A.N.: Pick yourselves off the floor, I didn't mean to shock you! An update! I know, it's been aaaaages. I can't account for it, I'm afraid: I've been obsessed recently with The Limehouse Golem, How I Live Now, Incredibles II, The Impossible (for Tom Holland fans it is essential! Take your makeup off before watching, and don't watch when you're hormonal, like I did!), and Dark Skye by Kresley Cole.


Machiavelli's Daughter

03

To the Codfish Ball


For some, time passed slowly; a minute seemed an eternity. For others, there was never enough… Giulia had experienced both phenomena over the last decade. Today, time had stood still, breathless and delighted.

It was the sound of children laughing, the music playing, the crisp warmth of early-June gently baking fresh green grass, the gentle breeze perfumed by flowers overflowing the walled gardens of the Boarding House, the wildflowers in the meadows turned into campsites for the weekend. The scent of lunch being prepared; the good-natured arguments of Caroline and Jesse putting up their tent for the long-weekend in the pitch beside Giulia's beloved sapphire Beetle and renovated teardrop trailer, the awning already raised, preparing the promised meal for those nearest and dearest to her. The breeze played with her headscarf, tied to conceal her rollers setting her curls for the weekend, the sun beating through her sharp dark high-waisted trousers, and she smiled as little children wheedled past with a soccer-ball, giggling; Zita, her curls bouncing, hand-in-hand with Bonnie's tiny, toddling Penelope, her natural hair framing her dimpled face, a pink pacifier in her mouth, while strawberry-blonde mini-me Ruth paused to push her hair out of her face, wave at her daddy, and let Jenna snap another among thousands of photographs, before dashing off after the littler girls.

She could hear one of the big bands rehearsing on the main stage, the chatter of people setting up their accommodation for the weekend, some already set up and sitting back enjoying the sunshine, sharing a chilled drink, already dressed up for the vintage festival. The sense of tranquillity, of anticipated fun, made her smile as she prepared loaded quesadillas, setting out bowls of blue corn tortillas and homemade queso, salsa picante and frijoles, her famous chilli heating through on the tiny stove in the back of the teardrop, grilled corn wrapped in tinfoil made up Mexican street-food style, her 1940s playlist on, consciously not checking her phone. Instead, she focused the camera on Zita, playing so prettily with Penelope and Ruth, whose little brother J.D. was helping his dad Ric put up their tent while Jenna emptied bags of ice into the Igloo that had been given to them as a wedding-present. It had been taken on every camping trip, every tailback party, every family barbecue: Today it was stocked with Coronas, popsicles and frozen juice-boxes for the kids. The days of Ric's heavy consumption of bourbon, of Jenna's taste for fruity white wines, of Giulia's indulgence, were far behind them.

It was nearly ten years since Jenna and Ric's wedding; they had two gorgeous children to show for it, J.D. going into first-grade in August, Ruth…a brave little warrior-child, eight years old, her hearing deteriorating to the point where she might very soon be medically diagnosed as deaf, unless the last-hope surgeries worked. A beautiful little girl, truly a joy to have at Giulia's house once a fortnight so her parents could have guilt-free date-night.

Ten years… It didn't feel like it. Sometimes it seemed like yesterday she had first held the tiny, perfect Zita in her arms, time snatched away from them; but it had been an age since she had helped Jenna prepare for her surprise wedding to Ric… Her short time with Elijah felt like a lifetime ago. Because it was.

As she set out cups for the kids, she paused to watch the girls play. Without effort, children lived in the moment. J.D. joined them, scooping up tiny Penelope when she stumbled over the soccer-ball, before hawk-eyed Bonnie could pull herself from her chair, belly swollen like a basket-ball. And off they went, the little girls swarming after J.D. like bumblebees, giggling, Penelope's pacifier lost in the grass, her dainty white baby-teeth glittering in the sunshine, her tumble completely forgotten.

Regression to the mean… All things had to come to an end. The wheel was forever turning… She never wanted to take it for granted that she was here, watching her daughter laughing and playing.

"Wish I could get up and down like that," Bonnie sighed, adjusting her sunglasses, her hand rubbing her belly absently as she watched her daughter.

"It'd be a louder thump if you fell, for sure," Giulia murmured, handing Bonnie a cup of lemonade. With the ETA of the Unborn only weeks away, Bonnie had been ordered by her doctor to take it easy. Not bedrest, but they wanted Bonnie to slow down. Given the complicated and tragic nature of her previous pregnancies, they were all on high-alert as her due-date crept closer. And with the threatened heatwave, delivery-day couldn't come soon enough for Bonnie, already uncomfortable in the early-June heat. Bonnie laughed, trying to punt the back of Giulia's knee with her foot. "How's the Unborn today?"

"Craving queso," Bonnie grinned behind her shades.

"Baby's wish is our command," Caroline beamed, handing over the tortilla chips. She was the best auntie anyone could ever desire for her kids; the best godmother. She was tirelessly joyful; and had saved Giulia from total psychotic meltdowns in the early months of Zita's life.

