Not Juliet

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The characters and
situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation
to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Ella
Medler

The right of Ella
Medler to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in
accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and
Patents Act 1988.

Cover by: Patti
Roberts, Paradox Book Cover Designs & Formatting

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Ella Medler is a U.K.
author and free-lance editor. She writes fiction in more than one
genre in a seemingly vain attempt to slow down her overactive brain
enough to write non-fiction on subjects she knows a thing or two
about. She also does not believe in the starchy use of English and
ignores the type of rule that doesn’t allow for a sentence to be
finished in a preposition. Her books are action-driven and
well-developed characters are her forte. Loves: freedom. Hates: her
inner censor.

To keep up to date with
her current writing and future projects, visit her website at
http://ellamedler.wordpress.com/

Riella Smith,
an unconventional Romany Princess, travels to Tuscany on the trail
of her father’s challenger, to delay him and prevent unnecessary
bloodshed and humiliation. What she expects is trouble from a
fearsome rival. But life is rarely that easy.

The trouble she
finds is of a different kind. Soon, she faces the toughest decision
of her life – again – though it should really be a no-brainer. All
she has to do is choose between her people and a myth.

After all,
there’s no such thing as love at first sight.

Short
compendium of (not only) Romany terms

Roma, Romany,
gypsy – all terms used to refer to the Romany people,
interchangeable in this manuscript.

Rome – the
English name of the capital of Italy, not to be confused with Roma
(see above).

Gadjee, Gadji –
a gypsy term to denote those of non-gypsy heritage (different
conjugations).

Romanipen – the
traditional code by which gypsy people exist. Contrary to popular
belief, this is stricter, and with a ‘purer’ focus on life than
many contemporary religions.

Rom baro – big
guy, important man.

Fug – a stuffy
atmosphere

TGV - train à
grand vitesse (high speed train, well known in France).

The drive to the gypsy
campsite wasn’t getting any easier. Riella gritted her teeth and
swallowed her guilt at her disloyal thought. It would all be over
sooner than she would have liked anyway. Her father would be lucky
to see another Christmas, and once he was gone, she would take her
mother back to civilization, back home, with her. Surely there
would be nothing else left for her in camp anymore. Leaving the
Romany settlement in which she grew up had been the hardest
decision of her life, and Riella knew it would be just as hard for
her mother to tear herself away from the familiar life she knew,
but it would be worth it. She would make it worthy for her
mother.

Over the narrow
bridge and down the lane with forest on either side; twenty more
minutes, at most. The last sunray skimmed over the crystals
dangling from her rearview mirror, turning the quartz to diamond
for a split second. Twilight was painting the sky in darker hues,
and now that tall, ivy-swamped trees reached fingers of green over
the road, the murky gloom of the thicket gave no further illusion
of light.

Riella switched
her lights to main beam and dropped her speed a notch. She would be
careful, driving through the forest. Night-time belonged to the
forest animals, the wild souls now finally free to search for food
or play in peace for a few hours. She would make sure her passage
through their territory would be uneventful and as quiet as
possible.

One of the most
cherished ideals of her gypsy upbringing was that she should
respect all creatures of the universe and the way they fit within
its order. Riella’s childhood had been filled with heart-warming
stories of broadminded acceptance. By the time she’d hit puberty,
her love-conditioned character had latched firmly onto the concept
of affection for one another and her need to search for and find
‘the one’ had become paramount to her.

Riella believed
firmly in the existence of a person that would match her perfectly,
a second half that would complete her soul, as the stories playing
out in her mind on a regular basis were hinting at. She just didn’t
believe she would meet such a person on a gypsy trailer park, and
as such she had moved away, to live among strangers and continue
her search for true love.

She wondered
what he would look like, the man who was meant for her. He would
have to be tall and exude confidence. Imaginary arms wrapped around
her shoulders and held her tight against a wide chest. “Mmmm,” she
groaned in approval. A great kisser, so warm soft lips would be a
must. Eyes to get lost in, deep and dark…

The blaring
horn of a speeding fire truck pulled her out of her waking dream so
abruptly, she almost lost control of the car. The truck’s driver
flashed angry lights at her, forcing her to slow further and pull
half-off the road, to get out of his way. She mumbled incoherent
curses and empty threats at the rowdy beast which was now
accelerating noisily, spoiling the quiet of the night, and pulled
on the steering wheel to get back to the road, a tad too
sharply.

Her car slid
sideways for a beat, wheels spinning wildly in the squashy leaf
mold, then something caught and she was propelled diagonally onto
the road surface. Riella stomped on the brakes, which served to
turn the car farther around, but stop it did. By the time her
heart’s wild beats became bearable and she was brave enough to open
her eyes again, the car was smack-dab in the middle of the road,
straddling the white line, pointing in the wrong direction.
Luckily, there were no other cars in sight.

Slowly and
carefully, Riella executed a three-point turn and drove on, paying
a lot more attention to the road.

The forest gave
way to undulating hills, but by now the darkness was complete.
Except for a slight glow in the sky, over to the right, just about
the patch of heaven right above the caravan site. Must be the
moon.

No. Not the
moon.

Images and
fragments of memories snapped together like puzzle pieces in
Riella’s mind, faster than she could incorporate them into rational
thought. She was driving north. Cloudy sky, crescent moon; no light
coming from the skies. Fire truck. The warning her cousin Casper
was talking about behind Dora’s caravan when she’d just happened to
walk past, last time she’d visited her parents, a few weeks
back.

Her foot rammed
the accelerator as far as it would go even as her heart lurched and
she began re-playing the scene in her memory. Casper’s words had
fizzled out when he’d caught sight of her, and both he and his
gossip mate, Mirin, had averted their eyes. At the time, she had
thought it no more than the usual snobbish behavior the more
blinkered of her cousins displayed toward her. The fact that she’d
left the colony and settled in a gadjee lifestyle still rankled,
and they treated her like a traitorous bitch. One more reason to go
and stay gone, when the purpose of her return ceased to exist.

The road
straightened and she could see it clearly now – the plume of smoke
twisting with the odd flare of orange flame. Right in the middle of
the camp.

No, no, no, no,
no!

The car
screamed as she pushed it to do what only its race-track replicas
ever did. A deeply hidden portion of her brain catalogued images
and processed them in a logical fashion, urging her to stay calm,
but her emotions were not buying it. She sped past the entrance,
shifting from maximum acceleration to an emergency stop in a split
second. Her hand grabbed for the handbrake and she was out and
running to the scene of the fire, ducking under the ‘fire line do
not cross’ yellow tape on the way.