A Tale of Two Centuries (10 page)

The first time she expressed the sentiment, I had been gratified. This time, however, I find myself a touch annoyed, as I will need far more than
luck
to salvage this audition.

I sidle up to my so-called partner and whisper tersely, “Are you here just to vex me? I assure you, you did quite a thorough job earlier today. There is no need for you to follow me so.”

Austin blinks. “
Vex
you? Did you really just say that? Damn, you take this Shakespeare stuff seriously, huh?”

He smirks, and my gaze is inexplicably drawn to his mouth. I shake my head and move it back to his eyes, berating myself for my verbal weakness. His continued presence today has me so disconcerted, I am forgetting to watch my language.

“But no,” he continues, “I’m not here to
vex
you. I’m here for my sister.” The muscles in his stubble-covered jaw clench as a rapid-fire series of emotions washes across his face: affection, anger, sadness, and then back to cool aloofness. “My dad’s assistant got stuck on the freeway, and Jamie needed a ride. So here I am.”

Struck by the surprising insight his facial cues gave me into this perplexing boy, I follow where he points—past Kendal, who is visibly incensed—to see the young girl from the waiting room. Now the tickle of recognition from earlier makes sense. Their dark hair and soulful blue eyes are almost identical.

Jamie smiles and waves, and Austin gives her an indulgent smile in return. The sardonic angles and strong features of his face soften. He transforms.

And in this moment, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Then his gaze shifts to me, and aloofness wins again.

“Please take your places and begin,” Ms. Kent calls out.

My body locks in fresh fear. Impulsively I reach out, grabbing Austin’s arm. Muscles flex beneath the firm, warm skin, and my mouth goes dry. His free hand closes around my fingers, giving a quick squeeze before removing them from his body. Then, in a loud voice only
slightly
laced with arrogance, he says, “I’m ready.”

I shake my head and take a hurried glance at the pages in my hand. The highlighted section begins with two words from me and then a short speech from Austin—er, Romeo. I should be able to read the material ahead while he says his lines. I look out into the crowd and straighten my shoulders. “So am I.”

Inhaling through my nose, I watch Austin from the corner of my eye. Outwardly, he appears calm, but I can see the worn toe of his boot scuffing the floor. The action somehow reassures me and with a smile, I turn to him and say, “Ay me!”

My plan
had
been to read my next speech as Austin reads his, but that is not what happens.

Because Austin does not look down at his page.

“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven….”

Although Austin is but a volunteer and has no need to be familiar with the script, he recites Romeo’s speech as though he wrote the words, as if he believes them…and as if I am truly his
bright angel.

Reyna’s confusing riddle from the tent springs to mind, disrupting my romantic musings as I realize I have just met the first marker.

An angel speaks.

Two more markers remain until I am sent back to my own time. My pulse pounds in my ears.

Austin stops speaking, and I snap back to reality to see him wiggle his eyebrows, indicating it is my turn. Flustered, I tell myself to focus as I look down and read my next part. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

And as I read those lines, I leave behind the tent, the riddles, and even my own identity. And I become Juliet.

So we continue, each reciting in turn, and with each line uttered, I become more enchanted. Yes, my faithful blush rises at the talk of Romeo taking me and at his being left unsatisfied—much to Austin’s distinct enjoyment—but somehow as the scene unfolds and Austin stares into my eyes, I forget the audience. I forget the fight we had earlier in class.

I stare at Austin, and he
is
Romeo.

And I am in love with him.

Offstage, another volunteer acts as the nurse and calls for me, yanking me from my imagined world where I stand on a balcony in my Verona courtyard. I stumble on my next line. I look around, see the darkened theater and the director’s table, and then glance back at my page.

“I hear some noise within,” Austin whispers, giving me my line.

I glance up, grateful, before finding my place and beginning again. But the magic is gone. I say the next few lines, and Ms. Kent calls, “That will be all.”

Austin bows and I bob a curtsy, and as we walk out from under the bright spotlight he whispers, “All this is but a dream.”

A line from Romeo’s next speech.