No number of PhDs could prepare anyone for motherhood.

"And where's Glam Gram, anyway?" Giulia asked, glancing past Bonnie at Sheila's RV.

"You know, I think she went to quality-control the pop-up bars," Bonnie said, rolling her eyes. "You'll hear the clink of ice-cubes before you see her walking back."

"Hey, Sheila looks great, she must be doing something right."

"Yeah, witchcraft!" Bonnie laughed, and Giulia shuddered as she watched Bonnie's belly move, the Unborn wriggling around. Caroline beamed as Bonnie grabbed her hand, placing it against her belly. Giulia could hear the baby's heartbeat just as Caroline could; it was them who…heard the babies' heartbeats falter the other times, the ones who rushed Bonnie to ER when something didn't smell right, Bonnie's body's way of warning that a seizure was about to strike. Eclampsia had almost killed Bonnie, and had taken her first baby; the following two pregnancies had ended at twenty-one and twenty-six weeks, the babies' hearts stopping. Penelope was a treasure. The Unborn was the second attempt after Penelope's birth to carry a pregnancy to term.

They were all waiting with baited breath, refusing to give in to the dread that Bonnie might lose this one, too. After five failed pregnancies and one miracle, Bonnie had come too far, the both of them had come too far. But as Sheila said…Mother Nature had a way of getting what it wanted; what would be, would be.

Sometimes Bonnie blamed her miscarriages on what happened in New Orleans, nature's way of punishing her. She was no longer a witch; Sheila had seen to that, and Giulia had to believe that was enough punishment. Still…Bonnie continued to grieve her mistakes, and thanked Giulia and Tyler almost every day for fighting so tenaciously for her: It was Tyler, her fellow undergrad at Tulane, who had noticed something was wrong when Bonnie fell into the wrong crowd of witches - he had called Sheila, who in turn had unleashed Giulia.

Bonnie's experiences were a constant reminder to everyone else that nothing was guaranteed, that they had to stop and smell the roses, take nothing for granted. Treasure every breath they took, every heartbeat.

"You know, that still freaks me out," Giulia said, shivering again as the Unborn kicked. She could practically see toe-prints. Bonnie grimaced.

"This one's definitely a mover," Bonnie smiled fondly. "I keep having to put bags of frozen-peas on my belly to get Baby to cool it with the tap-dancing!" Caroline rubbed Bonnie's belly fondly, her expression wistful; what she wouldn't give to be tortured by an infant turning somersaults and doing the cha-cha against her ribs. They were all getting older, and it was only becoming more and more evident how much Caroline was missing out on. Caroline could only contour her face so much to make herself look older. Marriage and motherhood, the two things Caroline had always craved as a little girl, were denied her. She had a companion in Jesse but Giulia didn't envision that turning into anything more than a devoted, beneficial friendship - and because of what they both were, neither did they.

Caroline craved love, and she had so much of it to give.

She was starting to learn how to sublimate and content herself with being the favourite auntie. But it was hard, and Giulia noticed her smiles faltering. But she was Caroline Forbes, and she had borrowed her mantra from Scarlett, Tomorrow is another day.

"Hey! Look who's here!" Bonnie cooed, and they laughed and waved at Jeremy and Ashlyn, both in full vintage regalia, carrying chairs and iceboxes and grinning, and Matt, pushing the vintage Silver Cross pram Giulia had lent him for the occasion.

"Guess today's not one of Elena's good days," Caroline murmured despondently, catching Giulia's eye. She shrugged.

"She was all excited to come, last time I called and talked to her," Giulia murmured. She had maintained a strong friendship with Matt ever since he had become her lodger at the Boarding House, along with Rose, who had become his best-friend, mentor, tutor and big-sister. Matt had lived rent-free at the Boarding House his senior year of high-school and all through college, up until he was twenty-four, all through the renovation of the Boarding House; Giulia had made him save his money, and with it he had bought his small studio apartment downtown, in Ric's old building, independent of Elena, who couldn't bear to visit him at the Boarding House, with all its ghosts. Sometime during their undergraduate studies at Whitmore College, her father's alma mater, Elena had opened herself up to other people again, after a scary Bella-esque senior-year at Mystic Falls High School, and embraced a rekindled relationship with Matt, who was no Stefan, but who was steady and earnest and hard-working.

Stefan was gone, and Matt was always there; and Elena moved in with him, and they got married, quietly, in a backyard ceremony at the Gilbert house Jeremy had bought Elena out of because she couldn't handle the ghosts there, either, with Ric officiating and Ruth and Zita as her flower-girls, Bonnie her matron-of-honour. Caroline had planned the wedding; Giulia had catered, and Damon had sent first-class tickets anywhere in the world in lieu of showing up and upturning the whole thing. Mrs Donovan hadn't shown up until over a month later, contrite but just as much of a mess as always: Elena had invited her but Matt hadn't seen his mom since he banished her from his life their junior-year of high-school, and she had never met her grandson. They had rarely seen Elena as happy as on her wedding-day, and on the day she announced she was expecting a baby.

