Page 87

Sistine

“ D io .” It was the only strength I had left in me, to cry out for God.

Then my heart cried out for my husband, but I did not have it in me to say his name.

Not enough energy. Then my body seemed to move on its own, and the contents of my stomach—which was empty except for bile—came spilling out.

I did not even have it in me to get up and wash my mouth out, which I desperately wanted and needed to do.

I was too weak. I was too weak and dehydrated to even cry.

A sickness was storming through the palazzo. Or what I thought was perhaps food poisoning. When I thought back on the foods of the night…a seafood dish came to mind, and my stomach rolled again.

Put it out of your mind, Sistine , I continued the mantra to myself, closing my eyes. It felt as if I was dehydrated on a boat, the sun high and burning me to a crisp, while the boat fought a storm, and it was bobbing up and down with the massive swells.

A drenched, cool rag came to my forehead, and I almost sighed in bliss, and then I shivered so hard, my teeth clacked together. A warm hand touched mine.

“ Grazie, ” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Are you feeling any better, Oscar?”

He shrugged. “It has stopped coming out of the other end of my body, so all in all, I am doing okay.” He cleared his throat. “I did not mean to cry for my mamma or wife. I have just never been so sick.”

If I had it in me, I would have grinned at that.

During the night, he had been so sick, and it was coming out of both ends, but he struggled the most with shitting himself.

He cried for his mamma, then his wife, especially when he said his “innards” were dislodging.

He was extremely dramatic, and paired with the set of his face, he was comical.

Although he was not kidding about the innards.

During one of the trial hours, I felt the same myself.

“Your mamma is a doctor?”

His thick eyebrows came in, before they relaxed. He nodded.

“I need her, I think,” I said.

“Your parents brought a doctor in,” he whispered. “I ordered him to check on you, but he refused. He muttered something about the deal with fate and left. He was fast. Too fast for me to catch without leaving the palazzo.”

Dio , my parents wanted me dead. I pushed the thought down deep, burying it. I concentrated on something physically painful. My lips were chapped and cracking. “What did you eat last night?” I asked.

He made a gagging noise, then stood taller. “Everything,” he said. “The food was, ah, delicious.”

“The seafood dish.” I gagged. “That one stands out to me.”

“They all stand out to me.” His face was a shade of green.

I nodded. “Would you mind getting me some water with ice, Oscar?”

“Yes!” he said, his voice strained from being sick, standing even taller. “This I can do. Tea, as well, perhaps? My wife is, ah, Irlandese and Scozzese , along with Italiano , and she seems to enjoy tea more than most.”

“No,” I said, and my jaws clenched and…

Oscar ran out of the room, presumably for the water with ice.

I could smell it in the palazzo. The sickness. It smelled…putrid. Usually, the palazzo was immaculate. It smelled clean, always with a hint of peppermint oil. I did not think anything could mask the smell unless a hoard of cleaners came in and wiped it down with super-powered cleaning products.

Oscar came back with the ice, and I could not even hold that down. After a day of the same issue, when everyone but my grandfather had gotten better—he was taken to the hospital because of his age and dehydration—I cried out again in an anguished whisper.

For God.

For my husband.

“Oscar?” I croaked in the middle of the night.

“I am here.”

“I want to cry,” I whispered. “I do not have enough fluids left in me to do so.” I made a pleading noise and then asked Oscar to call Signor Dandolo and alert him of my condition. I needed medical help.

Before Oscar could leave to make the call, my hand seemed to whip out on its own accord and seize his wrist. It was stupido , but I took this sickness as a challenge. One that had roots back to Capri Capella. I would not succumb to it or call my husband and break the sequester.

“Tell Signor Dandolo I do not need to break the sequester, but I do need help. Probably some fluids to heal me. Perhaps I can cry then.”

Cry for the life I felt I was missing out on. I had been holding in the situation with Capri, the words on my tongue, when I last saw my husband. Our future felt as if it was in the balance.

Perhaps I could not live the rest of my life knowing we could not stay apart for only a short amount of time. Perhaps he could not live the rest of his life knowing I could do this.

I did not know anymore.

I did not know!

I was just sick.

So very sick.

Perhaps most people would see this time as only…time. It was not mere seconds, minutes, days, months, years for us. Being apart was not so simple. It felt as if our hearts had merged into one, and we were sharing it. A step away from each other felt as if we were splitting each other in two.

Oscar gave me a look, a look I could only describe as… you need more than help, lady.

My stomach rolled, and when I opened my eyes again, I was being hauled out of my bed, feet moving underneath me that were not mine.

The bitter Venice air touched my skin, and I shivered so hard, my bones felt as if they rammed into each other. I fell into a deep sleep, one that was filled with a nightmare I knew I would never consciously remember.