This Vicious Grace (The Last Finestra #1)(48)

Her fingertips detected grooves on the back of the book, and she flipped it over to see letters carved into the leather.

E. Lucente.

“I knew it!” Alessa crowed. “Your name is Eustice!”

Dante shook his head with a crooked smile. “The E is for Emma. It belonged to my mother.”

“Drat,” Alessa sulked. “Well, at least I know your last name now. Lucente. Light. And Dante means…”

“Enduring.”

“Enduring light,” she mused. “I like it. You called me that before: Luce mia.”

Dante crossed and uncrossed his arms with a soft throat-clearing. “She used to call me that.”

Her heart ached for the little boy he must have once been. “What are you reading now? Anything good?”

He slid a glance her way. “You tell me. I found it by your bed.”

The blood drained from her face. “Give it back.”

He pulled it close. “I will. I’m just borrowing it. Fair trade.”

“You can’t. It’s mine. I mean, it’s not mine. I found it. It was clearly not meant to be in the library, so I removed it. To discard it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s … inappropriate.” The tips of her ears went hot.

“Well, someone’s enjoyed it. Half the pages are dog-eared.” His lips twitched.

She busied herself by shuffling throw pillows around. “I wouldn’t know.”

“They marked the best parts, if you ask me.”

Best. The most scandalous—that’s what he meant—but as she had not read it and therefore could not have folded pages to mark scenes for future reading, she could neither argue nor agree with his assessment, and the bastard knew it.

“The author is quite, eh, descriptive,” he said, all innocence. “Ah, here’s a good line. ‘When the Prince Regent turned to display his most royal sword, the lady gasped. Such an impressive weapon could—’”

A pillow to his face cut him off. Laughing, he tossed it aside. “Fess up. How many times have you read this?”

“I told you, I didn’t—”

“A dozen? A hundred?”

“You’re a horrible person, you know that?”

“I do.” He sounded far too serious, and she hesitated, wondering if she should apologize, but his expression shifted to wide-eyed sincerity. “But I simply must find out if our intrepid heroine chooses the prince or the rogue, so don’t you dare spoil it for me.”

Alessa pulled herself tall, every bit the haughty Finestra. “I would never. Only the worst sort of people spoil book endings.”

“True. And you can’t. Obviously. Because you haven’t read it.”

“Because I haven’t read it.”

“You know, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stole a glance at her. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“To read?”

“To enjoy this kind of book. You may be a holy vessel and all that, but you’re still human.”

“Sort of.”

He sat forward. “Entirely. Title or no title, power or none, you’re still human. Don’t let the holy nonsense mess with your head.”

“Holy nonsense?”

He waved away her indignant protest. “Keep your gods and goddesses on their pedestals if you want, but the rituals, the rules, the isolation? You know that isn’t really from them, right? That’s written by mortals. Men, mostly. We have a bad habit of locking up people who scare us, and the thing that scares men with power most is a woman with more of it.”

She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want her power, but there were a million things she didn’t understand about people, so she didn’t argue. Even Adrick had sounded jealous the last time they spoke.

Dante gave her a pointed glance. “If parts of this deal don’t work for you, ignore them. Take the traditions you need and toss the rest. Be bold.”

“Bold, huh?” She snatched the book from the table. “In that case, I’ll take this back.”

Dante’s laughter followed her to a chair on the balcony.

“They were talking about a card game tonight,” he said, coming up behind her. “You should go.”

“I tortured them all day.” Alessa smoothed her skirts. “I’m sure they don’t want me there.”

“Won’t know unless you try,” he said. “You want friends, go get them.”

“I won’t force anyone to be my friend.”

“Ha! You keep bullying me into it.” Resting his hands on the back of her chair, he bent close to her ear. “You aren’t scared, are you?”

Alessa tossed her head with righteous indignation, thwacking Dante in the face with her hair.

Laughing, he brushed a few strands from his cheek. “You smell like an orchard.”

“I smell divine, thank you very much. My Nonna makes me soaps and scrubs with homegrown lemons and sea salt. It’s good for the complexion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. They let you visit your grandparents?”

“No. I’m not even allowed to write to them, but the rules don’t specify who I can shop from, so I order a basket every few months, and Nonna writes secret notes on the inside of the wrappings.”