They had grown up together, the quartet - her, Caroline, Bonnie and Elena; but over the last ten years, while her relationship with Elena was abandoned, a true and abiding bond had cemented between her and Matt, and it was him she called to chat with - and check on - and he had been the one to ask her to be one of Grayson's two godmothers; Giulia, and Rose. Tyler was going to be the cool, level-headed, fun but geographically-distant godfather; Uncle Jeremy had already filled Grayson's nursery with artwork, and still-unofficial Aunt Ash was a godsend with natural baby remedies and free babysitting. Matt usually dropped Grayson off at their house, rather than have Ash stop at the apartment; because Elena was still there, just disinterested in taking care of her son.

If no-one knew, they wouldn't notice; but Matt had burst into tears at Giulia's house a few times, cradling infant Grayson, overwhelmed, not just with taking care of a newborn-baby but struggling to cope with Elena, whose 'baby-blues' hadn't lifted, who slept most of the time, and who struggled with guilt and feelings of inadequacy, all perfectly normal for a new mother, as Giulia had experienced. But Matt had been keeping an eye on his wife; she wouldn't go to a doctor, and had gotten angry and defensive at Matt for gently suggesting she might need some help. He had asked her to just talk to Jenna, who had her own practice and helped many women like Elena, but Elena wouldn't hear it, and Matt was too busy being a working-father to be able to press the issue.

The last she had heard, Elena still couldn't bear to hold her son, would barely even look at him.

She had rare days when she seemed like her old self again, the pre-labour Elena excited to be a mother, ready to embrace everything that meant.

Sometimes, now, Elena reminded Giulia of Isobel.

And that was scary. Isobel had suppressed her emotions as a new vampire out of buyer's remorse; because of it, she hadn't been around for the daughter she gave away, when Elena needed Isobel's protection.

Today was a rare outing for Matt, and as the day passed the familiar lines of tension in his face dissolved into relaxed grins. It helped that he was surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than to cuddle and coo over Grayson, giving him all the attention and love his mother couldn't bring herself to give him; they all knew today was a special occasion and a treat for Matt, to be able to have a few beers and mingle with adults outside of a work-setting, in the fresh air and sunshine. They didn't ask where Elena was; they just cocooned Matt and Grayson in their friendship, their love, the way they always did. Caroline avidly took photographs and indulged in cuddles with Gray, who knew Giulia by sight and cooed and gurgled and showed off the new trick he had learned - smiling. He beamed at Giulia from Caroline's lap and giggled when she smooched raspberries and kisses on his cheeks, threatening to eat him up.

That first evening was relaxed, before the festival officially began, having a lazy meal with her friends, drinking beer and margaritas and playing soccer with the kids and meandering to the main arena to watch some of the bands rehearse for their slots over the weekend. A huge temporary dancefloor had been set up right in front of the now-static covered bandstand, and when she wasn't dancing along to the bands, Zita sat at the edge of the dancefloor, sucking her thumb and watching the musicians with half-lidded eyes, just absorbing everything she heard. Giulia often wondered how Zita heard the world; she knew her own hearing brought out the extraordinary in the inane.

They wandered past the early arrivals for the vintage car show, including all of Giulia's cars - the ones that were restored to her satisfaction - every one of them sparkling, freshly waxed and polished, and much-coveted by collectors and restorers and avid fans and nine-year-old boys. Cara had supplied half her collection of rare vintage cars for the occasion, driving down for the event in convoy with Vera, Chocolat and Aljaž, who was leading a lot of the dance lessons over the weekend alongside Vera.

Vendors were already setting up ready for the morning, arranging displays of everything from vintage clothes-patterns to gramophones, vintage clothing and jewellery and furniture. A vintage magazine had a stall where they were selling subscriptions but they had also sent a photographer and blogger to document the weekend, as they had every year for the past three years. There were mobile salons setting girls' hair into victory-rolls; and Giulia beamed when she saw Victoire setting up her small salon, where a vintage makeover was offered with Prohibition cocktails - one of Kol's bartenders was helping out.

They tried not to talk shop, but it was impossible not to, because the cosmetics line was Victoire's baby and Giulia's passion - and investment - and Giulia thrummed with pride when Victoire set out the newly-rebranded cosmetics she had created, bullet lipsticks and dainty compacts of crème and powder blush and delicate setting powders with tiny puffs, solid cake mascara and cream, a limited collection of legitimate vintage eyeshadow powders, all in beautiful vintage-inspired packaging, and a collection of blotting papers and luxurious faux-hair brushes and powder-puffs, and a cleanser and toner in recyclable glass bottles that Giulia now used religiously. Everything Victoire made was vegan, recyclable and organic, not a plastic tube in sight, but she had still been uncertain about 'going public' with her small cosmetics line, until Giulia managed to get the soft plum-coloured lipstick bullet onto the set of a seductive, ultra-glam Prohibition-era TV show that was blowing up on a Downton Abbey scale. The plum noire lipstick was used as a prop, the African-American actress, in character, putting on her makeup and giving a monologue to her mirror - the camera - before the scene melted to her onstage in a speakeasy, singing an extraordinary rendition of St Louis Blues with a dirty trumpet that sent shivers down her spine.

