Starling (56 page)

color like paint on canvas. The sun had begun to set, warm rays
peeking out from behind the buildings across the way.
A gust of wind blew through her room, ruffling the skirts of a
beige gown that Octavia had left on her dressing table. Cass lay on
her bed, watching the old candelabra swing in the gentle breeze as
she tried to make sense of things. Luca would come back to her. He
had to. She didn’t want to fight the Order of the Eternal Rose without
him, and if she didn’t fight the Order, well, what was left for her?
Nothing.
Was this how her parents had felt? Had they become obsessed
with their quest to take down the Order, so that nothing else in the
world would matter until they saw the shadowy organization torn to
pieces? But things were different for them. They had each other.
They had her.
Cass had no one.
She got up and carefully lit a candle, then slipped the page of
equations she’d taken from Cristian’s morbid lair out from beneath
her pillow, unfolding it with trembling hands. She read over the notations again. Most meant nothing to her, but she couldn’t deny the
presence of her family name scrawled in the corner.
A quiet knock sounded on her door, and Cass’s heart rose suddenly and painfully up into her throat. She slipped the page of equations back under her pillow. “Come in,” she said woodenly, expecting
Octavia or one of the other girls.
Falco slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him.
Harsh words danced on the tip of Cass’s tongue. She had told him
not to look for her, and he had sought her out the very next day.
“Don’t be angry with me,” he said quickly, before she could even
speak.
“You never, ever listen, do you?”
“Only to what I want to hear.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “You
told me it was dangerous to be seen together, but we won’t be seen
here.” Falco paused by her dressing table and fingered the luxurious
fabric of the beige gown. “You’re not actually becoming a courtesan,
are you? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, if it’s what you
wish.”
From this distance, Cass could see the tiny scar under his right
eye. She could see a pair of freckles on the bridge of his nose that
must’ve sprouted up in Florence.
All that painting out in Belladonna’s lovely garden.
“I’m just staying here temporarily,” Cass said. “I’m trying to locate the Book of the Eternal Rose. I heard Belladonna saying she
believed that Angelo de Gradi stole it, but now he’s dead. I think
perhaps Dubois or Cristian has the book because . . .” She trailed off
at the look on Falco’s face. “What is it?” she asked.
“You spend far too much time thinking about books and murderers. I have a better plan.” He hopped up on the bed next to her and
sat crossed legged. “Do you wish to hear it?”
“What?” she asked, her voice full of skepticism. If he had tracked
her down to finish what they had started in the middle of Donna
Domacetti’s portego, Cass was going to toss him straight out her
window.
Falco took both of her hands in his and looked at her very seriously. His fingers were warm. Cass felt heat bloom in her cheeks.
“What?” she repeated, her voice falling away into a whisper.
“Marry me, starling,” he said.