Page 12 of Just for a Taste

“Signora Ntumba says you have not made up your mind yet,” the older woman said in a low tone as she continued to scrub. “Please do so quickly so I can know whether to fully prepare your room.”

“It’s . . . not a simple decision,” I replied, fidgeting with my skirt.

“It would be if your resolve were firmer.”

As offended as I was, I couldn’t argue with her assessment.

“My family has been associated with the Medici for generations,” she continued. “For generations, we have sweat for them. We have bled for them and by them, and not once have we had the honor of beingbeniamini. For you to so lightly look at such an opportunity—”

“I’mnotlooking at it lightly. I would have said yes by now if I was.” My tone came out sterner than expected.

Signora Carbone rested a fist on her hip but allowed me to continue.

“I know more about the Medici than you might think. I know about the centuries of death and life and power that have followed the family, and how much influence thebeniaminiwithin it have held. But you must understand that this was never a possibility I could have imagined.”

“Then why hesitate if you understand what a chance you have?” A combination of perplexity and exasperation sharpened her tone. “Why turn down what so many others have only dreamed of? Why deny me my chance to perform my duties as aconservatrix?”

I clutched my phone to my chest and said nothing. So she was aconservatrix, meaning she’d trained for years on the minute details of rituals associated with housingbeniamini. But even so, how could she understand? How could I even communicate the feeling of treachery pulsing within me at the mere notion of getting into some farce of a relationship when I had only just gotten out of one? And why even bother explaining it to someone who seemed so predisposed to judge me?

The older woman sighed and loosened her fists. “I am sorry, signorina. You must have a reason. Pardon my impertinence.” She returned to scrubbing with greater diligence and avoided my gaze altogether.

I, in turn, rolled my food around my plate with a fork.

You’re not wrong,signora,I thought as I stabbed a trio of peas.This should be a simple decision.

After gently placing my fork on the table, I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose. There was the musty scent of the ancient abbey, the spices from my food, even my own perfume, but beneath that all, the Sicilian air was distinct. I was, I reminded myself, in Sicily. Not in London, not in Emily’s apartment. Not in her arms, her bed. I would be cheating on the memory of her, nothing more.

This position, unorthodox as it was, was the answer to everything I had been searching for. If I said no, what would I be left with? I had no apartment, no funding, and no one waiting for me beyond the abbey walls, other than an increasingly stressed thesis adviser.Beniaminaor not, I would be a fool to turn this down.

The sound of pen scribbling on paper caused Signora Carbone to whip her head in my direction. I folded it tightly once, twice, and thrust it into the stunned woman’s hand. She waited for any sort of explanation, but I knew the resolve on my face was enough.

Despite having only cleaned half the room, she set down her supplies and left to deliver the message.

Chapter 5: Tessitura

Iwas woken three times the next morning, twice by chance and once on purpose. The first time I woke up was at the crack of dawn, when Signora Carbone entered my room. I pretended to be asleep as she placed the full contract for employment at my bedside, and soon enough, I was. The second time I woke up was when Lucia gently called my name and shook my shoulders at the expected time. She quickly gave up when my somnolent protests made it apparent jet lag still clung to me. The third time was a few hours later, when Lucia cheerfully whistled as she folded my laundry in the other room.

I groaned as I sat up in bed. No matter how comfortable this mattress was, it couldn’t counteract a night of tossing and turning. I rubbed my eyes in a vain attempt to push out the exhaustion, then decided the better option would be to lighten the room a bit. I threw open the curtains on the eastern wall, wincing as the afternoon sun poured in.

“Ugh.” My chin was sticky and wet with drool. I knew instinctively my hair was a mess, and although I would have a bath later in the day, I should at least attempt to tame it somewhat. With another groan, I stumbled to my vanity.

In the mirror, a flash of someone: sallow cheeks, yellowed skin and eyes, matted hair.

I blinked in shock. Between frames, she changed. Light sunspots across a round, dimpled face, bright green eyes, dirty-blonde hair plaited into loose braids.

With another blink, it was just me. Me, with the freckles along the bridge of my nose and prominent features, tight black curls, intense gaze.

I staggered back and reached for something solid but found only air. I hit the ground with my tailbone at an awkward angle, and for a second, I feared it had shattered. But by the time the adrenaline wore off and I could fully assess my pain, it was already fading. I ran a shaking hand across my forehead and wiped away the cold sweat.

“Signorina Cora?” Lucia burst into the room and immediately fell to her knees beside me. “Are you okay? Are you ill? What happened?”

I exhaled and shook my head. “It’s fine, Lucia. I just got a little startled, is all.”

“Do you want me to get Doctor Ntumba?”

Surely I hadn’t woken up entirely, right? Surely my nightmares had just lingered a moment past waking up.

That was what I told myself, anyway.

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