Page 70 of Unbound Boxset

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Julianna sat in the Piazza San Marco at Caffè Florian, sipped her cappuccino, and watched the swarm of pigeons entertain the tourists. She lifted her face up to the weak light of the sun and breathed in the scent of espresso and rich chocolate. The musical chatter of Italian rang through the square and caressed her ears like poetry.

And she thought of him.

Julianna shook her head and mentally berated herself. Surrounded by lush architecture in the world’s most beautiful city, her first thought was of Jack. Venice called to her poet’s soul, a mixture of old and new, heartbreaking beauty mingling with a dirty earthiness. The water lapped at the gondolas on the Grand Canal, the streets narrow and twisted with broken pavement. The people who swarmed the shops and cafes glowed olive brown, and bellowed enthusiastic buon giornos. Julianna buried herself in the sights and sounds with a headiness she hadn’t felt since Jack Wolfe made love to her.

She wished he was here.

Three months of silence and heartache. Three months of saying goodbye to her past and seizing her own future. Yet, every carved line of his face, every lean muscle was remembered. The ocean blue of his eyes, and the thick tawny strands of hair that fell over his forehead. The musky scent of his skin and the full curve to his lower lip, framed in sexy stubble.

Julianna fought a sigh, tore off a piece of flaky pastry, and popped it in her mouth. She’d done the right thing. Though she’d forgiven him, she needed time to make her own choices. The night on the boat changed her forever. For the first time, she saw her life clearly and realized each step had led up to her final decision as she looked into the eyes of the man she’d always love.

Jack believed the end had justified the means. With the villain safely jailed, the prince unveiled, and the spinster rewarded, he assumed the happily ever after. Instead, Julianna only glimpsed each untruth in every step of a charade. The shock of his betrayal, of Bryce’s ruse and violence, and the path her life could have taken if she’d uttered those vows. She glimpsed her own role in a Shakespearean tragedy. When he dragged her to the bedroom, her body had surrendered to everything he was, but she knew it would not be enough.

Julianna closed her eyes at the memory. She’d been a coward, ignoring her own dreams for somebody else’s. Hiding from the woman she’d always wanted to be. She realized if she accepted Jack’s proposal, she’d never know what her own choices would be, or how her life would lead. She’d set up house in England, with her home safe, and always wonder if Jack would have married her if not for his need to inherit.

Saying goodbye to him almost destroyed her. Instead, she picked herself up and made some hard choices. For herself and no one else.

Selling the Cliff House was devastating, but necessary. She’d found a generous buyer interested in historical houses who paid in cash. She settled her debts, put her stuff in storage, and took a three-week trip to Italy. After her vacation, she’d settle in a new town, put down roots, and pursue her PhD.

But she wondered every day who Jack Woodward had married.

She tried not to snoop, but found a short announcement on the Internet that Woodward Shipping now belonged entirely to Jack Woodward, heir and son of the late Edward Woodward. She cried the whole night. The next morning, Julianna stuck her chin up, booked her airfare, and refused to look back.

Well. Only occasionally.

The waiter stopped by her table. “Signorina, this came for you.” He handed her an envelope, bowed his head, and left. Julianna looked around, puzzled, then tore open the letter. Her gaze scanned the paper, stopped, and began to reread.

Dear Julianna,

Time has passed. So much time, I wonder how I can express myself without trite polite words getting in the way of how I feel. How I’ve felt since the moment you left me. Instead, I’m borrowing someone else’s words, in the only way I know to show you the truth. So, I give you a sonnet by William Shakespeare.

Sonnet 113: Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind,

And that which governs me to go about

Doth part his function, and is partly blind,

Seems seeing, but effectually is out;

For it no form delivers to the heart

Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch;

Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,

Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;

For if it see the rud’st or gentlest sight,

The most sweet-favour or deformed’st creature,

The mountain or the sea, the day or night,

The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature.