Never Expect a Vampire Like You

Chapter 8: Sunshine and Shadows

Chiara's arrival seemed to mark a clear division in Florence's recent weather. Before she came, the city endured daily storms and rain. After her arrival, Florence basked in daily sunshine, and the Totti palazzo's courtyard once again echoed with the raucous chirping of cicadas.

In this world, it appeared that every Italian except Chiara adored the summer sun.

Each morning, as the first rays of sunlight crept over Florence's rooftops, the city's residents carried their freshly cut pasta from the night before up to their rooftop terraces to dry. Those without terraces even laid their noodles out in the bustling church squares.

Consequently, every morning when Chiara stretched and opened her wooden shutters, beyond the layered expanse of red rooftops lay the ubiquitous, layered presence of drying pasta.

Feeling she might be suffering from recent pasta-induced PTSD, Chiara silently closed the window and resolved not to venture out for the next few days.

Yet, when she did emerge from her room, she invariably encountered two Totti manservants carrying long poles laden with freshly cut noodles slung over their shoulders like water yokes. They would pass her doorway on their way to the stairs leading to the third floor. Spotting her, they'd cheerfully announce, "Signorina Chiara, fresh noodles coming soon!"

Chiara: “…”

She felt her pasta PTSD might be incurable.

Though the Totti family was a renowned Florentine lineage, its structure was remarkably simple. After just two or three days, Chiara had gained a clear picture of the household.

Unlike many prominent families with numerous branches and members, the Totti clan, despite past prosperity, had seen dwindling numbers for nearly a century. Riccardo's generation consisted only of himself and a sister who had married into a Genoese family, tragically dying in childbirth many years ago. Riccardo himself had only Marco as an heir, making them arguably the smallest noble family in Florence. If inter-family brawls ever broke out, the Tottis would be almost guaranteed defeat.

Few family members naturally meant few servants. Besides Nonna Eliza, who exclusively cared for the bedridden Martina, there were only the young girl Lisa, and two robust, cheerful young men, Arturo and Sirio.

—Sirio was the boy who had chatted with Lisa outside Chiara's door.

Riccardo cared little for others' opinions. Even if whispers suggested the palazzo's modest staff hinted at financial trouble preventing him from hiring legions of servants like other nobles, he remained indifferent. As he put it, enough was enough, and more people would only disturb Martina's convalescence.

He often added, patting Chiara's shoulder reassuringly, "Martina hasn't been feeling her best lately. Once she recovers her strength, she'll certainly have a good talk with you."

Since their brief meeting on Chiara's first day in Florence, Martina had kept her door firmly shut, citing a worsening condition. She received no one except Riccardo and Nonna Eliza—not even Marco.

Chiara's nocturnal visit to Martina's window had revealed it wasn't reluctance to see her, but rather deep-seated anxiety. Understanding this 'fear of the familiar' sentiment, Chiara wasn't overly concerned. Hearing Riccardo's gentle reassurance, she smiled and said, "When Mother is better, and before the carnations finish blooming, I'll pick some more."

She saw Riccardo's eyes crinkle slightly as he touched his nose, likely recalling the carnations plundered from his courtyard. Chiara's smile deepened.

Fortunately, during these days of waiting, Chiara could pass the time reading and telling stories to Marco. She also managed to ease the servants' apprehensions. Though Lisa still seemed a bit flustered around her, she no longer feared Chiara might sell her off in a fit of displeasure.

On the Lord's Day, everyone in the Totti household except the ailing Martina attended Mass at the nearby church. Chiara, who had been holed up in the palazzo, had to rise early, tidy her chaotic desk into a presentable state, fortify herself with a glass of iced wine, and finally, under Riccardo's urging, leave the palazzo step by reluctant step to face Florence's summer sun.

The Tottis' neighbors had heard about Martina's daughter, raised in Rome, returning. But as Chiara hadn't set foot outside the palazzo gates, no one knew what she looked like. A few local youths had thrown pebbles at the Totti's second-floor windows, only to hit Nonna Eliza's pane. She promptly opened her window and delivered a scolding torrent of Tuscan dialect down upon them.

Apart from the Totti household, no one had seen Chiara. This maintained mystery naturally fueled intense curiosity.

Thus, a crowd gathered outside the church where the Tottis attended Mass, eager for a glimpse.

