Free Fruit of the Golden Vine by Sophia French Page A

is as pure ivory, with not a blemish in sight.”
    Adelina snorted, slid along her seat and stuck her head out of the window. Townsfolk wandered the streets and plied their trades behind stalls, and the hot summer air carried the aroma of grass and sweat.
    “Stop here!” Rafael rang the bell above their heads, and the coach shuddered to a halt. He drew aside the curtain and helped Irena to the street before extending his hand toward Ada.
    “I don’t need your damn help.” Ada pushed his hand aside and stepped down from the coach.
    They had stopped by the town green, a place lively with colored tents, stalls and banners—the Sunday market. The attendees were dressed in their finest silk and leather, and the scent of perfume and cologne mixed with the heady aromas of the field. The knot of anger in Adelina’s chest eased. It had been so long since she’d had the chance to see the market, after all, and Rafael and Irena were still better company than one of her father’s skulking cronies.
    “Sniff that air!” said Irena. “I can smell cinnamon somewhere. Oh, Ada…” She took Adelina’s arm. “Please let’s be happy.”
    Adelina considered pulling her arm free, but it would have seemed childish. “I’m here to chaperone you, remember. No kissing or holding hands.”
    Rafael chuckled, and Irena’s cheeks turned pink. “I promise to be on my best behavior, my mistress Adelina,” Rafael said. “Come! Let’s chase down that tell-tale cinnamon. I do suspect a baker is the culprit, and we could start our day with some sticky buns.”
    God, he was so fawning. There was no way he truly spoke like that, not inside his head, not as if he were some absurd gentleman sprung from a handbook on civility. Not if he was that woman’s brother, at any rate. A bitch like her would have a bastard for a brother.
    Irena tugged Adelina’s sleeve. “Look! A juggler!”
    Adelina looked, a pang of curiosity stirring. The juggler stood beneath the shade of a great tree. A series of colored balls sparkled and leaped in his hands. He never once tripped in his act, and as the number of balls grew, it took all of Adelina’s sulky conviction to prevent herself from applauding.
    “Can you juggle, Rafael?” said Irena, returning her attention to her deceitful suitor.
    “Oh, not nearly so well.” Rafael tilted his hat lower, shading his eyes. “This heat is remarkable. How do you ladies survive the summer dressed in those thick dresses?”
    “I don’t know,” said Adelina. “Maybe we won’t.”
    Rafael gave her a sympathetic, even endearing grin. Why did he have to be so persistently likeable? No doubt he was going to break Irena’s heart, the way Silvana had broken hers.
    “Come on,” he said. “Before the crowd tramples us!”
    The sisters followed Rafael, treading with care to avoid losing their toes. Rafael stopped them at a stall with a slouched purple awning. A series of glistening pastries lay arranged on its table. A fat, flour-fingered man loitered behind them, his eyes alight with covetousness.
    “Cinnamon.” Rafael inhaled the air. “Yes, we’ve tracked you down, you rascal.”
    Irena giggled. “Let’s buy a bun each, Adelina. And another for our little sister.”
    “We have a little sister?” Adelina wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t recall any little sister. Do you mean that hobgoblin that sneaks into our room and steals our hairpins?”
    “Yes, the same.” Irena’s shoulders shook beneath a second wave of giggles. “If we feed it, it may leave us alone. Rafael! Will you tell this man we’ll take three sticky cinnamon buns?”
    “Certainly.” Rafael tipped his hat to the baker, who inclined his head in the barest suggestion of respect. “Three buns, dear friend, for my lady and her sister fair.” He took out a gleaming handful of money, and the baker’s eyes matched the shine of the coins as he selected three of the largest buns.
    The buns wrapped and placed in Irena’s woven bag, the trio