This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(42)

He tapped the book against his palm. “Does it happen when you touch anyone?”

“As far as I can tell.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Ironic, isn’t it? I would kill to hold someone’s hand, but if I do, I kill them.”

“And all this isolation is supposed to make you appreciate the holiness of connection or something?”

“Yes. A Finestra’s earthly relationships are severed so we can avoid distractions, remain pure of heart, and be fully committed to the quest at hand. I’m supposed to appreciate connection more by not having any.”

“Seems contradictory.”

“It worked. Made me quite eager to have a Fonte.”

His eyebrows drew together. “You got a real shitty deal, Finestra.”

“Alessa,” she said softly. The words tasted strange, awkward and unfamiliar on her lips. “My name is Alessandra Diletta Paladino.”

“Thought you weren’t supposed to have a name.”

“I’m also not supposed to kill my Fontes or have a man in my suite.”

He gestured to the wall. “You going to tell them?”

“Maybe I should. At least they’d know what name to curse. But no.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I don’t know.” She sank into a chair and pulled a pillow to her chest. “I’m tired of being a title rather than a person, I guess. Just don’t say it where anyone might hear you.”

He studied her, thoughtful. “Alessandra. The gods’ chosen protector.”

“How do you know that?”

“Too much religion in my childhood.”

She knew what that was like. “Your parents were devout?”

“No.” His expression darkened.

“Well, my full name roughly translates to the gods’ beloved, brave protector of humanity. Dea must have felt she had no choice but to pick me after my parents set me up like that.”

“Does your family ever visit?” he asked.

“Finestra, remember? I have no family.”

“Yes, Alessa, I remember.” Her name on his lips sent a strange thrill through her body. “So. Your family. You had one.”

She sighed. “Yes, I had a family. I suppose I still do, depending on how pious you are.”

“Are they pious?”

“My parents are. They haven’t spoken to me since the day I left. They’re faithful believers.”

“And shitty parents.”

“That’s not fair.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Siblings?”

“I have—had—oh, forget it, I have a twin brother named Adrick. Sometimes he delivers things or sits on the other side of the garden walls to speak with me, even though it’s against the rules.”

“So, was your life … good? I mean, you seem so…” He struggled for the words, twirling his hand through the air as though flipping through a mental stack of vocabulary words. “Lonely. Like you miss it.”

“I do. I miss them so much it’s like something’s been carved out of my middle.” She dropped her gaze. “My father used to call me his little cat, because I couldn’t resist an available lap.” She gave a sad laugh. “I was too affectionate at times. I used to embarrass Adrick by trying to hold his hand around his friends.”

“It must have been a shock.”

“Becoming Finestra was like drowning. You go every day of your life without noticing the air in your lungs, and suddenly you’re plunged into deep water, and air becomes the most precious gift you never knew you’d been given and never thought would be taken away.”

“Not sure I’d notice.”

“That’s sad.”

He shrugged.

“I wish you were the Finestra, then. All the personal space one could ever want, an epic battle, and plenty of isolation. Clearly the gods missed their perfect candidate.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “The gods don’t want me.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “So. You know my full name, and I still don’t know your last name.”

“Last name?” Dante said with a twinkle in his eye. “Luce mia, you don’t even know my first name.”

“Wait.” Alessa stood. “Dante isn’t your real name?”

“It’s my name, just not my first name.” A smile teased at his lips as Alessa prowled closer.

“What’s your first name, then?”

His smile deepened. “I’m not telling.”

“Why not?” Alessa’s voice rose with indignation. “Just to annoy me?”

“’Course not. Annoying you is a perk, though.”

“I bet it’s something terrible, like Eustice. Maybe I’ll call you that until you tell me.”

He snorted. “Call me whatever you want. But don’t expect me to answer.”

“How do you say jackass in the old language?”

“Stronzo.”

“Bastard?”

“Bastardo.” Dante sauntered toward the door. “Should I write these down for you?”

“I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”

Dante held the door for her to go first. A bastardo, but a gentleman.