Chiara, holding Marco's hand, followed Riccardo to the church entrance amidst several bursts of excited murmurs. As she accepted the wine symbolizing Christ's blood, her eyes met the priest's probing gaze.

The intensity of that look sent shivers down Chiara's spine.

She knew that look all too well. Rodrigo had looked at Giulia the exact same way when they first met.

After Mass, Riccardo and Nonna Eliza hurried back to care for Martina. Chiara intended to join them, but before she could speak, she noticed Arturo, Sirio, and Lisa nudging each other, seemingly daring one another to approach her. Just as she wondered what was happening, Sirio, the most outgoing of the three, took a deep breath. Adopting a solemn expression and an unusually formal gait, he marched up to Chiara, wide-eyed, clearly preparing to speak.

Chiara was puzzled. Had she not known Sirio secretly fancied Lisa, the scene might have resembled a scene from an island nation's romantic film where a bashful student confesses to his female teacher.

Sirio, embodying that bashful student, struggled for words. Spurred on by nudges from Arturo and Lisa behind him, he finally blurted out: "Signorina Chiara, would you like some pas—"

Chiara: "???!!!"

He caught himself instantly. "I misspoke! I meant to ask if Signorina Chiara would like to join us for a stroll through the Mercato Centrale?"

Chiara managed to retract the involuntary flash of terror from her eyes. She lowered her head slightly, blinked, and began, "I still have some—"

The words "books to read" died on her lips as someone tugged her sleeve. She looked down into Marco's large, pleading blue eyes.

Marco didn't need words; his eyes conveyed his longing perfectly.

He wanted to go to the market.

"Well..." Chiara hesitated for a moment. "Let's go have a look."

The Mercato Centrale, located near the Medici Chapel, was one of Florence's bustling hubs. Stalls selling all manner of goods filled both indoor and outdoor spaces, creating a massive flow of people, a chaotic throng.

Upon arrival, Lisa flitted like a butterfly with newfound wings, darting expertly towards stalls selling trinkets. Sirio, concerned for her, stuck close behind. Arturo seemed a market regular; vendors greeted him along the way, and he frequently stopped to chat.

Consequently, the group hadn't been in the crowded market long before they became separated.

Chiara wasn't overly worried. Holding Marco's hand, she strolled leisurely, stopping occasionally to examine interesting trinkets.

Marco was quiet but well-behaved. He walked slowly, holding Chiara's hand, then suddenly became fascinated by their shadows on the ground, deliberately stepping on his own. He tugged Chiara's hand, looking up to share his new game, but his gaze snagged on a small wooden horse on a nearby stall.

Feeling the tug, Chiara was about to ask what was wrong when she saw him staring fixedly ahead. Following his gaze, she spotted the small wooden horse placed prominently at the front of a stall.

The horse was carved to be adorably plump, its tail held high as if neighing proudly.

Chiara smiled, bending down slightly. "Do you like that little wooden horse?"

Marco looked up at her, bringing his other hand to his mouth as if nibbling his fingertip with tiny teeth—a sign of intense internal struggle. He hesitated for a long moment, blinked, and then nodded.

Chiara chuckled softly at his expression.

It seemed boys always loved horses. Juan had constantly begged to ride as a child, and even after taking falls during riding lessons later, he'd chatter about challenging Cesare on horseback. Even the quiet, introverted Marco couldn't resist a little wooden horse.

She ruffled the soft hair on Marco's head with her free hand and reached for her purse to buy the horse. Just then, her fingers brushed against another hand delving into her purse.

She froze. Seizing her moment of shock, a youth with his hat pulled low snatched the purse from her grasp and turned to flee, colliding with a young woman examining ribbons at the next stall.

Instinctively, Chiara released Marco's hand and lunged forward. But the instant her foot landed, she snapped her head back—just in time to see Marco swept up into the arms of a black-haired man in a cobalt blue pourpoint, disappearing into the crowd.

Chiara's eyes widened. Hoisting her skirts, she charged forward in her platform shoes, heedless of the people she jostled. The man carrying Marco moved swiftly, vanishing from her sight within moments.

A wave of overwhelming panic seized her. Standing amidst the clamor of the Mercato Centrale, she cried out, a sound tinged with despair and helplessness, "Marco!"

Seconds later, from another part of the throng, she heard an equally heartrending child's cry: "Sis—sister!"