Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

the air dramatically.
    Portia nodded. "It is unseemly of him, but Giovanni has always been a law unto himself." She shrugged her milky white shoulders so that her low-cut gown seemed suddenly precarious, about to fail in its ability to contain her ample bosom. Portia knew she was a beautiful woman, and her gowns showed her figure to perfection. She moved with a graceful confidence in herself, with the perfect poise her station had bequeathed her. "Giovanni does what he wishes, and there is none to stop him." The implication was ominous, almost sinister, yet Portia laughed softly, waving aside her own words. "You must leave everything in my capable hands. Since Vincente's wife, Angelita, the last mistress of the palazzo… died, I have planned many festivities for Giovanni, and I must say, I have received much praise for my efforts."
    "Your help would be appreciated, grazie" Maria Pia answered for Nicoletta.
    "Then it is settled." Portia smiled sweetly at the bride-to-be. "We must get to know one another better, my dear, if you are to become a member of our household. Giovanni would think it very wicked of me not to help you learn your duties as his wife. You will entertain often and see to it that his household runs smoothly." Her smile was as false as the offer of friendship. "It is the duty of the Scarletti famiglia to have numerous festivities. The king sends many courtiers here for negotiations."
    Nicoletta dropped her arms, yelped when pins stuck her from all directions, and glared at the seamstress. "I am finished with this," she announced. "Maria Pia is right; it is sinful to have so many gowns. Why, there are enough here for every woman in my village. I cannot possibly wear them all."
    "You will need every one," Portia cautioned. "But, indeed, dear, you look bedraggled. You must stop for the day," she added solicitously.
    A tentative knock on the door announced the manservant, Gostanz. He cleared his throat carefully when he caught sight of Portia but delivered his message in his usual monotone. "There are visitors for you, signorina. They are waiting in the courtyard." His customary disdain was very much in evidence, and something else, something undefined, as if the man was secretly amused.
    "Thank you," Nicoletta answered politely, smiling determinedly at him. She hastened behind the screen and dragged on her familiar skirt and blouse, thankful for the comfort of the oft-washed material. She then rushed down the hall, waving distractedly at Portia. Maria Pia was much better equipped to deal with the woman anyway. Bedraggled, indeed!
    Nicoletta made an attempt at smoothing her hair as she hurried down the stairs. She managed to find her way to the courtyard entrance with only two wrong turns, an unbelievable feat in the huge palazzo. She ran lightly across the marble tiles, her bare feet making no sound as she hurried through the corridors to the door, a sudden joy welling up in her. She knew who the visitors were, her dear, familiar friends, and she needed them desperately.

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    The two guards hurried after her, swords clacking and boots slapping loudly against the tiles. Nicoletta allowed the door to slam in their faces and made it halfway across the courtyard to her visitors before they tore it open and followed her.
    Ketsia was sitting on the lush carpet of green grasses, her face buried in her hands, crying as if her heart were breaking. Cristano was pacing furiously, his boots kicking up a spray of white pebbles on the pathway.
    "Bambino! Whatever is the matter?" Nicoletta demanded, scooping the child into her arms. "Why are you crying? Cristano! Tell me why she is crying so." With the girl in her arms, Nicoletta spun around to hug Cristano, too. As Cristano embraced both of them, they stumbled and all spilled together into the soft grasses.
    Ketsia's tears turned to laughter, and she flung her arms around Nicoletta's neck. "I knew you would be the same. And look, no shoes! Look, Cristano, even he cannot make her wear shoes!" Ketsia sounded proud and happy over Nicoletta's lack of footwear.
    The two guards hovered close, but clearly their training had not prepared them to cope with a barefoot young woman hugging a sobbing child and an angry young man. The three were tangled together on the ground, laughing and obviously no threat to Nicoletta. The guards looked at one another rather helplessly and remained in the