She closed the door.
Chapter Twenty-one
Raven turned her head to find William staring at her unblinkingly, like a gray-eyed cat.
They were standing at the Piazzale Michelangelo, looking down at the radiant skyline of the city the following evening. They’d dined together, but on different food, at William’s villa before walking hand in hand to the place that offered one of the best vistas of Florence.
Raven had put her cane aside and was leaning against a low stone wall that framed the piazzale. She’d been admiring the various landmarks and the way they were illuminated. The Ponte Vecchio and the Arno reflected the lights from the buildings that lined its banks.
It was so beautiful it made her heart hurt. She hoped she would always be able to live there and enjoy its beauty. She glanced at William and found his gaze intent on her.
“What are you looking at?”
“You.”
She turned back to the view. “There are more beautiful things you could be looking at.”
He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip. “I wish I had your talent for drawing. I’d sketch you like this, in profile, looking down over the city.”
“I noticed you framed the sketch I did of you.”
“I framed it not for the subject matter, but for the artist.”
“You hung it next to your Botticelli.” Her tone was slightly accusing.
“Great artists are best displayed in the company of other great artists.”
She shook her head, but her smile remained in place.
He moved nearer. “Would you ever consider drawing a self-portrait, for me?”
Raven lifted her eyebrows. “Really?”
“I should like to have it.”
“Then, yes, I suppose.” She leaned against the railing, taking her weight off her disabled leg.
“I thought you were beautiful, even on the night I found you.” William lowered his voice. “It was your scent that drew me to you—it bespoke a beautiful soul. But I was captivated by your eyes.”
Raven’s smile blossomed and she returned to look at the Arno.
Beyond the Ponte Vecchio, near the Ponte Santa Trinita, was the place where William had rescued her. Now when she drove over the bridge from Santo Spirito and into that area, she experienced anxiety and a feeling of dread. She wondered if she was guilty of suppressing memories of the night she was attacked, or if the memory loss had been the result of a head injury and vampyre blood, as William suggested.
She sighed and thought of Cara.
“Why the deep sigh?” William moved nearer, but didn’t touch her.
“I was thinking about my sister.”
“I’ve thought about mine over the years.”
“What happened to them?”
“My sisters, as well as my brothers, married and had children. I didn’t trace their descendants, but I’m sure some of them live in England still. Some of them probably went to America or Canada.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Not really. I’d already severed ties with my family before I became a vampyre. After the change, I had little interest in them.” He pressed his forearms against the railing. “Vampyres are egoists—only concerned with themselves and whatever pleases them. That doesn’t leave much room for familial attachment.”
Normally, Raven would have argued with him, pointing out that the general principles that applied to vampyres did not apply to him. But at that moment, she simply didn’t have it in her to argue, so she was silent.
“What was your father like?”
“He was tall—taller than you—and big. He worked construction. He had dark hair and green eyes.” Raven pointed to her face. “I look like him. He was funny. He liked to laugh. He liked to take me and my sister to the park and run around with us.”
“If I had the power of resurrection, I’d give him back to you.”
Tears filled Raven’s eyes. She nodded, too overcome to speak.
“What were you thinking about your sister?”
Raven flexed her hands against the stone, finding the cool roughness against her skin a pleasant distraction. “I love her. She’s my best friend.” Raven lowered her head. “She hates me.”
“If she hates you, she’s clearly lacking in perception.”
“William,” Raven reproved him. “Since we couldn’t rely on our mother, I became Cara’s mother in a lot of ways. Having her break off contact with me is devastating.”
William placed his hand over hers. “She still won’t speak to you?”
“I’ve tried calling, I’ve tried e-mails. She won’t answer.”
“I’m sorry. I . . .” William shook his head.
Raven remarked his worried expression. “What is it?”
He redirected his gaze to the Palazzo Vecchio. “I see your suffering and I don’t know how to end it. I’d like to give you your father back. I’d like to give you your mother and your sister. But I can’t. It makes me . . .” He paused abruptly. “I don’t like feeling powerless.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me? I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re here.”
Ever so softly, the edge of his finger feathered over the hinge of her jaw.
A long look passed between them.
“I wish I’d found you seven hundred years ago.”
She entwined their fingers together. “We wouldn’t have one another now if that had happened.”
Raven had the impression he wanted to say something but was choosing his words carefully.
“Is being a mother something you want?”
That was a question she had not expected.
She studied the skyline intently. “I didn’t expect to find someone to love. Marriage and children weren’t part of my aspirations. I wanted a life filled with beauty and friends and I was determined to be content with those things.”
“You volunteer at an orphanage.”
“Yes.”
“Will that be enough?”
“I don’t know. I’m thirty, William. I probably have ten years left in which to have a child. Maybe I’ll want a biological child someday, but right now I find the thought daunting. The idea of creating a child with someone other than the man I love is repugnant.”
William lifted his arm and curled it around her waist, bringing her into his side.
“Enough about me, William. I should be asking about your burdens. I’m sorry I’ve been so focused on myself.”
He squeezed her waist. “You don’t even realize how unselfish you are. You’ve been asking me about my troubles with the principalities and worrying along with me for days. You’ve done more than enough.”
“I think all this deep conversation is because of the view,” she blurted out. “The beauty of the city makes people reflect on life and time and secret desires.”
William chuckled and pressed a kiss to her temple. “What do you desire, little bird?”
“The steadfast love of a good man.”
His arm about her tightened. “I am not a good man. I’m not a man at all. But I love you and my love is certainly steadfast.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against him.
“I admire you.” He spoke into her hair.
“Why?”
“Because you’re principled and you hold fast to those principles even when it’s difficult. You’re noble.”