The next room had a record player and a cassette player like she'd seen in old movies. Had these belonged to her parents? What kind of music had they played here in this office?
Or was this a room decorated after they'd been killed? She had no idea. Astorre answered, “My father was in love with your mother but she chose to marry your father.”
[how does she feel about that?] Maybe Astorre would know. “Until I met you I knew nothing, but as I look around, I realize I still don’t know anything deep about them. How did they get me out? Was this my father’s office?”
“I have no idea about how you were saved and they weren’t. I’ll ask the staff.” He opened the red rope to let her inside the museum that was technically hers. “But yes, this was his office. Let’s find a picture of them. My father always said your mother was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.”
She laughed but searched the desk top as Astorre went to the door to call a servant. No pictures. “Well, I didn’t inherit that, but I’d like to find an image of my parents. It would be good to know what they looked like. I think of parents, and think of the Fortunas, who were kind people…but, I'd like to know more.”
She opened a drawer as he talked to someone in his language.
A baby photo of an infant with her eyes stared at her. Astorre returned to her side and pressed his hand on her shoulder like this wasn’t a big deal, but she collapsed into the leather chair.
Until now, she’d never had a baby photo like this.
As a girl she’d been loved.
It wasn’t a fantasy.
This picture meant it was true.
Wow.
Her hair stood on end like she’d been shocked to her core. Astorre said, “The staff said your mother chose to stay till the end but you were sent to America, and supposed to be reunited with your mother’s sister and her family. When they found Francesca, she hadn’t known where you were and they feared something had happened to you.”
Astorre was full of information today. If she’d known this, maybe, just maybe she’d be more confident. She stood. “I wonder why that didn’t happen?”
They opened another drawer that held neatly arranged rock and roll tapes. Happy rock, metal, and all sorts of 1980s hair bands were lined up alphabetically. He said, “Your mother’s sister is quite notorious. I don’t need to ask about Francesca to explain her character.”
“Really?” Her cells were so awake and alive right now because she wasn’t a no one anymore. She closed the drawer and headed toward the small bookshelf.
Astorre took a book off the shelf and opened it.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was a photo album. Her hands trembled as she held it and brought it to the desk. He said, “Francesca was beautiful, wanted to be queen, and instead married an earl.”
“Why?” She flipped the book open.
Wedding pictures were first.
The bride had her lighter brown hair and the groom… he had dark hair and wore military blues.
She’d never imagined her father or mother with actual faces.
She’d never been able to pull apart her own looks and wonder what was what.
Now she saw that she had her father’s thin cheeks as her mother’s face was way more flushed and rosy.
Tears formed in her eyes that weren’t shed as Astorre said like the past didn’t mean anything, “The prince was in love with his wife. They're now the king and queen. Apparently your aunt didn’t bother to raise her son from the wrong side of the blanket, or her infant niece. It’s a wonder she raised her legitimate two daughters but then I suppose their father would have noticed if they disappeared in front of his eyes.”
Maybe her aunt was bad news. Maybe she wasn’t, but her own mother was beautiful in a way Clara never would be. She’d have had soft hands…she blinked until she was sure she wouldn't cry. “Hmm, perhaps being adopted was better for me then.”
Astorre pointed to a woman in the wedding photo and said, “That’s your aunt.”
“She doesn’t look horrible.” The woman looked like her mother but with sharper features as she fixed her mother’s small train.
Her mother was the goddess here, and from the story she'd just heard, the nicer sister.
“Your cousins are decent people,” Astorre said. “Chelsea is a good girl. She helped my friends, and Cassidy matched us with her computer.”
Now that she thought about it, she had the same hair color as the posh matchmaker she’d met at Rossie’s wedding. It was because they were related. That never happened to her before.
She closed the book but held it tight. “Chelsea had seemed nice, and her sister Cassidy’s program said you were the love of my life.”
He helped her stand from her father’s chair. There were more secrets to her past here that she needed to see but maybe later when she wouldn't be so overwhelmed. He said, “You can’t believe in that computer program actually working.”
The poor orphan she’d been now had a past filled with family which had once seemed impossible. So maybe Cassidy did have talent as that would be something extraordinary. They walked into a formal dining room where she saw butterfly plates on display. “Part of me doesn’t take the program seriously.”
“But?” he prodded like he needed to hear the rest.
Had she been born in this house? She pivoted to get away from the dishes and find the stairs. “But part of me wonders if it’s true--because you do make me happy.”
He followed behind her as she opened another velvet red rope and headed to the main staircase. “I make you happy?”
She turned around as she climbed onto the first step. “Absolutely.”
They rushed up them and she turned toward the first bedroom she saw, jumping the threshold to go into the actual room as he said, “I should tell you the truth.”
She opened a closet door. “What’s that? There's more?”
