Not having a claim was not an option, and Lucrezia Romano would not be without a claim for long. The girl had a wild heart, wild and independent ideas for her life, but those had isolated her from her family and, what was worse, driven her all the way to the Auntieâs arms.
She was humbled now, perhaps domesticated, but she knew that wayward girl was in there somewhere. How to keep her suppressed?
Zia started with her own little experiment, in public, though at the Museum. It seemed innocuous enough, though looking at all of the artifacts, knowing that moving through time were those who were willing to fight for what was right and just⊠well. Her insubordinate heart fluttered.
And then, she remembered the corporal punishment of the Aunties, the feeling of disappointment they would have had â not that theyâd showed any sort of warmth otherwise â and she stopped. Her blood less warm, her body buzzing a little less, she loosened her clenched fists and turned to the one who had joined her here by this display.
âStrange, isnât it?â she asked, daring eye contact, wearing the slightest hint of amusement. âAll of the violent years and all of the broken lives along the way. All to lead us to this, where we are amenable to anything.â
And then there was Gideon Wade, the businessman who was quite content to be without a claim -- at least a submissive one. His claim was over buildings and properties, and in that arena he was more than a success. But not as much of one as he needed to be. Not while the Montagues were still in Verona.
Mr. Wade was perusing the museum himself when his attention was caught by the wayward submissive. Gideon was spoken to in such ways often, and normally he would have given her a passive remark and continued along on his business. But her comment was sufficiently intriguing to stop and converse. Which is not to say that it was especially intriguing -- only sufficiently -- and his attention was hanging by a thread.
âYou say it like those days are only in the past.â
