Together, they’d face the darkness. And afterward, her dream lay just out of reach.
Dante sat on the bed, watching as she dawdled over her makeup brushes, dusting her cheeks for the third time.
The clock chimed.
“It’s time for me to go,” Dante said.
She dropped the brush to go to him. “You’re not staying for my wedding?”
He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Please don’t ask me to.”
Nestling her face into the crook of his neck, she breathed him in. “You know it’s not that kind of marriage.”
“You don’t have to be in someone’s bed to belong to them,” Dante said. “My job here’s done. Besides, I’m still a liability. If the truth about me gets out, you’ll both be guilty by association.”
Swallowing a lump in her throat, she brushed a curl behind his ear. “Where will you go?”
“Planning to track me down?”
“If you’ll let me.”
“Alessa.” He sighed. “We weren’t meant to have this, and we definitely aren’t meant to have more. Not now. Not ever.”
“I’m not meant to be widowed. You’re not meant to exist. Maybe this time things are supposed to be different. What if Dea’s trying to tell us something, and we just aren’t brave enough to listen?”
“And what would she be telling us? That a ghiotte and a Finestra are supposed to defy every law of nature and the heavens for their own selfishness?”
“It’s not selfish.”
“I promise you, my feelings for you are entirely selfish.” He nuzzled her cheek. “You told me to be better, and I’m trying, but I don’t want to share you. I’ve never felt so selfish in my life.” He reached for something and placed it in her hands.
A book.
Small, leather bound, full of his proverbs, and engraved with his mother’s name.
“For you.” He wrapped her fingers around it. “To remember me by.”
She wanted to speak all the thoughts in her head and feelings in her heart, but she couldn’t without crying. And she wouldn’t trap him with tears again.
So, Alessa accepted a final kiss and didn’t resist as he set her on her feet and pulled her close for one last hug.
She didn’t watch as he let himself out.
The book was still warm from him, a piece of paper marking the last page he’d read. Inside the cover, beneath the original inscription, he’d written:
Luce mia,
My mother called me her light, because I was hers.
And you are mine.
Being with you has been a gift and an honor.
—G. D. Lucente
She covered her mouth to hold in a sob as his words warped every remembered kiss into a silent farewell. She wasn’t ready to let go. She’d never be ready. Why had she let him leave?
Her heart cried out to run after him for another kiss, one last glimpse, to make him promise that this goodbye wasn’t for good.
But when she flung open the door, Kaleb was already there.
Time was up.
“Let’s get this over with,” Kaleb muttered, looking bleary-eyed and miserable enough for them both.
She offered him a wobbly smile. “Tactful, as always.”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
She told him to wait and trudged back to place the book on her pillow. Dante couldn’t have meant forever. She had to believe that. She opened it for one last look, to his last page, and the scrap of paper she’d taken for a bookmark slipped free.
On it was a postscript written in spare lettering:
P.S. If you still want to know my name, consider it your prize for a successful battle.
She hugged it to her chest, dizzy with relief. Not goodbye. Not forever. As long as she saved the world and survived a war with the gods. As far as motivation went, she couldn’t think of anything better.
She and Kaleb didn’t speak on their way to the temple. Bless him, he looked terrified. And hungover. A stereotypical groom despite the odd circumstances.
Renata and Tomo watched from the front row, along with the entire Consiglio, as they entered. To Alessa’s surprise, Kamaria was seated by the altar, guitar in hand, and she began playing the Canto della Dea to accompany their walk.
It was a struggle to keep her eyes on Kaleb during the ceremony with Saida sniffing loudly beside Josef, and Kamaria clearly trying not to laugh about it, but Alessa stood when told, bowed her head during the prayers, recited the words she needed to, and even laughed—a little—when Kamaria’s snickering earned a scowl from the Padre.