The young man had not replied; in fact, he had acted as if his father was not even there, and for all his wickedness, Giulietta had-ever so briefly-felt embarrassed for Salimbeni.
But later, seeing the view from her window at Rocca di Tentennano, she began to grasp his true intention in sending her here, and to understand that it was not meant as a gesture of generosity, merely as a new and ingenious form of punishment.
The place was a fortification. Just as no one could get in who did not belong there, so would no one ever be able to leave who was not allowed to. Now she finally understood what people had meant when they gravely referred to Salimbeni’s previous wives as having been sent to the island; Rocca di Tentennano was a place from which the only possible escape was death.
Much to Giulietta’s surprise, a servant girl came right away to light the fireplace in her room, and to help her out of her travel clothes. It was a cool day in early December, and for the last of the many hours of the journey, her fingertips had been white and numb. Now she stood in a woolen dress and dry slippers, turning herself about in front of the open fire, trying to remember when she had last felt comfortable.
Opening her eyes, she saw Nino standing in the door, regarding her with something as unexpected as kindness. It was too bad, she thought, that he was a scoundrel like his father, for he was a handsome young man, strong and able, to whom smiling seemed to come far more easily than perhaps it ought, considering the weight-surely-of his conscience.
“May I ask,” he said, his tone as cordial as if he had addressed her on the dancing floor, “that you join me downstairs for dinner tonight? I understand you have been eating alone these past three weeks, and I apologize on behalf of my ill-mannered family.” Seeing her surprise, he smiled charmingly. “Do not be afraid. I assure you, we are completely alone.”
AND INDEED THEY WERE. Posed at either end of a dinner table that could comfortably seat twenty, Giulietta and Nino ate most of their meal in silence, their eyes only occasionally meeting through the candelabra. Whenever he saw her looking at him, Nino smiled, and at length Giulietta found the necessary boldness within herself to speak the words that were on her mind. “Did you kill my cousin Tebaldo in the Palio?”
Nino’s smile disappeared. “Of course not. How could you think that?”
“Then who did?”
He looked at her curiously, but neither of her questions had visibly upset him. “You know who did. Everyone knows.”
“And does everyone know”-Giulietta paused to steady her voice-“what your father did to Romeo?”
Instead of answering, Nino rose from his chair and walked along the table all the way down to where she sat. Here, he knelt down next to her and took her hand the way a knight would take the hand of a maiden in distress. “How can I ever make good the evil my father has done?” He pressed her hand to his cheek. “How can I ever eclipse that mad moon shining upon my kin? Please tell me, dearest lady, how I may please you?”
Giulietta studied his face for the longest time, then simply said, “You can let me go.”
He looked at her, puzzled, not sure what she meant.
“I am not your father’s wife,” she went on. “There is no need to keep me here. Just let me go, and I will never bother you again.”
“I am sorry,” said Nino, pressing her hand to his lips this time, “but I cannot do that.”
“I see,” said Giulietta, withdrawing her hand. “In that case you can let me return to my room. That would please me very much.”
“And I will,” said Nino, getting up, “after another glass of wine.” He poured more wine into the glass she had barely touched. “You have not eaten much. You must be hungry?” When she did not reply, he smiled. “Life around here can be very pleasant, you know. Fresh air, good food, wonderful bread-not the stones we are served at home-and”-he opened his arms-“excellent company. Everything is yours to enjoy. All you have to do is take it.”
Only when he offered her the glass, still smiling, did Giulietta begin to understand his full meaning. “Are you not afraid,” she said, lightly, taking the glass, “of what your father would say?”
Nino laughed. “I think we both would appreciate a night of not thinking about my father.” He leaned against the table, waiting for her to drink. “I trust you can see that I am nothing like him.”
Putting down her glass, Giulietta stood up. “I thank you,” she said, “for this meal and your kind attention. But now it is time for me to retire, and I bid you good night-”
A hand around her wrist prevented her from leaving.
“I am not a man without feeling,” said Nino, serious at last. “I know you have suffered, and I wish it were otherwise. But fate has ordained that we be here together-”
“Fate?” Giulietta tried to free herself, but could not. “You mean, your father?”
Only now did Nino give up all pretense and look at her wearily. “Do you not realize that I am being generous? Believe me, I do not have to be. But I like you. You are worth it.” He let go of her wrist. “Now go, and do whatever it is that women do, and I will come to you.” He had the nerve to smile. “I promise, you will not think me quite so offensive by midnight.”
Giulietta looked him in the eye, but saw only determination. “Is there nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise?”
But all he did was smile and shake his head.
THERE WAS A GUARD posted on every corner as Giulietta walked back to her room. And yet, despite all the protection, there was no lock on her door, no way of keeping Nino out.
Opening her shutters to the frosty night outside, she looked up at the stars and was amazed at their number and brightness. It was a dazzling spectacle, put on by Heaven for her alone, it seemed, to give her one last chance to fill her soul with beauty before it all went away.
She had failed at everything she set out to do. Her plans to bury Romeo and kill Salimbeni had both come to naught, and she must conclude that she had kept herself alive only to be abused. Her sole consolation was that they had not managed to void her vows with Romeo no matter how they had tried; she had never belonged to anyone else. He was her husband, and yet was not. While their souls were entwined, their bodies were separated by death. But not for long. All she had to do now was remain faithful to the end, and then perhaps, if Friar Lorenzo had told her the truth, she would be reunited with Romeo in the afterlife.
Leaving the shutters open, Giulietta walked over to her luggage. So many dresses, so much finery… but nested in a brocade slipper lay the only thing she wanted. It was a vial for perfume, which had been on her bedstand at Palazzo Salimbeni, but which she had soon decided to put to other use.
Every night after her wedding, an old nurse had come to serve her a measure of sleeping potion on a spoon, her eyes full of unspoken compassion. “Open up!” she had said, briskly, “and be a good girl. You want happy dreams, do you not?”
The first few times Giulietta had promptly spat out the potion in her chamber pot as soon as the nurse had left the room, determined to be fully awake in case Salimbeni came to her bed again, that she might remind him of his curse.
But after those first few nights, it had occurred to her to empty the vial of rosewater Monna Antonia had given her as they said goodbye, and-instead of the perfume-slowly fill it up with the mouthfuls of sleeping potion she was served every night.
In the beginning, she thought of the concoction as a weapon that might somehow be used against Salimbeni, but as his visits to her room became more and more rare, the vial sat on her bedstand with no dedicated purpose, except to remind Giulietta that, once it was full, it would surely be lethal to anyone who drank it all.