Juliet. Anne Fortier

merely asked, ‘No luggage?’

      ‘Tons. But apparently, it all went to Verona.’

      Moments later I was sitting in the backseat of his car next to Eva Maria, fast-forwarding through the splendours of Florence. As soon as I had convinced myself that Alessandro’s brooding silence was nothing but a consequence of poor English skills – but why should I even care? – I felt a new kind of excitement bubble up inside me. Here I was, back in the country that had spat me out twice, successfully infiltrating the movers and shakers. I couldn’t wait to call Umberto and tell him all about it.

      ‘So, Giulietta,’ said Eva Maria, at last leaning back in comfort, ‘I would be careful and not tell…too many people who you are.’

      ‘Me?’ I nearly laughed. ‘But I am nobody!’

      ‘Nobody? You are a Tolomei!’

      ‘You just told me that the Tolomeis lived a long time ago.’

      Eva Maria touched an index finger to my nose. ‘Don’t underestimate the power of events that happened a long time ago. That is the tragic flaw of modern man. I advise you, as someone from the New World: listen more, and speak less. This is where your soul was born. Believe me, Giulietta, there will be people here to whom you are someone.’

      I glanced at the rearview mirror to find Alessandro looking at me with narrow eyes. English skills or no, he clearly did not share his godmother’s fascination with my person, but was too disciplined to voice his own thoughts. And so he tolerated my presence in his car for as long as I did not step outside the proper boundaries of humility and gratitude.

      ‘Your family, the Tolomeis,’ Eva Maria went on, oblivious to the bad vibes, ‘was one of the richest, most powerful families in all of Siena’s history. They were private bankers, you see, and they were always at war with us, the Salimbenis, to prove who had more influence in the city. Their feud was so bad that they burnt down each other’s houses – and killed each other’s children in their beds – back in the Middle Ages.’

      ‘They were enemies?’ I asked, stupidly.

      ‘Oh yes! The worst kind! Do you believe in destiny?’ Eva Maria put her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze. ‘I do. Our two households, the Tolomeis and the Salimbenis, had an ancient grudge, a bloody grudge…If we were in the Middle Ages, we would be at each other’s throats. Like the Capulets and the Montagues in Romeo and Juliet.’ She looked at me meaningfully. ‘Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Siena, where we lay our scene–do you know that play?’ When I merely nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, she patted my hand reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I am confident that you and I, with our new friendship, will at last bury their strife. And this is why’–she turned abruptly in her seat–‘Sandro! I am counting on you to make sure Giulietta is safe in Siena. Did you hear me?’

      ‘Miss Tolomei,’ replied Alessandro, looking at the road ahead, ‘will never be safe anywhere. From anyone.’

      ‘What kind of talk is that?’ scolded Eva Maria. ‘She is a Tolomei; it is our duty to protect her.’

      Alessandro glanced at me in the mirror, and I got the impression that he could see far more of me than I could see of him. ‘Maybe she doesn’t want our protection.’ From the way he said it I knew it was a challenge, and I also knew that, despite his accent, he was eminently at home in my language. Which meant that he had other reasons for being monosyllabic with me.

      ‘I really appreciate this ride,’ I said, deploying my cutest smile. ‘But I am sure Siena is very safe.’

      He acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. ‘What brings you over here? Business or pleasure?’

      ‘Well…pleasure, I suppose.’

      Eva Maria clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Then we will have to make sure you are not disappointed! Alessandro knows all the secrets of Siena. Don’t you, caro? He will show you places, wonderful places that you would never find on your own. Oh, you will have fun!’

      I opened my mouth, but had no idea what to say. So I closed it again. It was quite evident from his frown that showing me around Siena would rank very low on Alessandro’s agenda for the week.

      ‘Sandro!’ Eva Maria went on, her voice turning sharp. ‘You will make sure Giulietta has fun, no?’

      ‘I can imagine no greater felicity,’ replied Alessandro, turning on the car radio.

      ‘See?’ Eva Maria pinched my flushed cheek. ‘What did Shakespeare know? Now we are friends.’

      Outside, the world was a vineyard, and the sky was suspended over the landscape like a protective, blue cape. It was where I was born, and yet I suddenly felt like a stranger–an intruder–who had crept in through the back door to find and claim something that had never belonged to me.

      

      It was a relief when we finally pulled up in front of Hotel Chiusarelli. Eva Maria had been more than kind throughout the trip, telling me this and that about Siena, but you can only make so much polite conversation after losing a night’s sleep and all your luggage in one fell swoop.

      Everything I owned had been in those two suitcases. I had basically packed up my entire childhood right after Aunt Rose’s funeral, and had left the house in a taxi around midnight with Janice’s triumphant laughter still ringing in my ears. There had been all sorts of clothes, books, and silly knickknacks, but now they were in Verona, and I was here, stuck in Siena with little more than a toothbrush, half a granola bar, and a pair of earplugs.

      After pulling up at the curb in front of the hotel and dutifully opening the car door for me, Alessandro escorted me all the way into the vestibule. He obviously didn’t want to, and I obviously didn’t appreciate the gesture, but Eva Maria was watching us both from the backseat of the car, and by now I knew that she was a woman who was used to having things her way.

      ‘Please,’ said Alessandro, holding the door open. ‘After you.’

      There was nothing else to do but enter Hotel Chiusarelli. The building greeted me with cool serenity, its ceiling supported by high marble columns, and only very faintly, from somewhere below us, could I discern the sound of people singing while throwing pots and pans around.

      ‘‘Buongiorno!’ An august man in a three-piece suit rose behind the reception counter, a brass name-tag informing me that his name was Direttore Rossini. ‘Benvenu–ah!’ He interrupted himself when he saw Alessandro. ‘Benvenuto, Capitano.’

      I placed my hands flat on the green marble with what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘Hi. I am Giulietta Tolomei. I have a reservation. Excuse me for a second.’ I turned towards Alessandro. ‘So, this is it. I am safely here.’

      ‘I am very sorry, Signorina,’ said Direttore Rossini, ‘but I do not have a reservation in your name.’

      ‘Oh! I was sure…is that a problem?’

      ‘It is the Palio!’ He threw up his arms in exasperation. ‘The hotel is complete! But’–he tapped at the computer screen–‘I have here a credit card number with the name Julie Jacobs. Reservation for one person for one week. To arrive today from America. Can this be you?’

      I glanced at Alessandro. He returned my stare with perfect indifference. ‘Yes, that’s me,’ I said.

      Direttore Rossini looked surprised. ‘You are Julie Jacobs? And Giulietta Tolomei?’

      ‘Well…yes.’

      ‘But…’ Direttore Rossini took a little sidestep better to see Alessandro, his eyebrows describing a polite question mark. ‘C’è un problema?’

      ‘‘Nessun problema,’ replied Alessandro, looking at us both with what could only be a deliberate non-expression. ‘Miss Jacobs. Enjoy your stay in Siena.’

      Within the blink of an eye Eva Maria’s godson was gone, and