Inside were designer shoes. Her birth mother had tiny feet at size six. Her own eight and a half shoe now seemed huge. She picked up a suit jacket. This wouldn’t quite fit Astorre. Her father seemed tall as his jackets were bigger than her husband's, though Astorre had more muscle mass. He stood in the door frame and said, “The devil is in the details. And I gave you the summary. My father was obsessed with your mother even when he’d married my mother. When your parents married, it spurred him to make traitorous friends. It’s ultimately why he killed my mother as his house of cards was about to crumble on him and he’d face banishment.”
She hung the jacket back up. “Why does that matter for us?”
He widened his stance. “Because I didn’t tell you everything sooner.”
Clara walked to him and gave him a hug. “It’s hard to be upset about what I didn’t know when I don’t even have a memory of my mother to hold onto.” She looked into his sexy brown eyes and said, “My past, here, is a blank slate to me. I get to love who I want.”
He backed up like she’d bit him but his gaze narrowed. “Love?”
Maybe she was stupid for telling him, but this house somehow calmed her and she needed to tell him the truth too. “Astorre Manfredi, I know you don’t want to hear this but… I love you. I don’t expect you to love me back.”
He covered his mouth with his hand as he just stared at her. She turned to the window and the pretty fountain in the front yard.
Her parents hadn't bothered with gates. Maybe that was what had killed them as they'd had no protection, but somehow she was still here. She turned toward him as he lowered his hand and said, “You don’t?”
She snapped her fingers together in front of her. “You don’t even know me really.”
He stood next to her parents' yellow comforter spread over their bed. “We’ve had weeks, and you must be confusing sex with love.”
She let her hands fall to her sides as she said, “I loved you before our wedding night, Astorre. I followed you to remember every detail of your life, for a book, so I’d have a way to dream about you when m
y life reverted to…awful.”
He came closer and the air smelled like almonds, the way his skin tasted. “Reverted?”
She stared at the wooden floorboards. “Doesn’t matter. Marrying you changed my life, for the better, and love is possible. Maybe one day you’ll love me too.”
He reached for her and she inched closer to hold onto him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Clara. You deserve better than me.”
Her skin had goosebumps as she glanced up and said, “Deserve isn’t a good word for me. I’ve never deserved anything and that usually leads to bad luck. I prefer that we choose our own lives, together, from now on.”
The possessive way he held her close warmed her body. “Choose?”
Time was on her side for now. She took a deep breath and said, “Yes, I hope you choose to be happy and love me back one day… not because I chose you.”
He hugged her tighter to him and said, “Clara-”
“Just kiss me now.” The last thing either of them needed was to overthink any of this. She loved him and would settle into his house with him, if he let her. As his lips claimed hers, she knew she had something she'd never had before… she had love in her heart, and this had to be enough.
Chapter 11
Astorre Manfredi was known to the world as an uncaring, rich, titled lord who did whatever he wanted.
He stared out the window that was a former arrow slit in his castle. The lord of the manor's bedroom had a small view but that was by design. As a boy his parents had wanted him safe so he hadn’t been allowed a room like this. He’d have to be stopped from climbing outside like countless ancestors probably had done.
The image of his mother cleaning his knee from a scrape replayed in his mind.
A cold sweat broke out on his body so he went and grabbed a shower.
The water helped clear his mind. Memories weren’t good to have. His stomach was still in a knot but it was bearable now.
He headed into his closet and picked out olive green pants his staff had left for him--the house colors, though he chose a white shirt.
He noticed new clothes left for Clara, all with olive green somewhere in the fabric.
Hopefully she liked it. He considered his wife to be very lucky. She didn’t have memories of her birth parents, and she didn't talk about her adoptive parents.
Just as he didn’t talk about his.
It was probably better that way. He finished dressing and heard her audible yawn. He turned toward the bed where she stretched, not caring in that moment he could see all of her as she reached for the robe beside her. “I can’t believe I slept this long.”
And now she was all covered up….he rubbed the back of his neck. “You can sleep as late as you want.”
She stood and glanced right past him like he was in the way and tilted her head as she peered into the open closet. “Is that another outfit?”
He stepped back and opened the door wider so she could see the ten or so new outfits hanging up. “The staff wants to see you in our house color it seems.”
She flitted past him and her pink silk robe floated behind her as she studied the options. “Olive green is an army color.”
He pushed his hand in his pocket. The last thing he’d do was make Clara feel guilty or beholden to wearing these things. “We take defense seriously around here. You can buy whatever color you want.”
She picked up a white-and-olive green striped skirt and a matching pattern button-down shirt with a peter pan collar. She wiggled into it as she said, “No, I’m happy to wear these. It makes me feel like I’m part of your life here.”
He zipped her skirt in the back as she worked on her front buttons. He said, “I’m not sure I want this life.”
She turned toward him and straightened a would-be wrinkle from his shirt. “Do you get a choice?”
He needed to breathe. He texted his staff to set up breakfast on the balcony. At least in the back there were green trees out of sight of the small town. “Not really. Are you ready to go outside?”
