with Dante’s appearance, however. With his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top button of his shirtundone, and the leather gloves shoved in his pocket, he looked alarmingly attractive, but barely respectable by Cittadella standards.
She gave him a bland smile. “Much better.”
Dante scowled like she’d insulted him again.
The bathing room was humid when she stepped inside, and bits of fabric hung from every hook and rod. Intimates she’d left to dry after hand-washing them. Not silky, fine items, even, but practical, everyday underthings.
Nice work, Alessa.
He couldn’t possibly fail to be impressed by her haughty Finestra-ness after bathing amidst her most boring underthings. She ripped everything down and stuffed it all into a drawer.
Strain had left her paler than usual, her eyes overly large, and her hair hung in limp tendrils instead of her usual flowing waves, curly on humid days. She looked nothing like a valiant savior, which felt about right, but was unacceptable.
Getting clean was a start, but Dante was on the other side of a door with no lock, and if for some reason he opened it, she’d be completely exposed. He couldn’t touch her, with or without her consent, butstill.He’d see her.
She grimaced at her reflection. Not like he’d have any interest in doing so.
After bathing, she picked through her cosmetics. Today called for extreme measures, so after dabbing sheer gloss on her lips, she slashed inky black across her lids, smudging until she resembled an avenging angel. No one would see her weakness beneath so much smoke and shadow. This look wasn’t for impressing anyone else, but for herself alone. For courage.
After her face, she began concealing her neck’s bruises, butevery brush of her fingers hurt as she applied layers of cream and tinted powder.
