by Amy McKinley
I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging on the strands before releasing them. With hurried steps, I found Steve, the rest of the construction and design crew, and briefed them that Celia was no longer employed here. A quick stop to security, and they were aware and in search of her to ensure she left the premises.
One headache gone, I hoped. With long strides, I made my way back to the penthouse. There were things I had to straighten out with Adeline—mainly, our future.
Adeline
* * *
Stone burst through the door to our suite with hair that looked as if he’d dragged his fingers through it several times. “Everything okay?” By the expression on his face, it wasn’t. Celia must have put up a fight.
“Yes.” He loosened his tie. “I fired her. You need to change your password. That’s how she had access to my calendar. Security is making sure she leaves the premises. Her uncle has another position lined up for her as a fashion design assistant in the States. She won’t bother us any longer.” Dropping onto the settee next to me, he took my hands in his. “We need to discuss your future and our fake engagement.”
“Okay.” My spine stiffened, and I braced myself for the impact his serious demeanor indicated.
“I have a confession to make. I wasn’t completely honest with you when I forced your hand regarding the fake fiancée contract.”
“Hmm.”
His thumb rubbed back and forth across the back of my hand, and I took comfort from that simple gesture while I waited for the bomb to drop.
“I know we haven’t met before, but when we first ran into one another, I was drawn to you. There was this deep sense of familiarity, and I didn’t want to let you go. Ever since I moved into this hotel, I’ve been having odd dreams that reflect the nineteenth century, and you’re in them. Well, not exactly you, but a woman who bares a similar resemblance. I was shocked when you bumped into me the evening you arrived here and how much I was drawn to you.”
“To me or a woman that lives in your dreams?”
“No. Not her. It’s all you. I only shared that so you would understand that there’s something else here. It’s as if I already knew you when we first met.”
“Okay…” Even though I understood what he was talking about, I didn’t want to make any rash assumptions to where he was going with this discussion. “So, our fake engagement wasn’t to help seal the deal with the Venice hotel?”
His lips curved into that wolfish grin I loved. “Oh, that was necessary, but my driving emotion behind it was to keep you close.”
“I see. And now?”
“Now, I want to make it real.”
My hand jerked in his. “That seems a little premature.”
He shrugged. “I always put a hundred percent effort in going after what I want.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and tried to slow my racing heart. I needed to tell him about the letters I’d found in Cristiano’s room. “I didn’t quite recognize you as you did with me, not right away, but a part of me had when we touched.” Our first touch had felt like a live wire in my hand. I still remembered the sensation and the vision I’d had. And with that thought, I wanted to share the notes with him. “I stumbled across something in the basement you should see.”
Stone stiffened at the mention of the lower level. I tugged my hand free and went to retrieve the cigar box from my bedroom. With care, I brought it back to the settee we were sitting on together, placing the antique box on the coffee table. “I found this under the floorboards in one of the rooms. I think this will explain what we’re experiencing.”
Most of the color leached from his face, and I moved closer to him. “Do you recognize it?” I held my breath as he brushed his hand over the edge of the wood, the smallest nod letting me know I wasn’t alone in the visions I’d had.
“How did you—”
“—I tripped.”
His laugh filled the room, lightening the seriousness of our discussion. “Have you read these already?”
Heat rushed up to my neck and infused my cheeks. “Not all of them.” There were only a handful of notes. I handed him the stack and leaned close so I could read them again too.
In a flowing script, the first was from Cristiano, waxing on about Francesca’s beauty. He’d asked her to meet him in the courtyard at midnight. The next was her response, a simple acceptance of the date.
It wasn’t until the last letter that tears flowed unchecked down my face. Francesca’s mother had spotted them one evening with their heads bent toward one another. She’d put an end to the possibility of their young love, informing her that they would be leaving in the morning. Francesca was saying goodbye.
Cristiano, my love,
My hand shakes from the devastating news I must share with you. Madre spied us in the gardens, witnessing our kiss. She and Padre were enraged, and after hours of pleading, I convinced them not to file a complaint against you or your padre. In their acquiescence, they posed a stipulation—I must leave with them at once come first light.
My heart breaks at the thought of parting from you, but it is the only way I can ensure your family’s livelihood will not be affected. My love for you is greater than any fleeting thought to my happiness.
God willing, we will have a moment alone before they take me away from Verona, and you.
Yours through all time,
Francesca
Chapter 16
Adeline
I slipped my arm through the crook of Stone’s as we strolled along the sidewalk, heading toward Juliet’s Wall. The sun climbed the sky as we neared the busy square, and I imagined how it had looked back in the nineteenth century. The square’s ambiance tricked time and space, and it was easy to imagine we were indeed in the past where our star-crossed muses had been.
The space was thick with emotion, and it was impossible not to get caught up in it. Hope, lovers reunited, unfulfilled, and heartbreak. But the promise of possibility amplified what we were feeling, and I leaned in to Stone’s side, needing the connection as we strolled through the square.
Vines climbed the castle’s walls, and gothic architecture decorated the palace. The fragrant air wrapped around us as a lover’s arms would. Romance permeated the space. As we rounded a corner, I glimpsed Juliet’s statue.
