Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the River of Times Series; they belong to Lisa Bergren. However, because of her, my imagination has been allowed to dream, birthing this random "What if?" story. A/U in nature, I've originally begun writing this for a friend after finishing Deluge. It's purely for fun. :) Enjoy!

***Gabriella***

Lord Rodolfo Greco (I think of him more fondly as "Lord Look-But-Don't-Touch-McHotpants") has decided to bless me with his intimidating presence, even after Marcello's firm 'suggestion' that he return to, and stay, in his own quarters for the remainder of the night. Rodolfo is the sort of man I would not have had the audacity to approach back home. He seems to absorb information like a sponge, taking in the whole of his surroundings with acute sensitivity. The moment we met, as his hand held my own to his lips and our eyes locked, I knew I was done for. If ever there was a man who mastered the art of reading people as if they were books, my money would be on this guy. He is clever and cautious, amiable and sophisticated, and did I mention completely gorgeous? His hair alone is swoon-worthy, wild like his eyes….oh, have mercy, those eyes…

I need to pull myself together before he reads any of that from my expression.

Marcello will not speak to me of the man's business here at Castello Forelli, and it's right that he shouldn't; after all, who am I to them but some under-dressed (possibly bewitched) tomb-walker from Normandy? I now know how Alice must have felt upon entering Wonderland, having fallen down a hole in time itself and waking up in Italy seven hundred years prior to my existence. If only Lia were here; then perhaps I could summon the courage to laugh at our bizarre situation.

"Lady Betarrini, did you not hear me?" Lord Greco intrudes, and I look up at him with partial annoyance; I was rather enjoying my internal monologue. He's lucky that his voice reminds me of ice cream, smooth and sweet with a bit of chill. What I wouldn't give for some Rocky Road right now. Am I PMSing? Oh, I hope not; what do they even do for that here? Please, God, don't let me have to find that out the hard way...

Oh no. He's still looking at me to respond. "Forgive me," I reply, shaking my head to clear it. Funny how we treat our minds like an Etch-a-Sketch. "Lord Greco, this is hardly appropriate."

He smiles, closing the door tight behind him. "Hardly, though I vow to beg your forgiveness once we are through. There is a matter of some urgency that has captivated my thoughts this evening, and only you can put them to rest." He walks towards the wall across the room as if admiring the tapestry that hung there (one of the many tapestries Castello Forelli has displayed upon their walls, I've noticed). I follow him, keeping an eye on the door and taking a seat in a chair next to the fireplace. I bite my cheek without thinking about it, feeling my breath come a bit faster. What could he possibly want to talk to me about that can't wait until morning, or that he would risk angering his good friend over? "Marcello seems to believe this story about your origins, the long-lost sister you speak of, even as to why you climbed out of a tomb onto a battlefield," he starts, turning to face me and crossing his arms. I can feel my face flush red under his intense gaze, despite my best efforts to seem nonchalant. He pulls out a piece of clothing from underneath his own tunic, and I freeze; it's the tank top I had been wearing when I first arrived. Where had he even found that? "I, however, find myself struggling a bit more with the details. I found this near the tomb's entrance on my way here after my men departed."

I swallow, trying to think of a good explanation for what he's holding out to me, yet unable to think of anything but the truth. Would he think me a witch? Sure, I could be moody, but that was as close as I ever came to one. "Lord Greco," I say quietly, though my voice falters.

"Lady Gabriella," he replies, his eyes searching my own, sifting through them as if one look might help him decipher all he wishes to know. "Where are you really from?"

Taking a deep breath, I approach him closely, taking my shirt from him and holding it to my chest. "Lord Greco," I say once more, meeting his eyes and unable to help a pathetic smile. Maybe I could charm him into not burning me at the stake. I need to find Lia, and while the Forellis have promised to help me in my endeavor, this man with his red and gold tunic, sharp gaze, and muscular frame might have a better shot at doing so. Maybe it was worth the risk to trust him. "Can you keep a secret, even if it seems completely ridiculous?"

His eyebrow raises as he rests his elbow on the mantle above the fireplace, leaning into it. "I'm rather fond of keeping secrets, Milady," he replies softly. While serious about getting the truth from me, I see a part of him respond to my words in a way I am still very unaccustomed to: with longing. It reminds me how fragile the ground is that I am treading on; I can see it in his eyes, a hunger for something I do not pretend to understand fully. It's then I realize he might be just the right person to come clean to...maybe the desire I'm sensing from him is a desire to trust me.

"All right, then," I say with a note of finality, folding the tank top before setting it on a table beside us. I spill everything that has happened so far, with Lia and our exploration of the tomb, the handprints and their unexpected warmth, the travel through time, and Lia's unexplained absence upon my waking. By the time I am finished recounting my tale, the look on Lord Greco's face is one of disbelief, fascination, and disappointment. Still very exposed and vulnerable from having shared the truth, I feel more offended at his demeanor than I normally would."You think I'm making this up."

"No, no," he responds quickly, though the sarcasm in his voice says otherwise. "Not at all. It's actually quite common for people to meander through time using nothing but painted walls," he replies; the hand that was resting on the mantle is now clenched into a fist.

"You mock me," I sigh, shaking my head and picking up the tank top once more. "Why else would I have emerged from a tomb wearing this? Look into my eyes and read the truth there for yourself. I know I'm asking a lot of you to believe such a thing, but I swear that I am not making this up." Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach; if he doesn't believe me, I don't think anybody ever will. Lia could be lost forever.

Taking me by surprise, he reaches to grasp my shoulders in his hands, almost tenderly, as his gaze bores into my own. Never before have I felt so attracted to a man I shouldn't…especially now, listening to the crackling embers of the fire, eyes locked, only a breath away from something more.

After what feels like an eternity, he drops his hands from where they were with a brief nod. I already miss their absence. "Very well," he says quietly, gently prying the shirt from my hands. "If I am to believe you, then this must go." He walks over to the fire, tossing it in and watching the flames slowly turn the threads to ash. Once he's satisfied, he turns back to me. "You will return with me to Firenze; from there, I will do everything in my power to find your sister. Surely, we must, before anyone else finds her in such a fragile state."

Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes! Isn't that what Jane Bennett had said to Mr. Bingley? "Thank you," I reply, relieved that he actually believes me. "When do we leave?"

"On the morrow," he replies, calculating. "I'll convince Marcello that I may have a lead as to where your sister is, and that you're safety depends on returning with me. He will not be happy that I am taking you, but I am positive his betrothed shall do her best to take his mind off of our abrupt exodus; it amuses me how threatened she becomes the moment you enter a room." He chuckles, a smirk gracing his lips as my cheeks flush red. Seeming to forget his place for a moment, he reaches forward to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "Though it doesn't surprise me for a second."

For once, I don't have a smart comeback. Is this what this guy is going to do to me every time we talk? Take away my words and turn my thoughts to mush? "Well…then we should have no issues leaving," I say, following my own practical advice of 'when in doubt, state the obvious.'

I think I see him blush when he realizes what he just did with my hair, and he clears his throat, excusing himself with a small nod and quickly making his way to the door. "Be ready to leave by dawn," he states, reverting back to the serious leader I had first met the day before, leaving me to my thoughts. I take a seat once more by the fire, watching the door shut firmly, yet quietly, behind him. He wouldn't have need to tell me twice.