Free My Super Sweet Sixteenth Century by Rachel Harris Page B

won’t understand a single word, it’s my best shot.
    I turn back to them and scan their confused faces. Lorenzo smiles, and I quickly look to my aunt. There’s no way I can watch him while I do this.
    Someone coughs impatiently, and I realize I can’t delay the inevitable any longer. With spaghetti legs, I take a breath and open my mouth. The first line tumbles out barely above a whisper.
    Alessandra squints. Louder , she mouths to me.
    I nod, raise my voice, and completely overcompensate. The next note is so shrill and loud it even startles me. I wince, and so does she.
    My heart is hammering so loudly in my ears that I can’t even hear my own singing. I fight the urge to run from the room, knowing—as hard as it is to imagine— that will shame my family even more than this horrendous performance.
    Eventually, after struggling with a few more notes and sliding up and down the entire vocal scale, I manage to find a middle ground. But it still isn’t pretty. Glass doesn’t break, and the guests don’t go running out screaming into the night, but their pinched faces and the laughter shining in Antonia’s eyes lets me know it truly is as bad as it sounds to my own ears.
    I can’t even force myself to look at my uncle. Thank the stars Niccolo left before this disaster. Whatever business arrangement they had would’ve been as tattered as my pride right now.
    Alessandra smiles in solidarity, and I want to kiss her. I stumble on a lyric, close my eyes, and try to find a happy place.
    Why can’t the gypsy magic send me back right now?
    Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the song ends. I sigh in relief, taking a moment to enjoy the silence, and start preparing for the judgment. With head held high and shoulders back, I attempt to look confidently out into the audience.
    You could hear a pin drop.
    Slowly the applause begins. It is way less enthusiastic than Antonia’s, but I know I don’t deserve even this meager effort. Somehow the lack of obvious ridicule only deflates my false confidence, and with tears pricking my eyes, I lower my head and rush back to my seat. I brush past Lorenzo, refusing to meet his gaze. I’m sure whatever interest he had in me has been squashed like a bug.
    Antonia’s gotta be loving this.
    “Thank you, Patience, for your performance.” At Antonia’s words, I look up, waiting for her to go in for the kill. “I am sure it was not easy being asked to do so without preparation, and while you are still acclimating yourself to Italy. Pray excuse my discourtesy. That was lovely.”
    I blink, and then actually rub my eyes. She doesn’t appear to be mocking me. Her face is serious. Well, this is unexpected.
    “Thank you, Antonia.”
    She nods and sits back down. Alessandra and I exchange looks of bewilderment.
    After three more looong performances, the night finally comes to an end. I follow Alessandra out of the room, keeping my eyes on the ground. If I can manage to walk to the carriage without face-planting, I’ll be ecstatic. At the door, we stop to thank the Stefanis for their “graciousness.”
    “You simply must hold a ball on Patience’s behalf, Francesca,” Signora Stefani says, her nose held slightly in the air. “Introduce her to Italian society.”
    Antonia’s fake smile crumbles, and she turns to me, her gaze scrutinizing me from head to toe. “I sincerely doubt Patience is ready for something like that, Mother. A baby must first learn to crawl, after all.”
    As much as I don’t want a fancy shindig held in my honor—um, hello, trying to escape my Sweet Sixteen drama was the whole reason I ended up here to begin with—I almost wish my aunt would host one, just so I could put that sour expression back on Antonia’s face. Obviously she doesn’t like sharing the spotlight. Lucky for her, I have no interest in doing so.
    My family starts our descent down the stone steps toward the courtyard. When I spot our carriage waiting at the far end of the square, I