She held up one finger and ran into the bathroom as she said, “Give me two minutes, and what do you mean outside?”
She’d taken a shower in the middle of the night, so he knew she wouldn’t need long.
He placed his phone in his back pocket. “I’d like to have breakfast on the balcony overlooking the green woods behind the castle. We burn the trees down during times of war.”
She finished brushing her teeth and came to join him as she asked, “Seriously?”
He placed his hand on her back and opened the door for them. “It’s been our way for thousands of years.”
She stalled at the door and then closed it. She turned around and shook slightly as she said, “Astorre… maybe now isn’t a good time, but I’d like to see the library today.”
He lifted his palms. “I never want to go there. I’d rather lock the place up.”
She licked her lip but reached for his hands. “You don’t have to come in with me. I don’t want to make you. I’ve been walking through my own past that was always a blank slate to me, and honestly I didn’t live your life. So it’s easier for me, but I don't want to be afraid of a room.”
If seeing the library strengthened her, he wouldn't stop her.
He nodded. "I'm still not going in."
“Agreed, so I’d like to check it out. Also, why haven’t we seen more of your sister around?”
“Guess she’s giving us space.” Astorre hadn’t thought about Olivia’s presence as anything off, but he hadn’t stayed here much. Either way he opened the door and they headed into the hall. They were silent until they made it downstairs and Clara said, “Better to give me a minute and then we’ll have breakfast.”
His heart thundered in his chest, faster than a speeding train. She released his hand and reached for the door. "Wait," he said, despite how his pulse raced, “I’ll go.”
She held the door and shook her head, “You don’t-”
“I’m an adult," he said. "I wasn’t there that day.”
He walked inside the library. His mother was often hidden behind a stack of books just as there were stacks here today. His mother would have been reading as she always did that morning. Images of his mother wearing her glasses with a book in her hand besieged his mind. “It looks the same. Of course it's been cleaned up.”
Clara crossed her arms and walked right in the middle, spinning to face him with an empathetic smile. “It’s just a room, Astorre.”
Another memory of his mom reading a story to him while he was in bed rocked him. He placed his hands in his pockets and wished he could disappear into a wall. Love had transformed his father into a traitor and killer when he’d been exposed. Love had been why his quiet mother had died. He said quietly, “But I still miss my mother.”
Clara crossed the small room to check out the first bookshelf. “At least you knew her, and you know she loved you. I didn’t have that, until yesterday. You'll always have her in your heart.”
He stood next to Clara and stared at her, feeling like she belonged here with him. “She’d have liked you.”
Her eyebrow lifted as she asked, “Why?”
He caressed her arm and his body grew warm. “Because my mom was quiet and strong and always did whatever she could for the people in the castle. You have the same spirit.”
She framed his cheeks. “Then you were lucky.”
Heels clicked on the hard wood and he looked behind a bookshelf. For one second he saw his mother’s face but then his sister spoke and she transformed back to Olivia. “Agreed, he is lucky--he remembers more about her than I do.”
Clara glanced over her shoulder and asked, “What do you remember, Olivia?”
He held his wife still. “How long have you been here?”
“I just popped in.” Olivia’s steps were like their mother as she walked to the desk. “I came to say goodbye to our mom and dad. I thought I’d be alone.”
"To…" His voice cracked. Clara was beside him
, and he gripped her like he needed to be buoyed up from drowning. “To our father?”
Olivia nodded and traced the desk she passed on her way to the window on the other side of the room. “He cried a lot when he was looking for me, to kill me.”
If he’d have been here… the question had always loomed in his mind and Astorre never had an answer. “I wish I could have protected you.”
Olivia shrugged like it wasn’t anything important. “I hid, and was smart about keeping quiet--he said he loved us all then he killed himself.”
His temples pounded and he massaged the back of his head. “You heard him?”
“Yeah, he was that close.” Olivia glanced out the window to the sky like she was speaking to the heavens. “I thought I was going to die and then I heard the gun. It took me seconds but it felt like a lifetime to scream and run where the baker found me until the police arrived.”
She'd said she’d been in town and safe. His entire body was tight. “You said you were outside, not in the house.”
Olivia whirled and faced them. “At the time I was terrified and a kid afraid of my own shadow--but I’m ready to leave now. I’ve made my peace.”
His heart raced. “How?”
Clara’s simple caress calmed him.
He needed her here.
Olivia paced before the desk. “I realized I’m not crazy like our father. We all know his motivations and how he spiraled into a monster. When you showed me how horrible Max truly was, I was heartbroken--but that didn’t turn me into wanting to kill anyone. I’m not like him. I wish our dad had seen a psychologist or a therapist; though those weren’t in vogue years ago.”
They’d had the means, but Astorre hadn't realized it was even necessary. “You think that would have helped him?”
She toyed with a button on her white shirt. “It’s helping me…that’s why I’m going back to school to major in it.”
Clara’s voice was low as she asked, “You really are leaving the castle then?”
Forbidden Noble Page 8