Now, high-end boutiques in Los Angeles, Manhattan and Miami, London, Paris and Milan stocked Victoire's cosmetics, she was sold exclusively in Zara's boutique in the French Quarter, and Hollywood had come a-knockin' big-time for period movies - and red-carpet season; a Rita Hayworth biopic, an Oscar-nominated musical, a Marvel TV show set in the Forties and a tongue-in-cheek noire-glamour Agatha Christie Netflix original-series, as well as several BBC period-dramas, and even delighted over by a quirky vintage-loving character in a film based on the best-selling novel of the same name. Victoire had no regrets; she was the artist, Giulia the businesswoman whose job it was to protect and promote the brand. Victoire enjoyed weekends like this, where she got to show people on a personal level what to do with her cosmetics to achieve what they wanted; Giulia was the gentle nudge Victoire had needed to allow others to indulge in her passion. Victoire's cosmetics was one in many investments Giulia had wisely made over the last decade to ensure her financial future; she was going to live immeasurably, she had to take precautions. Plus, she had Zita and her descendants to think about.

Victoire had set up her little salon, giving vintage makeovers from the Twenties to the Fifties, alongside a cocktail of choice, and the chance to cuddle one of her French bulldogs, whom she bred from, conscientiously, because they were her babies. As Giulia had her makeup refreshed and sipped a Scofflaw, stroking the tulip ears of slow, old Mabel, she and Victoire spoke quietly in French and discussed Françoise-Amélie and her decision not to return to the Vieux Carré, putting an end to the century-long cycle of vampire civil-wars and stability with the charismatic Marcel Gerard, all the while Zita played in the grass with the dogs and one of the hairdressers asked Giulia how she had set her daughter's perfect Shirley Temple curls.

She had already promised to return to Victoire's on Saturday evening before the Candlelight Cabaret so she could film a live YouTube tutorial for soft, era-appropriate flapper makeup, and slipped away to meander amongst the pop-up boutiques and gazebos where different bands were already playing, making use of the space and a captive audience even if their slots weren't officially booked until ten a.m. Saturday morning onwards.

Zita spotted Carol Lockwood in one of the pop-up restaurants - Cara's retro diner, where she was serving luxury hotdogs, fresh French-fries, onion rings and deluxe grilled-cheese sandwiches with milkshakes and old-fashioned sundaes, floats and splits, Elvis playing from the jukebox and some of Chocolat's 1950s outfits on display for purchase, directing people to Chocolat's pop-up atelier where he was selling vintage-reproduction lingerie as well as eveningwear. Carol was resplendent in meticulously-researched late-1940s eveningwear, sipping a hard milkshake and treating her nephew to a hot-dog and onion-rings.

"Giulia, honey, hi!" Carol beamed, her eyes twinkling, as Giulia bent to kiss her cheeks. With Tyler several states away and dead set against ever reproducing, her brother-in-law Mason's only child was the closest thing Carol was likely to get to a grandson; Giulia could say Carol spoiled him, but Spencer was a lovely kid, and completely unspoiled. Giulia was his favourite babysitter and unofficial godmother and she knew a lot of the secrets his mother didn't want anyone to know.

Some of those secrets, everybody knew. Especially Mason.

"Hi, Zita!" Spencer beamed, giving her a hug, and half an onion-ring. Spencer spent more time at Giulia's house than his own; and Giulia was happy with that, if not for the fact it meant that sometimes, Hayley remembered she actually did have a kid, and brought an attitude with her when she came to reclaim her son - as if Giulia was keeping him against his will, or muscling her way in as Spencer's new mommy. Like Matilda, like Matt Donovan, Spencer was learning to look after himself; and if not for the kind, attentive dad he worshipped and Giulia, who noticed everything and could coax him to spill the secrets Hayley tried to hide from Mason…Spencer would've learned far too early that he could only rely on himself. If not for Mason, Spencer would've been screwed before he ever stood a chance: Perhaps it was the lycanthropy or Liz's mentoring in the Sheriff's Department, but Mason had matured beautifully, settling into small-town life, essential and organic as if he had always been part of the Department. He was one of those laidback, steady guys who you knew would always have your back - a Dan Connor kind of father-figure and friend. His absence this afternoon was noted; so was Hayley's.

"Where's Hayley?" Giulia murmured, on the pretext of taking a sip of Carol's hard milkshake as she crouched down beside her chair. Last year the whole Lockwood family had turned up - Tyler included, it had been Carol's special birthday - and it was one of the few times Giulia could say she had enjoyed Hayley's company. But she had been in high spirits then; she and Mason had been going through one of their sickeningly good patches. There were a lot of bad ones.