“Isn’t the myth that if you rub the statue’s right breast, you’ll have luck?”
Stone nodded then flashed me that sexy crooked grin. “We’ll make our own luck.” He pointed to a section of the famous wall that was covered in notes and ink. We walked along the historical monument to the space he’d indicated, weaving in and out of the crowd until we neared the edge. We both stopped, and I fought the urge to look over my shoulder to ensure no one watched us. The area of brick he pointed to was what I’d seen in one of my visions. “Let’s start looking over there.”
“I’m nervous.” My entire body vibrated with anticipation. This was where Cristiano and his love had arranged secret meetings and planned for their future until they were torn apart by family and social status.
“The balcony—” Stone pointed to the small outdoor space that symbolized where Juliet would have stood. “Wasn’t added until the twentieth century.”
“So our star-crossed lovers wouldn’t have seen it.”
“No.” With a gentle tug, he guided us closer to the corner of the wall, the general area where Cristiano secreted away his letters for Francesca.
My fingers trailed along the bricks, tracing a myriad of graffiti that lamented about love, hope, and promises made. The closer we got to the section that held their hiding place, the more my mind tugged. I wanted to follow the hazy pictures that danced on the edges of consciousness.
“Adeline.”
Stone had stopped. His deep baritone pulled me from the inner shadows of my mind and back to the brightly lit present. He played with the engagement ring on my finger. “There was a reason I gave you this specific piece of jewelry. It was meant to be yours.”
My breath c
aught at the sincerity in his voice, and I glanced at the sparkling heirloom ring that felt right on my finger. Then he lowered himself to one knee and took my left hand in his.
“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence we collided your first night in Verona. You’ve haunted my dreams and every waking moment since I set foot here. Let’s change history. Will you be my wife, for real this time?”
I, too, felt the same connection, and joy shot through me at his proposal. At that moment, everything felt right, and I leapt into his arms. Clinging to his neck, I laughed. “Yes.” I didn’t care that we’d only known one another for a short time. That was not how it seemed. It was as if we’d spent lifetimes together, and when we were by each other’s side, the world aligned perfectly. There was no one else I’d rather be with.
Stone stood with me pressed tightly to him. As his head tilted toward me, I lifted to my toes. His lips teased mine open. I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, urging him impossibly closer. As he explored my mouth, I lost myself in the kiss. Tingles spread over every inch of my body. My head spun from desire, and our surroundings faded.
He drew back from my lips, creating a small amount of space between us. I felt the loss instantly and shivered. The noise of so many people surrounding us filtered in, and I forced myself down from my toes and took a small step back. His arms stayed at my waist, fingers spread, anchoring me so I couldn’t go far. Not that I would. I was more than fine with our close proximity to one another. I played with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck while emotions swirled in his eyes like a stormy sky.
“What do you remember?”
I sucked in a breath. We’d talked about the things we’d seen, but there was so much more. “Do you think they’re us? Or we’re them?”
He moved his head in a barely noticeable left-to-right motion. “I can’t wrap my brain around that. But it would explain a lot: the undeniable force that propelled me to buy the hotel, the dreams, the feelings of loss, of despair originating from the basement.” His fingers caressed my cheek. “You.”
If there was even a tiny part of me that was holding back from loving him, it no longer existed. I fell all the way.
“It doesn’t matter to me.” His hand cupped the side of my face. “I think the history of the hotel, the tragedy of their story, is what influenced us. Even the possibility that they brought us here for reasons we may never fully understand.”
My eyes misted at the thought of Cristiano and Francesca’s restless spirits. Could our actions bring them together in some way? “Maybe they wanted someone like them to have a happy ever after.” There was no doubt that their souls were unsettled with how things had ended. Why else would we have been so affected staying there? Dreams and visions hadn’t plagued us in Venice or anywhere else for that matter. But from the conversations Stone and I had, we had both been drawn to the hotel in Verona for one reason or another. “I hope we were able to help them attain peace.”
I nibbled on my kiss-swollen lip, an idea forming that I thought would satisfy the ghosts of Francesca and Cristiano, as well as lift the residue of unhappiness and despair Stone sensed clinging to the walls, particularly the basement.
With reluctance, we drew apart. It was time. As we stepped to the wall, our hands clasped. Miraculously, the area we’d wanted to view was devoid of the throng of people present everywhere else in the square.
“That’s the one.” Stone nodded at a brick with a vein of off-white bisecting its surface.
I ran my fingers across it, and then he wiggled it until it came loose. “Oh.” There was a piece of folded paper pushed against the back where the brick had been. After I removed it, a flash of silver drew my attention. Pinching a delicate chain, I removed a necklace with a pendant that dangled.
“It’s the same as mine!” My fingers grazed the pendant of Saint Valentine I wore around my neck. Saint Valentine was known as the patron saint of lovers.
“I saw it in my dreams,” Stone said as he returned the stone to its rightful place in the wall. “Cristiano gave it to Francesca. That’s why I was surprised you wore the same one. It makes sense that you were drawn to it.”
