Cross My Heart Read Online Free PDF

borders embroidered with an orange-blossom pattern. She hands it to me and I press the pretty cloth to my damp face.
    When my breathing has slowed I smile at her. “You have a beautiful voice,” I tell her. “How do you know that song?”
    Her face softens. “Your sister taught it to me.”
    I hear Faustina’s slow footfall on the stairs. Bianca takes my hand and pulls me upright as I steady myself against the collapse of my foolish hope.
    Faustina rounds the doorway, her brow drawn in concern. But she smiles when she sees the red dress and hobbles forward to stroke its soft folds. “Bianca, this is wonderful—it’s almost ready!”
    “Ready for what?” I ask.
    Faustina’s eyes twinkle. “For you, my love. You’re to wear it tonight—when you meet Vincenzo.”

    I haven’t been able to eat. I can’t relax. A party, Faustina tells me. A gathering of the nobles of Venice at the Doge’s palace. I’ve spent the morning drifting around the courtyard, imagining what this evening will be like and trying to comprehend that I am to go to a party, while my sister’s body lies still and cold.
    Our midday meal is over. Faustina, Bianca and I cluster in my room. They wash and dress me, but it’s nothing like the cold baths at the convent. Everything feels heavy with expectation: the splashing of the water; the mixing of the oils; the drying of my body; the dabbing of the scents. The whispering of the rich, deep-red dress Bianca brings down from the sewing room. It swishes along the floor, rustling conspiratorially—ribbons, silk, velvet and satin. Bianca lowers it over my head. An intense silence settles. I should be dressed in black, as is custom for those in mourning. But black isn’t attractive, and I must be nothing less tonight. Faustina has told me that they have been instructed to create a masterpiece. She stands behind me, drawing tight the laces of the bodice while Bianca adjusts the neckline. Her face is solemn and focused on the challenge.
    My dress fastened, Bianca brushes my hair until the tresses are completely free of knots. Annalena would be proud. Faustina cleans and shapes my fingernails and rubs a tiny drop of olive oil into my palms to soften them. Bianca murmurs for me to lower my head and fixes two bone combs, embedded with precious gems, into my hair.
    They stand back to study their work. Bianca nods approvingly and Faustina pushes me gently into the anteroom, standing me before the mirror.
    “Look at you,” she whispers.
    I’ve spent years in shabby brown and black and gray, my hair hidden under a headdress, my hands rough with work. Now I’m looking into a dream. The girl reflected in it is nothing like me at all. She never appeared in my secret shard of mirror at the convent. My hair is so shiny that it almost glistens. My nails are white. I’m smooth and sparkling. I can’t stop looking at myself, and feel a crinkle of excitement shudder through me.
    Faustina holds me by the shoulders, looking at the mirror with her old cheek pressed against mine. “Sweetheart, you’re perfect.”
    Bianca doesn’t agree. “Hmmm,” she says, frowning. “Almost, but not quite. I know what should be the finishing touch.”
    She rushes from the room, returning with a dark wooden box that I recognize. It’s where my mother’s jewels are kept.
    “No!” Faustina shouts at Bianca, and she hurries over, trying to pull the box from her hands. “You don’t have permission.”
    Bianca holds the box high, out of Faustina’s reach. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, her day is here: she should have the rubies. They’ll be perfect with the dress. She’ll look like royalty and her father will be so pleased.”
    “Bianca, do not open that box,” Faustina says. There’s a strange tone to her voice—not authority or annoyance, but panic.
    Bianca whirls away, laughing, from Faustina’s clutching hands. She holds the box in front of me, quickly flipping the hinged lid over. Her smile turns to