Free Dante's Dilemma (a Dante Legacy Novella) by Day Leclaire Page A

shockingly plump fingers and asked me to resize the engagement ring.”
    She laughed at his teasing. Then her humor faded—no doubt at the reminder of all that stood between them. In its stead came a pain Rom would have given anything to ease. “The ring’s too constricting to wear.” She touched a spot beneath the bodice of her dress. “I put it on the chain that holds my crucifix.”
    The irony of her comment didn’t escape him. “That ring will never be the right fit because you and Tito aren’t the right fit.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. “And we are?”
    “You already know the answer to that.” She frowned at the flowers she’d upended, and he joined her, clicking his tongue in dismay. “You’re like these plants, Julietta. If you stay in Santa Lucia, you’ll be as choked and root-bound as they are.”
    “And if I don’t stay? Where will we go… after? Assuming there is an after.” She stroked the faded roses with a gloved hand. “Florence?”
    He hesitated. He hadn’t told her about his job offer or his plan to move to California. He didn’t want to panic her. But she deserved to know. Deserved to have all the facts before she made her final decision. “Not Florence.”
    Her brows pulled together. “But your job is in Florence, isn’t it?”
    He nodded. “I’ve been offered a new job. One that will give me the freedom to become a better craftsman. To create my own line of jewelry and receive credit for it.”
    She swiveled to face him, her expression alight with joy on his behalf. “Rom, that’s wonderful. Where’s this new job?”
    He took a deep breath. “In America. San Francisco, to be precise. That’s a city in California.”
    Her excitement stuttered, fading away, and she stared in disbelief from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat, her eyes dark and shadowed. “Are you serious?”
    “Quite serious.”
    She averted her gaze and returned the small spade she held to her gardening basket. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and she moistened her lips.
    “America,” she repeated. “You want me to go with you to America?”
    “As my wife, yes.”
    Julietta stared blindly at the uprooted roses. “I anticipated having to leave home. If I don’t marry Tito, I couldn’t very well stay. But, I thought we’d live in Florence. I… I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking. I don’t know if I can leave my family and move so far away.”
    “We can do it, together.”
    “Just like that?” she marveled. “Move away from all we’ve ever known? My roots are here. My family is here. I… I don’t even speak English.”
    He strove to find the words to convince her. “For some people, it would be impossible. But not for us. We’re not like most people from Santa Lucia.” He looked around, searching for an analogy. His gaze landed on the nearby grove, and he gestured in that direction. “It’s not like we’re those orange trees, trapped in a grove.”
    Despite the underlying seriousness, she shot him a look of amusement. “Then what are we?”
    “We’re whatever we choose to be. Don’t you see, Julietta?” Passion filled his voice. “We’re people, people who don’t have to follow the dictates of those who would force us to be something we’re not.”
    She slapped the dirt from her gloves and planted her hands on her hips. “How do you know I’m not happy being an orange tree?” she asked in exasperation.
    He plucked a pair of shears from her gardening basket. “Do you see those geraniums in the window box over there?”
    “I see them.”
    “Despite the lack of attention, they’re flourishing. The rain nourishes them, the sun warms them. They are happy to remain in their box doing whatever it is geraniums are content doing.”
    “So now we’re geraniums?”
    “No.
We
are roses.” He examined the dying plant she’d removed from the box and shook his head. “Look at the poor thing. The roots are wrapped so tightly around themselves, they can’t get