"I guess she made other plans," Carol said meaningfully, and Giulia narrowed her eyes.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she scoffed in disbelief, sounding so much like Damon it made her want to call him. She had been made aware of the fact that Hayley had previously used her as her beard; she left Spencer with Giulia and went off to meet her boyfriends, and told Mason she had been out with their son. "What is she doing?" She stroked Spence's hair and sighed, leaning over to plaster kisses all over him. It wasn't like Spencer didn't know: Hayley had bullied him into not telling when he caught her with her boyfriend at the house. Giulia thought Hayley was trying to get caught. When things were good between Mason and Hayley, things were very good; the sex was insane.

When things were bad

And the bad had been escalating recently.

Spencer spent a lot of time with Giulia and Zita, watching old movies and playing catch and pretending that his mother's temper didn't frighten him, that she hadn't bruised him before, and that he hadn't confessed to Giulia that he wished he could stay with her. He'd once told Giulia, after a long, exhausted night of crying when he had finally had a little breakdown over Hayley shattering a glass a foot from his head, that he sometimes wished Giulia and Mason were married. Then Giulia would be his mom and Zita his sister, and they would all be happy together.

He told Giulia that his dad was always happier when they were all together, when Mason stopped by at Giulia's and had dinner with her and their kids, and more often than not, Enzo too. They were happy; they did have fun together. Every week, Mason and Giulia tried to go on a punishingly-long run together, to decompress, and to figure some things out; mostly, Mason talked, about Hayley, about his marriage, but mostly about Spencer. He was a good dad, and worried about his kid.

"Are you going to have fun with us this weekend?"

"Are you gonna make me dance?" Spence asked dubiously.

"I might not; Zita will, won't you Zita?" she chuckled, and Zita grinned impishly around another onion-ring. She loved dancing - especially with Spencer. She was smitten. Giulia grabbed the vibrant-eyed little boy, plastering him with more kisses. "You're just getting far too handsome."

"Just like his father," Carol smiled fondly.

"Did Aunt Carol tell you that there's going to be a flight display of restored monoplanes tomorrow?" Giulia asked, and Spencer's eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"They're going to land in the meadow and you can go and climb in, if you want," Giulia smiled. "Have you got your bomber jacket and goggles?" Carol must have bought him the reproduction World War II Army uniform he proudly wore, jaunty hat included. She doubted Hayley knew Spencer had moved on from How to Train Your Dragon to Avengers two years ago.

"Of course he does," Carol smiled. Captain America was Spence's second-favourite hero (his dad being the first) and he had adopted the Steve Rogers aesthetic, bomber-jacket, combed hair, manners and all. If people said the Avengers movies were only about insane CGI and explosions, they obviously didn't realise the examples the likes of Steve Rogers were setting to shy, sad, impressionable kids like Spencer.

Mason only had so long before his son started bugging him for a motorcycle. Giulia pitied the girls he would be going to school with; they'd have no chance against his pretty eyes, easy charm and kind, patient nature.

"Then we'll get some great pictures to show your dad."

"He said he might come by tomorrow afternoon, before he goes to work," Spencer said, his entire face lighting up. He was definitely his daddy's boy. He minded Hayley, but he adored his dad.

"Do you think I could get him to dance?" Giulia asked, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, and Spencer laughed and shook his head. "No?"

"No!"

"I guess maybe he should just stick to surfing." Spence laughed, and Giulia smiled when he offered her some of his hotdog. "Oh my god, that's good. Cara can cook! Who knew?!"

It was a recent discovery; years ago when Giulia had been living in Paris, Cara had shown up. Vera was off with a new lover, leaving Cara without anyone to talk to at two a.m., and despondent because Ashlyn was away at college - with Jeremy. Cara had signed up at Le Cordon Bleu for something to do, and fallen in love with cooking. But she was a boisterous extrovert and Michelin-star cuisine was not her style; her vintage-inspired pop-up diners had been featured on blogs and even the New York Times but this was the first year she had set up at the vintage-festival. Vera's affair had ended but Cara's discovery of food had turned into an abiding romance; the pop-up diners were strictly Cara's thing. Vera was helping Chocolat with the atelier and would be doing a demonstration of classical ballroom tomorrow night with Aljaž, as Giulia would on Sunday. Chocolat had made her costumes, as he did every year.

"This is the one I chose," Spence smiled, showing Giulia the menu, and she recognised Jeremy's style in the sketched depictions of the hotdogs on offer. It wasn't a surprise that Jeremy had been involved; he had been friends with Cara for years, ever since his relationship with Ashlyn cemented into something wonderful and exhilarating. While Elena had stuck close to home, going to Whitmore, marrying her high-school sweetheart, Jeremy had explored the world - with Ashlyn, and sometimes, with Cara tagging along too.

"'The Welsh Dog; a beef hotdog on a potato bun with beer-cheese sauce and caramelised onions'," Giulia read, "Yum!"

"Interesting that Cara's serving sausages, I thought she had an aversion," a velvety voice said, and as Zita chirped, "Cheeky monkey!" delightedly in greeting, Giulia grinned, glancing over her shoulder.

"Well, hello, sailor!" she grinned. "Where've you been?"

