Cross My Heart by Sasha Gould Read Free Book Online Page B

waves to someone in the crowd. “There’s so much you still need to learn.”
    “Paulina can teach me,” I say.
    My father smiles indulgently. “Paulina in many ways is more immature than you. It comes from having no father in her life.”
    The person he was waving to comes through the throng towards us. It’s a young woman. Her face is very pale. She has red-gold hair and aquamarine eyes fringed with dark lashes. Her looks are striking. I recognize her as one of my sister’s old friends.
    “Is that—”
    “Carina!” finishes my father, opening his arms wide.
    Carina kisses him on both cheeks, then turns her lovely gaze to me. She gives a sharp cry, raising a hand to her red lips, then sighs.
    “I’m sorry,” she says, fanning her face with delicate fingers. “For a moment I thought … You remind me of her so much, Laura.”
    Her words make tears start to my eyes. I take her hands and kiss her. “Thank you,” I say.
    “Well, I shall leave you two to reacquaint yourselves,” says my father. “Laura, be advised in all matters by Carina. She’s the perfect guide for a young lady of Venice.”
    If Paulina was my best friend, Carina was my sister’s, one of the many radiant girls who always seemed so aloof when I was little. When she reminds me of her name from those days—de Ferrara—I realize her parents are Julius and Grazia, the black-clad couple thrown out of the party.
    “Oh, don’t worry!” she says. “When I married I escaped the talk of vendettas and that nonsense.” She smooths the white silk of her gown. “And I cast off my mourning garb long ago.”
    She tells me that last month she married Count Raffaello—she’s a contessa now. She points Raffaello out through the crowd. A fine figure, not tall but with shapely legs and a fierce shock of black hair over a soldier’s face—chiseled and broad. He raises a glass at us. Carina blows him a kiss.
    I understand why my father wants me to learn from her. Carina’s what he aspires for me to become. Perhaps there was a measure of kindness in my father’s choice too; he must have known that sharing my grief for Beatrice would make it less burdensome. I imagine Carina and Raffaello calling on Vincenzo and me, sitting with us in our courtyard, laughing and sipping wine.
    She hooks her alabaster arm through mine. “Let’s sit and talk,” she says. “How proud your father must be that you’re ready to take Beatrice’s place.”
    I shake my head. “No one could possibly do that. But I want to honor her memory in whatever way I can.”
    “She adored you, Laura. I’m sure you know how much.”
    We join Paulina and Pietro, who are resting between dances with a crowd of other young men and girls. Their faces glow.
    Carina points to Pietro. “Young man,” she says playfully, “take your pack away for a moment. Let the ladies catch their breaths.”
    “My pack?” he says, eyes widening in mock innocence. “You malign us!”
    “Hmm,” says Carina. She claps her hands. “Privacy, please, gentlemen.”
    The young men scatter. Carina perches on a cushioned bench, pulling me down beside her. Paulina sits on my other side and the girls gather around us.
    “So now,” Carina says, “lessons for a girl new to society. Let me think—where do I begin? Ah, first we must start with the essential accessory of the Venetian lady.”
    She draws a fan from her dress like a weapon: it depicts swallows fluttering in the branches of a cypress tree. Her eyes sparkle.
    “Wonderful for staying cool on heated evenings,” says Carina. “Perfect for secret conversations—especially those about love.”
    She holds it in front of her face to reveal only her eyes, batting her lashes coquettishly. Paulina and the other girls giggle.
    “The fan,” Carina continues. “A simple thing, inexpensive and easy to find, but worth a fortune. Make sure you have one for every outfit. But never black and gold. Remember that.”
    “Why not black and gold?” I ask