Not Juliet (3 page)

Strange. He’d
looked directly at her, so why wouldn’t he come over and greet
her?

Putting the
matter from her mind, she turned away and took a shortcut down
another narrow alley she was hoping would lead her to the Piazza
della Signoria. A few steps down, the houses on either side closed
in, and she realized she was walking along an access lane only used
by residents. All she saw were stone and brick walls and back doors
of houses.

She was about
half-way through, when she felt a sharp air current blast through
her hair. A moment later, the sound of a shot rang out in the
mid-afternoon sunshine. Her eyes were drawn to the puff of
shattered stone the bullet had hit, before it ricocheted off and
rattled down the alleyway.

Thunderstruck,
she froze, then her body did what her brain hadn’t caught up to
yet. She sprinted to the nearest doorway for shelter and reached it
just as two other shots, of a different timbre to the first,
reverberated down the lane, but nowhere near her. Relieved, she
slumped to the stone step, and at the same time a brick in the wall
behind her shattered, just where, a split second before, her head
had been.

Still unable to
comprehend how someone could be engaging in a shooting match in the
middle of the day in busy Florence, Riella’s mind fixed on the
crucial detail that someone might be shooting at her. A protective
part of her brain evaluated the circumstances and issued an
alternative explanation: she was simply in the wrong place at the
wrong time, caught in some gang feud completely unrelated to her
visit.

Whichever way,
she wasn’t going to stay and find out.

Completely
spooked and feeling like a trapped animal, Riella dropped her
carnival mask and did the only thing a sane person short on
alternatives would have done to stay alive. She fled for the
busiest place she knew: the Signoria and Palazzo Vecchio. The place
would be full of tourists, and crowds meant safety.

Fingers
clenched around the straps of her backpack, she bent over and
bolted from the relative protection of the stone doorway, running
as fast as she could, the pack thumping up and down her back and
tripping her, throwing her off balance. But she didn’t stop and she
didn’t look back. She barely even drew any breath as her feet
pummeled the cobbles, closer and closer to the bright patch of
sunlight she could glimpse in the Signoria.

A few more
steps and she would be free.

Another shot
rang out behind her, and with her blood pumping noisily in her
veins she threw herself around the nearest corner, colliding with a
tangle of bare legs and sneakers as she hit the ground.

Luca heard the gasp of
pain and knew he’d hit her attacker. What to do next? The girl
would emerge into the Signoria Square any minute now, and once
there, who knew which way she would go? It would be a lot harder
protecting someone when you had no idea where they were in the
first place.

Quiet, but
rushed footsteps pulled his attention to the other end of the
alley. Never mind. He’d recognized the rogue. There would be plenty
of time to catch up with him later. The only problem would arise if
the guy wasn’t acting alone. One more reason to catch up with the
king’s daughter and keep an eye on her.

In two steps
Luca stood on the same doorstep the girl had. His gaze trailed over
the new bullet hole in the wall above it. He frowned, stooped to
grab the carnival mask, then ran after the girl, pausing to stash
the mask and the gun in his safe box behind Guido’s back fence. He
would have his cousin deliver both to his home later in the week,
when he visited for their scheduled catch-up.

He sprinted for
the Signoria, working to put a smile on his face double-quick.

The girl was
sprawled on the ground, muttering to herself and rotating her
ankle. Had she tripped and hurt herself? Her backpack was still on
her shoulders. What did she have in it, that she decided was worth
carrying on her back while she ran away from a shooter? Women!

Shaking his
head, Luca stepped into her field of vision and spoke to her.

“Shit!” Riella
exclaimed, wiping the dirt and blood off her scuffed knee.

Outraged, irate
voices uttered expletives in Japanese in her direction, but she
ignored them, and the sandal-clad bare-legged mob moved away.

She touched her
ankle, checking for bruises, then rotated it, to make sure nothing
was broken. It hurt, but not as much as it had when she’d played
defense on the boys’ soccer team, aged eleven, and tripped over the
ref as she ran backwards down the field.

