Juliet by Anne Fortier

Author:Anne Fortier [Fortier, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, General, Contemporary, Family Life, Psychological, Family Secrets, Literary, Siena (Italy)
ISBN: 9780345516107
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2010-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

MALÈNA’S ESPRESSO BAR was the only place I could think of going where Janice wouldn’t immediately find me. If I went back to the hotel, I figured, she would show up within minutes to resume her figure eights beneath my balcony.

And so I practically ran all the way up to Piazza Postierla, turning every ten steps to make sure she wasn’t following, my throat still tight with anger. When I finally came shooting through the door of the bar, slamming it shut behind me, Malèna greeted me with a burst of laughter. “Dio mio! What are you doing here? You look like you are already drinking too much coffee.”

Seeing that I didn’t even have air to reply, she spun around to pour a tall glass of water from the tap. While I was drinking, she leaned on the counter with a look of barefaced curiosity. “Someone … giving you some trouble?” she suggested, her expression hinting that if that were the case, she had a few cousins—apart from Luigi the hairdresser—who would be more than happy to help me out.

“Well—” I said. But where to start? Looking around I was relieved to see that we were almost alone in the bar, and that the other customers were absorbed in conversations of their own. It occurred to me that here was the opportunity I had been hoping for ever since Malèna’s mention of the Marescotti family the day before.

“Did I hear you correctly—” I began, taking the plunge before I could change my mind. “Did you say your name was Marescotti?”

The question had Malèna break into an ebullient smile. “Certamente! I was born a Marescotti. Now I am married, but”—she pressed a hand to her heart—“I will always be a Marescotti in here. Did you see the palazzo?”

I nodded with polite vigor, thinking of the rather painful concert I had attended with Eva Maria and Alessandro two days earlier. “It’s beautiful. I was wondering—someone told me—” Grinding to a halt, I could feel embarrassment rising in my cheeks as I realized that, no matter how I phrased my follow-up question, I would be making an ass of myself.

Seeing my fluster, Malèna fished out a bottle of something homemade from beneath the counter—she didn’t even have to look—and poured a hearty slug into my water glass. “Here,” she said. “A Marescotti special. It will make you happy. Cin cin.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” I protested, feeling very little desire to taste the cloudy liquid, never mind its ancestry.

“Bah!” she shrugged. “Maybe in Firenze it is ten o’clock—”

After dutifully gulping down the foulest concoction I had tasted since Janice’s attempt at brewing beer in her bedroom closet—and hacking out a compliment, too—I at last felt I had earned the right to ask, “Are you related to a guy called Romeo Marescotti?”

The transformation in Malèna when she registered my question was almost uncanny. From being my best friend, leaning on her elbows to hear my troubles, she snapped upright with a gasp, and brusquely corked the bottle.

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