"With Kol, getting deliciously tipsy on your top-shelf gin and bourbon," Enzo grinned devilishly, and Giulia hummed and laughed and threw herself into his arms for a tight hug. He was dressed in his vintage-festival finest, which meant an authentic wool World War II Royal Navy uniform. And damn, if he didn't look good.

"I hope you left some for Carol," she chided, smiling shyly in his arms. He never let go too quickly. There were few boundaries with Enzo; he was unhinged, fun and intensely loyal to Giulia. Enzo was intensity. When Matt had felt something wasn't quite right at Whitmore, Giulia had visited, eradicating the Augustine Society over a long-weekend; she had freed Enzo.

What followed was a confusing journey of violence, devastating vulnerability, heart-breaking intimacy and a fierce, intense sexual relationship. She still didn't think there had been anything truly romantic between them; but there was an intense attraction and they had come out the other side of an intense six months as fiercely devoted platonic companions, fierce friends, something almost like a brother-sister bond between them. She was his friend and Enzo continued to talk to her when he needed to, her Psychology PhD put to good use; he knew he had someone to talk to at two a.m. Enzo, though violent and unpredictable, had more mental fortitude than anyone Giulia knew; escaping Augustine was all he needed, and he had set about reclaiming a full life for himself, though he confessed to still feeling adrift, without purpose beyond watching Zita grow up and appreciating that he was privileged to be allowed to do so.

Spencer had once asked about Enzo, who had been lurking about the house after a particularly bad lapse, and to get him to understand she had explained Enzo was sort of like the Winter Soldier. Pain had conditioned him to react to things a certain way. He wasn't inherently evil or even bad, but he had been used poorly.

It was the times like that weekend that she remembered she had a predilection for dark-eyed dangerous men with rich accents, immaculate charm and hidden tenderness.

Sometimes she remembered Elijah, and his werewolf-venom hallucinations, his anguish

And Fabian. Fabian whom she loved, but wouldn't let her stay by his side, who needed her to stop the debilitating, skull-shattering, brain-melting migraines that accompanied his visions. He needed those visions more than he wanted her; and they both knew he wouldn't survive them. She was the woman he had married, the woman he loved, the woman who had given him peace in a lifetime of pain; she was the woman he would widow.

Even her marriage felt like a love-affair now, but it hadn't started out that way. She had thought, perhaps naïvely, that she had found a partner with whom to share the adventures of her life. And he might have been that man, if not for the choices he had made, decisions that had devastating implications beyond their marriage.

Elijah, Enzo, Fabian. Three dark, charming, devastating men she had embraced into her life.

She definitely had a type.

Whatever might have been with Elijah had been cut short, abruptly and brutally; and he had been put into a mystical coma believing she was dead. Her relationship with Enzo had progressed naturally from something fierce and dangerous to something intimate and more like an intense sibling friendship. Her marriage to Fabian, intoxicating and stimulating, was far from perfect, and confusing, devastating…disappointing.

Of the three men she had been in moderate-to-serious relationships with - Elijah, Enzo and Fabian - it was her relationship with Enzo that had so far stood the test of time, of life. They weren't together, but they were always there for each other. They were friends. They were family.

When Giulia had brought Zita home, without Fabian, Enzo had taken one look at Zita's tiny petal lips and tiny fingers unfurling like lazy starfish and fallen completely and irrevocably in love. She now had the most vicious, most caring guard-dog/nanny for life.

For a little while, Giulia and Enzo had been fiercely, intensely, dangerously together; if she wasn't a stronger woman Giulia might have gotten lost in him. But as the years had passed, and she resisted his pull and he responded to her coaxing, he had gentled. His passion for vengeance had become a passion to live, to protect, to adore. He was devoted to Zita. And to Giulia; but she didn't take advantage. Wouldn't, though it would have been so easy to dispatch him to kill anyone she wanted. Because he would. Without question. And that was a terrifying power to have over someone else.

"Lovely to see you, as always, Mrs Lockwood," Enzo said, dipping to kiss the back of Carol's gloved hand.

"Enzo. Always so charming," Carol beamed, smitten as ever.

"Will you save me a dance later?" he asked her, smiling.

"Only if Giulia is willing to share you," Carol laughed. Enzo missed the dance-halls of the Forties; they loved dancing together. She and Enzo had taught Zita and Spencer how to swing-dance and jive and do the Charleston. He was a big Avengers acolyte but Spencer would curl up with blankets and cuddle while they watched old Fred Astaire movies, where Astaire was charming and mesmerising and the women were elegant.

"Not a chance," Giulia grinned, and Carol chuckled. Giulia was very fortunate, and acknowledged that she was, that her relationship with Enzo had grown organically into a friendship as intense and loyal as it was; and just like with Enzo, her relationship with her childhood friend and former-boyfriend Tyler had grown, too. Stronger, more intimate, non-romantic but involved and loyal, even separated geographically as they were. She was very fortunate in their friendship.