Her tomboy
years had been swiftly followed by the dreamy teens, and Riella
turned into a true romantic. The bruises and sprains had been
slowly replaced by anguish and heartache, as she searched for the
perfect Romeo to her Juliet. Come to think of it, she’d never
really grown out of her dreamy phase, however impractical it seemed
on closer inspection. Even now, in this new and strange reality,
with grazed knees and having narrowly dodged flying bullets in the
middle of Florence, Italy, she still believed in passion, and
chivalry, and happy endings.

“Excuse me. Are
you okay?”

The voice was
soft and deep with concern, husky almost. It was the voice
Shakespeare’s Romeo had taken in her more indecent dreams, and it
resonated through her heart and down to her very core. She squeezed
her eyes shut, desperate to hang on to the ripples of her emotion
for a few more beats, and almost too afraid to look up. Afraid he
would be the man she imagined, the one she’d dreamed of all her
life.

Afraid he
wouldn’t be the one at all.

Coward!
Riella gave herself an imaginary shake and forced her eyes to
open.

Expensive
leather shoes, the handmade kind, soft and perfectly polished,
khaki slacks with buckled patch pockets on the thigh, a well-filled
crotch, all tapering out to a strong waist. Engraved brass buckle
over leather belt, same color as the shoes, and a barely-aqua
short-sleeve hoodie with long leather cords skimming over puckered
nipples. The thin cotton garment was tucked in his waistband and
stretched enticingly over a well-sculpted chest, revealing just a
hint of chest hair beneath a braided leather necklace on which
dangled an engraved brass pendant, smaller but the same shape as
the belt buckle.

The man was
hotter than her hottest dreams, so far, but there was one more
detail that could either break the spell or make her dream
complete. Riella swallowed hard and licked her lips before allowing
her eyes to move up the tanned, strong neck, along a stubborn chin,
over soft full lips and up to the most mesmerizing eyes she had
ever seen. He captured her gaze and her breath hitched. After a
long moment, his soft coal-black eyes skimmed over her body and a
smile lifted his lips. In silence, he held out his hand.

Time stood
still.

The one! She’d
found the one! And at the worst possible time.
Figures.

Riella took his
hand and let him pull her up into his arms. Her eyes never wavered
from his, nor his from hers, for even a beat. It was as if a magic
wand had erased the world and all that remained was him… and
her.

He blinked, and
she took a much-needed breath, though he still held her gaze
hostage in the dark depths of his eyes. His lips touched the back
of her hand, and she glanced down to it. How did it get there?
When? She hadn’t been aware of moving at all.

A corner of his
lip twisted up. “My name is Luca.” He smiled and his lips wavered
between a smile and pressing together a few times, then he spoke
with a chuckle in his voice. “You… I saw you running and, next I
knew, you were polishing the Signoria cobbles with your knees.” The
chuckle broke free, revealing a set of perfectly aligned, strong
white teeth.

And just like
that, the spell was broken. He was making fun of her? Riella pulled
away, wincing when she put more weight on her right ankle. “I had a
good reason for running, trust me,” she said, lips tight. “There
was a shooting out there.” She pointed at the alleyway behind her.
“Some crazy bastards are shooting each other in broad daylight, in
the busiest place this side of Rome.”

Luca smiled an
incredulous smile. “Nonsense. This is not America. People don’t
shoot each other as often as you might expect, in Italy.”

“I don’t know
what you imagine America to be like, but I assure you, that has
nothing to do with what I have just experienced. I heard at least
two different-sounding shots out there. And seen the damage. In
fact, two of the shots hit so close to me, it makes me think I
might have been the intended target.”

“You? Nonsense.
Who would want to hurt such a beautiful woman? You must have been
simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
If
there was a
shooting at all.”

Riella
tightened her fists rigidly by her sides and scowled at him,
aggravated by his reaction. “I told you there was! I know what a
gun going off sounds like, and I saw the chip in the stone above my
head. I felt the bullet flying through my hair!” She skimmed her
fingers through her caramel curls to emphasize her point. “And I am
not American. So you’re wrong on more counts than one!”

“Okay. Okay, I
believe you.” Luca raised his hands, trying to calm her.