He continues on, back to the shadowed row of volunteers, and I slow my stride, curious how much of the Austin I just witnessed is the dream and how much is the hidden reality.

Chapter Ten

The soft, buttery leather of the backseat hugs me as our driver steers us away from the theater and away from confusing boys who spout Shakespeare. Cat, however, is still beside me, not letting me forget.

“How was that even possible?” she asks me again, pushing the button to raise the divider, separating us from our driver. She turns her body toward me so she can better scrutinize my every facial expression. And she has reason to.

Ever since I walked off the stage, I have been in a daze. The rest of the auditions were spent sneaking not-so-subtle peeks at the row where Austin sat, unable to pay attention to anything else. I know this because somehow I failed to notice Cat just a few rows away, watching not only my onstage performance, but also my equally interesting offstage one as well.

“I don’t know what’s crazier, seeing my Renaissance-period cousin spouting Renaissance lingo while dressed in designer clothes, or watching her optically make out with a Shakespeare-quoting Austin Michaels!” She throws her hands up in disbelief. “The boy who can’t even find his way to English class was reading the lines like he was from the sixteenth century, too. How is that
possible
?”

That has to be the fifth time she has asked me that question, and I still have no answer. But she is right—Austin did recite the lines as if he were from my time. Perchance that is why my heart and brain are in such conflict. My heart wants to believe that the Romeo version is the real one. But that was an illusion, “too flattering-sweet to be substantial.”

I just have to keep reminding myself of the very words Austin whispered as he walked offstage, that it was all but a dream and the real Austin is the boy who taps on his desk, listens to annoying music instead of hardworking instructors’ lectures, and sends silent, brooding glares but otherwise ignores the pleasant-enough-looking girl sitting and gawking beside him.

I wrinkle my nose.

That last part may be a bit personal. But the rest is definitely accurate.

“I do not know,” I tell her honestly.

Cat tilts her head, watching me for a moment more, and I see the instant she decides to give up the inquisition. I sag in relief.

“Well, as exciting as all that was,” she says, digging in her purse, “the fun’s not over yet. Jenna got back today, and apparently Angela and her mom are coming over to talk sweet sixteen plans.”

She whips out her cell phone, showing me the text from her future stepmother. Modern communication is nothing if not convenient. She pockets her phone and stares at the plush gray carpet beneath our feet, the corners of her mouth turning up wistfully. “I wonder if Lucas will tag along.”

Maybe it is remembering the soft smile on Lucas’s face when he spotted Cat or the romantic scene I just read with Austin, but I surprise even myself by saying, “You know, he seemed rather nice in our French class.”

Cat’s head shoots up and her gaze sharpens, and I realize I failed to mention our shared subject.

Eagerly hiking a foot under her, she twists toward me on the seat and starts worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. In her eyes, I can see the battle brewing as she fights asking the question I know she wants to ask. Finally, she gives in. “Did he say anything about me?”

As soon as the question is asked she shakes her head. “No, don’t answer that. It’ll only make it worse. Ugh, why am I turning into such a girl?”

I cannot help but grin at the theatrics. It is a shame she is so against claiming her acting lineage; clearly, she has a gift. “And is it so bad, being a girl?”

“Yeah,” she answers automatically. “It is.”

Silently, Cat pats her hip, just over the spot where her pear tattoo lays. The night my cousin told me the truth, that she was not Patience D’Angeli from sixteenth-century London but Cat Crawford from twenty-first-century Beverly Hills, she also confided the details of her unfortunate past. I remember at the time it seemed almost impossible to believe that a mother would abandon her family, leaving behind a five-year-old daughter and loving husband, to chase a selfish dream. A
forbidden
dream in my world. The dream of the stage.

But getting to know Cat then and being here now eliminates any trace of uncertainty. And watching her deliberately seek out the representation of her pain, the symbol she told me she chose to remind her that the heart cannot be trusted, slices
my
heart in two. There are many reasons to loathe the woman who gave birth to my beautiful, audacious cousin, but the wounds she inflicted when she left have to be the biggest.

