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that. Let us wait a couple of weeks, all right? My father…he has so much to absorb, understand about this new life. Should you speak to him too early—”
    “He would say no to me?” he said, suddenly Prince Uppity Pants.
    I smiled. He had a right to be a little miffed. If he lived in my time, Marcello would’ve been in the running for Sexiest Man Alive in People . Rich, powerful, and hotter than wasabi, he was a force . “In Normandy ,” I reminded him, “girls rarely consider marriage before eighteen. No, more like twenty-one, twenty-five.”
    He wrapped his burly arm around me, placing his hand at the small of my back and pulling me close. “And so how many days must I count before you reach your eighteenth birthday?”
    I thought for a moment as he kissed my temple and then slowly worked his way down to my cheek with light, gentle, lingering presses of his lips. Who was I fooling? I was as eager to be with him—forever—as he was with me. Did I really have to wait until I was eighteen? And in this crazy time warp, when was my real birthday anyway? This was all so wild and crazy and foreign, why not bail on it all and follow my heart?
    “How many days, Gabriella?” he growled, then found my lips with his. We kissed for a long moment.
    “Too many,” I said, my eyes still closed. I was memorizing the leathery, spicy smell of him, the feel of his arms around me, the way he made every inch of my skin alive with interest, pulling me, like a rising moon to the far horizon.
    “Then I shall speak to your father about my intentions.”
    “Not yet,” I said, edging slightly away. If we stayed together, making out, I’d be agreeing to an elopement within minutes. I already felt a little dizzy and flushed.
    “We’ll speak of it soon,” he said. “And determine our best course.”
    “Agreed.” We continued our walk, and I did the math for how long it’d be before I turned eighteen. I knew it’d be a factor for Mom and Dad. If we took into account that it was technically February here, it was really only about one month away. Never mind that we’d skipped some time in our back-and-forths. If this was the life we were going to assume, shouldn’t we assume its date stamp too? If that was the case, I was going on nineteen, not eighteen. Yeah, I was picturing my parental units’ faces too. It’d be a struggle, for sure.
    “Let’s get Fortino home first,” I said, side-stepping it. “He should be with us to celebrate.”
    “ If we can get Fortino home,” Marcello said. He shook his head, a distinct ache in the movement. “It’s been more than a month now since we last had word of him. I have pursued every means of negotiation possible but…”
    “But?”
    “It is nothing,” he said, looking away and then gathering me up in his arms again. I heard his pounding heart as I nestled against his chest. He didn’t have to say anything more. I got it. The only trade the Fiorentini would ever make was Fortino for a Betarrini.
    “You cannot steal inside Firenze’s gates and rescue him as you once did me?” I asked.
    “It is possible that Lord Greco will aid us once more, but it puts him at undue risk. It is he who has sent me reports that Fortino yet lives. It’s likely due to him that my brother lives at all.”
    “And you have held to a truce for all this time?”
    “An uneasy truce,” he allowed. I looked up into his face. “And yet hours ago I received word that a small patrol of Fiorentini knights were cut down around the tumuli between Castellos Paratore and Forelli.” A small smile edged his lips.
    “A most unfortunate event,” I said, matching his small smile. “Perhaps it’s time to extend some good will,” I chanced. “Show them that we are once again a city that is willing to offer a hand to our neighbors. Squelch such violence. Reengage them so that we might both prosper.”
    His eyes narrowed. “And how would we accomplish that?”
    “With a visit, of course,” I said, edging