One of the old barns had been renovated years ago, and for the festival had been turned into a 1940s dance-hall; though no official programmes had been booked for the night, someone had set up an iPod over the stereo system and swing music drew a small crowd of dancers and spectators having a drink where the bar had already tapped a few kegs and were pouring vintage cocktails for the likes of Mrs Lockwood and Jenna, who had always loved the Decades Dances at Mystic Falls High School. Those days were behind them, but this was even better!

Giulia spent the whole night in the barn, in her victory rolls and nautical-inspired 1940s outfit, tirelessly swing-dancing with Enzo, grinning and laughing, her stomach-muscles aching from laughter as much as being flipped and flung about by Enzo, while Zita danced along beside them and cooed and coaxed Spencer to join her, her curls bouncing as she beamed. Slowly the others started to appear, the Saltzmans and Caroline with Jesse, Ashlyn and Jeremy towing a laughing, slightly inebriated Matt. They danced until it was late, and no-one felt the midnight chill in the air, in the stuffy barn full of people, music blasting, almost drowned out by laughter, and Giulia grinned and felt exhilarated. Impromptu nights were often the best, and tonight was definitely one of them, sipping cocktails and flashing her vintage-inspired underwear as she danced and flipped and twirled and laughed, cuddling with Zita and applauding the other dancers before being stolen away onto the dancefloor again, dancing with Caroline and then Ric, and briefly wishing that Tyler was here as she danced with pretty-eyed young Spencer, who adored her. When they weren't dancing, Caroline and Mrs Lockwood and Liz, who arrived just after six o'clock, had their cameras out; Giulia was sure Caroline's camera was full of pictures of Zita cuddling Enzo so sweetly, as they had a rest and shared any icy Coca-Cola with puppy Gallant cuddled in Zita's arms as she sucked her thumb and rested her head against Enzo's neck, his arms linked loosely around her as they watched the dancers.

If the kids were tired they didn't show it; they were probably pumped full of so much food and sugary drinks they'd be bouncing around for hours, but at least they were dancing it off, and the dogs had settled quietly under a small table, guarded by Zeus and cuddled by J.D., who wanted nothing more than a puppy of his own.

After Enzo cupped a hand over his mouth to whisper in Zita's ear, the music changed to 'To the Codfish Ball', and Giulia beamed and laughed and watched in surprise and wonder as her tiny girl danced Shirley Temple's dance in her sailor suit, with Enzo.

The song ended, Zita gave an uncertain grin and a wobbly bow, blushed hotly and ran for her mother, hiding her face.

"When did you learn that - and how did you keep it from me?" she asked, laughing, as she cuddled an out-of-breath, beaming Zita, blushing furiously at the applause from a stunned adult audience.

"Caroline's been helping us with the choreography; she missed her true calling as a drill-sergeant," Enzo chuckled, teasing Caroline by tweaking one of her immaculate curls, twirling Ruth around as J.D. and Spencer laughed and danced goofily, Ric danced with Mrs Lockwood and Jenna claimed Matt for a dance as Jeremy and Ashlyn carried a round of drinks over from the bar.

"You wily sons o' guns! Thank you, Jem," Giulia laughed, kissing Jeremy's cheek as he handed her a Rob Roy complete with two cherries on the stalk and Enzo took a gulp of rich dark stout, clapping a hand on Jeremy's shoulder in thanks.

"Zita wanted to surprise you," Caroline beamed, sparkly-eyed.

"I am surprised," Giulia said warmly, gazing down lovingly at her daughter's flushed face and bright eyes. "You were marvellous!" Zita beamed and hid her face, until Caroline started playing the video she had taken of Zita dancing, and she peeked up from Giulia's chest to watch.

There was no putting Zita to bed early tonight, not after her dance and the rush of adrenaline that accompanied it; and not with Enzo running around with her on his shoulders in the moonlight, holding hands, her laughter carrying on the gentle breeze as small children and smaller dogs leapt and gambolled around him, Zeus grumbling by Giulia's side at their lack of decorum. Enzo had spent so long alone that he loved nothing more than the sound of children laughing, of long lazy nights with a bottle of wine and good music and conversation. He wasn't in torment anymore; he lived, Giulia thought, to teach others what loyalty meant, what it truly meant to live in the moment, to enjoy the people in his life. Enzo lived conscientiously; but woe betide anyone who threatened his family.

"Where've they disappeared to?" Caroline asked, frowning in the moonlight, and stumbling slightly after a few strong Manhattans; there were spotlights set up to light the way to the campsites, but for courtesy's sake they were turned off after midnight.

"I can guess," Giulia said, chuckling softly. And her guesses were usually pretty accurate; she and Dumbledore had that in common. Also, when they messed up, it was epic. It wasn't hard to find Enzo, though; at Cara's diner, with Gallant and Tisiphone wriggling all over his feet and Zita smiling tiredly and cuddled in his lap, he sat at a tiny table with a Knickerbocker Glory in front of him. It was an old-fashioned British treat of fresh fruit, ice-cream, bits of meringue, fruit-syrup, with a squirt of whipped-cream, chopped nuts and a cherry on top, a wafer sticking out.