Our gazes caught and held. Everything in me settled as he slipped his arm around my waist, and we began our walk back to the hotel. We were bringing that last part of them home.
Epilogue
Adeline
Almost a month had passed, and a hint of chilly weather seeped into the air as dusk embraced Verona. Fall was upon us, and the changing colors blanketed the countryside. I didn’t have a favorite season in Italy yet. But I had a lifetime to figure it out.
Stone slept better at night now, so long as I was in the same bed as he was. We’d extended our stay to see the hotel to completion, and then Tiffany would manage it part-time, in addition to hiring any staff she needed.
Venice would be our next adventure, but Stone was no longer in such a hurry. He recognized a kindred soul in Vince and had proposed a collaboration so that he and his wife, Margaret, maintained partial ownership of their lifelong dream.
They went a step further and reached out to Nick Reynolds, the hotelier they had discussed when we were all out to dinner one night, to begin a partnership with his financially compromised Grande Victorian Hotel, utilizing my ideas. As for my job, it was everything I had ever wanted and more. Stone and I worked as a team as we expanded and fortified our empire.
The dreams and visions had tapered off when we’d brought the necklace and letter Cristiano had written to Francesca back to the hotel, as if reuniting pieces of their past offered a semblance of closure, a balm of sorts to the pain of their separation.
I waited in Cristiano’s room for Stone to come down to the lower level, the picture frame heavy in my hands. This wasn’t the first time Stone had ventured into the basement since Delilah had come up with her genius plan. The crushing sense of loss no longer plagued him.
Delilah’s design had created a space where the ambiance was that of another world. Hints of simple living, like the small kitchenette at the bottom, and off to the side, of the narrow stairs, giving homage to a time past. It was charming and updated in a way that the modern conveniences were concealed so as not to take away from the theme. In keeping with Cristiano and Francesca’s time period, we furnished it with high-end eighteen-century style furniture and murals. The linens were of the finest quality and offered an oasis of luxury, a haven beneath the decadence a floor above. To rent the lower level delivered the experience of another life, a world away from civilization.
It was an escape.
It was our gift to Cristiano and Francesca’s memories. A complete apartment with all the trimmings a wealthy station in life would have offered. Including period clothing our guests could choose from when we held monthly historical balls or murder mystery games.
During the lower level renovation, we’d discovered a forgotten box that contained pictures of the staff and a few of the guests that had stayed at the hotel. I’d done my research and learned Cristiano had died from a lung infection a few years after Francesca had drowned. Their lives, and their romance, were cut tragically short.
With everything we had done, the conversation I’d had with the psychic nagged in the back of my mind. She’d told me my mom had named me after a relative lost at sea. I’d contacted Tommy and had him go to the storage locker where I’d left some things from my parent’s house. He’d found what I was looking for and sent it through the mail—a notebook of Mom’s. When I received it, I had my answer. Within the handwritten pages, she had documented our family tree. Francesca’s middle name was Adeline.
There were times we could feel Cristiano and Francesca’s essence, their fated love. But the despair and tragedy no longer pierced our souls, as we believed they’d found their peace and their way back to one another.
“There you are.” Stone came up behind me, his hands resting on my hips.
I leaned against his chest, and a shiver coursed over my body as I admired my h
andiwork of the mounted letter we’d recovered from Juliet’s Wall within the frame. “Are you ready to do this?”
He bent to my ear and murmured, “Always.”
My eyelids grew heavy, and I wanted him to turn me in his arms and kiss me senseless. A soft sigh whispered through the room, and a different kind of chill chased the one of desire away.
I drew away from Stone. “Did you hear that?”
His gaze was smoky, full of promise, and his tempting lips curved into a wicked half grin. “Mm-hm.”
“That wasn’t me.” I waited a second until the desire lifted from his features as well. “Let’s get this hung.” This wasn’t the time for us. It was for them.
Delilah had already installed the hanging system. All we needed to do was put the framed shadow box on it, together. Stone grasped one side of the frame, and I held onto the other. We placed it on the hook then stepped back to admire the contents.
Behind the protected glass was the last letter from Cristiano to Francesca, alongside the Saint Valentine pendant necklace that he’d given her to symbolize their destiny. I scanned over his flowy, inked words. Unable to help myself, I reread them.
My dearest Francesca,
Not a day goes by that I don’t long to hear your laughter, feel the touch of your hand in mine, or to brush your moon-spun hair behind the delicate shell of your ear and whisper to you how loved you are.
As the days turn to weeks and then to months, my despair over how I’ll gain my fortune and win your hand becomes a greater challenge. I promise you this, Francesca, I will never erase you from my heart. You are always in my mind, no matter what circumstance has torn us apart. Somehow, someday, we will be together again.
All my love,
Cristiano
“Do you think they’ve found each other?” His letter was dated soon after he fell ill. Somehow, he must have had a sense that there was a chance he wouldn’t survive. My eyes misted at the tragedy of their lives. Based on the letter, Cristiano never knew Francesca hadn’t made it to her destination, that the ship she was on had sunk. Their story broke my heart.