“I’m not
crazy!”

Luca sighed
heavily and closed the distance between them in one step. He put
his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. His perfectly
muscled, sweet-smelling, heavenly chest. Riella felt her shoulders
loosen up under his touch. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply,
filling her lungs with his lovely scent – citrus, maybe, or sweet
morning tea.

He kissed the
top of her head and stroked her hair, his other arm still holding
her tight against his body.

“It’s okay.
You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

He kept
stroking her hair and running his hand over her back, and Riella
wished for the moment to go on forever. Any trace of irritation she
felt fizzled away, like vapor blown off a steaming mug of tea by
the morning breeze. She felt loved. She felt safe, and she trusted
fully in Luca’s ability to protect her. The shots in the alley were
all in the past, and Luca’s explanation made perfect sense. Most
likely, she’d overreacted.

She smiled
through his embrace and sighed, contented, leaning against his
chest, her cheek pressed to it, listening to the peaceful, rhythmic
throb of his heart.

“What would you
like to do now?” Luca asked after a while. “Were you planning to
visit the Uffizi? Ponte Vecchio?”

Riella sighed,
while trying to make sense of her emotions. She really couldn’t
care less where she went and what she saw, as long as Luca stayed
by her side. Preferably in the same position, or even closer.

“I don’t mind.
I’m in Florence only because I was hoping to meet someone. Seems I
got the wrong directions. Again.”

Luca’s muscles
tightened for a second, then he relaxed and took hold of her
shoulders.

“Can you walk?
How bad is that ankle?”

“I’m fine.”
Riella stepped away from him to prove it, but a sharp pain shot
through her ankle and she lifted her foot off the ground.

Luca shook his
head. “Right. That seals it. Up you come.” He swept her up in his
arms and turned away from the square.

“Whoa! Wait a
minute. Where are you taking me?”

“To show you
Florence without effort. After I get us a treat.”

He winked at
her, exuding joyful confidence. Riella giggled and laced her arms
around his neck. She didn’t know where he’d come from and she no
longer cared about any pain – physical or otherwise – anymore. It
was all worth it, for without it she would never have met Luca. She
was so full of happiness, she felt weak and lightheaded, as if she
was the luckiest person in the whole wide world.

Time to live
in the moment, girl
, she said to herself, snuggling closer to
her present-day, strikingly attractive Romeo.
Luca
, she
tested his name in her mind. It had a lovely ring to it.
Luca, I
think I love you
, she tried it for size again, alongside the
most precious words she could ever speak, and wondered how long it
would be before the words broke free of her lips.
Perfect
fit
, her heart was whispering, making her smile from ear to
ear.

Riella Smith
had always listened to her heart and she wasn’t about to change her
ways now.

“Here you go. You’ll
have to hold these all the way to our picnic spot. Think you can do
that?”

Luca held out a
paper bag and she took it, holding it by the rolled-up neck, like
he had. It felt light.

“What is it?”
Riella sniffed the paper bag and smiled. “Smells like…” She sniffed
again and moved to peek inside.

“No, no, don’t
open it!” Luca placed a hand over hers, to stop her.

“Why? Is it a
secret?”

He scrunched up
his nose. “Only a little one.”

Riella giggled
and leaned back against the seat of his bright red Ducati motorbike
that looked deliciously hot and fast, just like its owner. Luca
grabbed her around the waist and, with her in his arms, straddled
the bike, then revved it loudly.

“Ready?” he
asked, sitting her more comfortably across the seat, her legs over
his knee. “This could be a bit bumpy. Hold on tight.” The bike
roared once more and they were flying.

Riella shrieked
when he cornered sharply and clung to his neck with an iron
grip.

“Lean on me,”
he shouted in her ear, and wrapped one arm around her waist.

The route he
chose took them away from the hustle and bustle of the town center,
across the Arno and straight up a hill. Riella could see the river
and bridge getting smaller and smaller, looking over Luca’s
shoulder, and then he slowed and turned onto a grassy path. The
road surface was more uneven here, and his hold on her middle
tightened.