Aloud Cat says, “Less, being with your family taught me a lot. I’m not the same person I was before Reyna sent me on my gypsy adventure. I have a relationship with Jenna now, and I have Hayley. I’m even slowly giving up my constant need to be perfect. But I’m still scared.” She shrugs. “There doesn’t seem to be a magic button for that.”

“And Lucas scares you?” I ask, now thoroughly confused. I have been unsure if I should encourage her obvious feelings for him, but if Lucas is dangerous, it makes my decision much easier.

She sighs. “With Lorenzo it was different. It didn’t matter what I wanted or wished; I knew our relationship couldn’t last. Eventually I’d find my way home again. So even though being with him was amazing, it wasn’t real. Not really. Lorenzo was safe. Lucas isn’t.”

I gently nod, wanting her to continue, wanting to understand. In my world, in my social circle, people rarely marry for love. It is not that the marriages never lead to love, but freedom to pursue whomever you choose does seem to complicate matters a bit more.

Cat leans her head back against the seat, suddenly looking tired. “Lucas lives here, Less. In
my
time. And unless his family moves again, he’s always gonna be here. But if I give in to this feeling of connection and explore the possibility that he and I could ever have what Lorenzo and I
almost
did, then what happens if Lucas stays here but leaves
me
? What if he gets to know me, the real me, without my mom’s tabloid craziness and my dad’s glitz and glam, and loses interest?” She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “People have a tendency to do that.”

A bump in the road jostles us, and Cat throws an arm out, instinctively protecting me. When she looks up, I see that rare vulnerability back in her eyes.

Outside my darkened window, the world passes in a blur of green and blue, reminding me of the horror of yesterday’s ride. So much has changed in the last twenty-four hours, and if my time-travel experience is anything like my cousin’s, more change is to come. But it will not solve everything—Cat’s fear is proof of that. I guess some things take a little more time…and perhaps one of the reasons Reyna sent me here is to help finish the work fate began.

A Cat-like plan starts forming in my brain.

I wrap an arm around my cousin’s shoulder and squeeze her tightly. “You will always have me.” She looks up, a rueful smile on her face, and I shake my head. “It matters not whether I’m here in body or merely in your heart. We are family, Cat.”

All through the drive back home, I think through the night ahead. And the more my plan comes into shape, the more excited I become. Now I just have to ensure that Lucas is worth my efforts. And hope that he joins his mother and sister at the meeting tonight.

The moment we open Cat’s front door, an effervescent woman with big blond hair and a bigger smile envelops us both in a generous hug. Cat gives me an indulgent grin, and I know I am finally meeting the infamous soon-to-be stepmother.

“You must be Alessandra,” Jenna says, stepping away to close the still-open door. “Peter has told me all about you, and I’m just so sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you.”

Guilt washes over me anew at the deceit. It would have been difficult for her to be present when she had not even been aware of my arrival. “It is perfectly all right,” I tell her. “Mr. Crawford has been more than accommodating.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure he has, but there are some things women are just better at, am I right?” She wraps her arm around my elbow, then repeats the gesture with Cat and begins leading us to the dining room. “But now that I’m here, we’ll get all caught up and become instant friends, I can tell.”

She jumps into an energetic retelling of her recent travels, and I try to follow their conversation, but my chest grows tighter and tighter. Jenna is everything I expected her to be. She is jovial, welcoming—and reminds me so completely of my own mother that an overwhelming sense of melancholy crashes around me. In a way, I am grateful. It is as if fate put her here to provide me a sense of comfort in the midst of chaos, a bittersweet reminder of home and all that I am missing. But watching the spirited way Jenna converses, smooths her hand along Cat’s hair, and repeatedly finds ways to show her affection, it also prompts an intense longing for home.

How I wish Mama could be here with me.

The doorbell rings, making me jump. Aware that there are no servants to answer the door as I have at home, I say, “I’ll get it,” hoping the walk to the entryway will shake off my unhappiness. I can’t spend my time here wishing for home. I
need
to embrace every moment I have while I can—before the other two signs are revealed.

With a decisive nod at my encouraging internal speech, I stroll through the atrium, choosing to focus on thoughts of how my mother would react to the scandalous clothing I arrived in instead. With a wide grin, I open the door.

On the other side of the threshold stands an adorable girl fidgeting with the strap of her handbag. And behind her, instead of the mother who was to bring her, is Lucas.

Smiling at the way fate works, I glance around to see if they came alone.

Lucas nods to the rumbling vehicle parked behind him. “Mom’s on the phone in the car.”

The trace of an Italian accent takes me aback. Cat did say he spent a few years in Milan, so I should have expected it. Misjudging my reaction, Lucas quickly adds, “She’ll join us in a few minutes. Angela was just excited to get started.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I look at the girl who appears fascinated with the flower doormat. Cat told me she was shy. Being nervous around strangers myself, I offer a smile of solidarity when she glances up. She grins in return.

Angela seems very sweet…but, if I had to guess, I would have to say the
other
Cappelli sibling was the one eager to get inside.

Stepping back, I motion for them to enter. “
Prego
,
vieni
.” Angela’s small smile grows as she steps over the threshold.

As I lead them to the dining room, I go back over my plan. Tonight’s agenda is simply to observe. In true Cat style, I have fashioned what she calls a
checklist
, and I will (hopefully) mark items off as the night progresses. In determining if Lucas is a proper suitor for Cat, the first attribute I will be looking for is his heart. Though my cousin never sees these qualities in herself, she is the kindest, most loyal, and most loving person I have ever met. She deserves to have someone who cares about her just as ardently as Lorenzo did and who has as much love to give her as she will give him.

After ascertaining the condition of Lucas’s heart, since I already know about his talent and shared interest in art, I will watch how he interacts with others. In particular, his younger sister, a person with whom he spends a great deal of time and undoubtedly knows him best. I will also watch how he behaves around his mother and Jenna.

Mama always said you could tell a lot about a person by the way he treats his elders.

And finally, I will pay close attention to both Cat and Lucas and how they interact with each other. If I am to support his suit to win her heart, I must see a hint of the sparks and smiles I saw her share with Lorenzo.

Truly, it is a tall order for one evening.

The sound of laughter guides our path to the dining room. When we enter, Cat is looking at Jenna, the future stepmother she once despised, with a radiant smile. The shell she sometimes erects to protect herself from the outside world is gone.

Launching into my self-assigned role, I turn to Lucas and am gratified to see the soft look in his eyes again. The one I felt across the chaotic cafeteria, and the one that got my begrudging admission that perhaps there could be another for Cat.

Lucas’s heart, check.

Then Cat turns and sees us, and her smile falters—not in an angry or upset-that-Lucas-came way but in a sad, regretful way. The taut muscles in her neck work as she swallows heavily, as if she is repressing the words left unspoken between them, and she shifts her attention to Angela. “Hey, Ang. Good to see you.”

The shy girl from the threshold blossoms under my cousin’s attention, and her rounded shoulders straighten. She skips over to Cat and throws her arms around her—and judging by Cat’s wide eyes, the action is a surprise for her as well.

“You, too,” Angela says, pulling back. “As much as Lucas talks about you, I thought I’d see you over the break. Guess Christmas got a little crazy, huh?”

A touch of pink glows under the bronze of Lucas’s skin, and I rub my mouth to hide my grin. As for my cousin, she appears both pleased and guilty over Angela’s inadvertent slip. Lucas clears his throat, and his sister scrunches her forehead, seeming confused over the sudden tension in the room.

“I have some great ideas for your party, Angela,” Jenna says, her voice pitched a bit higher that before. She pulls out a chair and ushers the future birthday girl to sit in it, and the rest of us follow in turn, taking seats around the large oak table. Patting the girl’s hand, Jenna smiles and says, “I think the first thing we should do tonight is pick out a theme.”

Lucas takes a seat next to his sister and grabbing a scrapbook in front of him, begins flipping the pages. “Are all sweet sixteens costume parties?”

“No, but that’s a great question. Cat’s was because she wanted a Renaissance-styled gala, so the theme dictated costumes,” Jenna explains. “But oftentimes a theme just gives us a direction for decorations, vendors to choose from, and occasionally, the suggested style of dress.”