"She's never going to sleep," Caroline sighed, shaking her head, but smiling warmly. Whatever their personal feelings toward Enzo, no-one could deny that he wouldn't move heaven and earth for Zita, and Caroline had her camera out taking photographs of Enzo and Zita cuddling as they shared a sundae, and Giulia went and ordered cherries jubilee from Cara, who was grinning and full of energy as ever, and engaged in her work. The diner made her happy. She carried a cherries jubilee for herself and a strawberry shortcake sundae for Caroline over to Enzo's little table, and sat chatting and laughing and teasing while Zita's eyelids got heavier, and she fell asleep cuddled in Enzo's arms.

Caroline drifted off when Jesse appeared to sweep her back to their tent, tipsy and horny, and they waved Caroline goodnight, chuckling, wondering how they were going to navigate the zippers and tent-flaps after a few drinks. Enzo gathered Zita carefully into his arms, Giulia corralled the dogs, and they made their way slowly to the Beetle, passing impromptu gatherings and parties and music that didn't wake Zita, and they talked quietly and suggested an aperitif before bed, and in the moonlight, Giulia stilled, trusting the feeling that made the fine hairs at the back of her neck prick up.

She glanced to the side, saw a stationery figure shrouded in shadows. The moonlight gleamed off his chestnut hair, sending spiky shadows from his eyelashes over high cheekbones. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, Stefan smiled hesitantly at her.

"Hello, Giulia."


Author's Note


So, I think I need to address a few things here and now: The Originals. Um, WHAT? I'm still not past episode 10 but I have a good guess what happens. And I have issues with Teen!Hope. Are the writers completely incapable of creating a character who is a normal teenager, and owns their actions and has to reap the repercussions of their mistakes - they've really not given themselves any leeway for personal discovery and character-growth in Legacies (which I will be avoiding like the Black Death because of what I've heard they've done to the Saltzman twins' characters and having the nerve to call Caroline an 'absentee' mother) because apparently Hope knows it all. Also she's already demonised the Saltzman twins as 'Mean Girls' - Ric is chill and Caroline is wonderful; yes, she had her issues before she turned, but it seems the writers are just dreaming up the worst-possible scenarios for these kids, just to have a story, you know? I think they've forgotten how to write kids because they're so hung-up on them being supernatural. Watch Teen Wolf; there's some accurate representation of supernatural kids. Take some notes!And as for the school 'rules', not integrating with the locals - Caroline knows how hard it is to fit in, regardless of species; she'd be encouraging them to mingle and make friends, because a. that's the best way to get through their lives and everything they're put through, and b. that's the best way to learn how to stay under the radar!

The biggest issue I had was that everyone ignores the fact that Hope uses magical violence against her mother to manipulate others into getting what she wants, which puts three factions and an entire city at each other's throats, when they've had peace for years, and she literally gave Klaus' enemies all they needed to abduct Hayley, ultimately leading to her death, and yet Elijah is the one who is blamed for Hayley's death? To quote Negan, 'Well, excuse the shit out of my French', but how the fuck dare you? I know I've never been a Hayley fan but the last season - last two seasons, really - were awful for her characterisation and plot. And, I have to say, it was her choice to fling herself outdoors, she could've just pushed the other vampire and let Klaus do the rest, he was there too. He defeated hundreds of Marcel's vampires in one tantrum, for god's sake!

Also, did the writers forget the triple-sacrifice blood-ritual necessary to subdue Klaus' werewolf side? Using a hot moonstone to burn their palms etc.? WHAT? I might've believed it if the miserable vampire-bitch had used Roman as the vampire sacrifice in a true 'Sun and Moon Curse'-esque ritual! The road to redemption, and all that rubbish. It would give rise to a new doppelganger! Elena wouldn't be special anymore! If Roman isn't a classic case of brainwashing and emotional abuse, I don't know who is - well, Rebekah, for one, Elijah, for another.

Can we also appreciate that Elijah was helping people flee the rising Nazi regime?

And the fact Klaus sent him letters masquerading as Rebekah, to continue the charade that he hadn't killed her over jealousy that she'd chosen Stefan? I find it difficult to believe Elijah wouldn't see through those letters; he'd know his sister's handwriting and style of correspondence, you know?

Relaxed Elijah is just…sigh… Antoinette was a wonderful character; I will take her or Gia over Hayley any day. They were both actually good for Elijah, understood and respected his character flaws but coaxed him gently to being the best version of himself, they didn't judge him for, let's face it, having survived through eras that inspired Game of Thrones. I wish they'd allowed him to keep some of that new-Elijah even when he got his memories back, a bit more of a struggle, after learning how to put himself first for a change. Like, perhaps, not killing himself for the sake of Klaus not dying alone, maybe?

I really wish they'd written Elijah as the uncle who was the first to embrace the idea of a child (which he was), gave the baby her name (which he did, because he believed so passionately in her), lost everything trying to protect (RIP Gia; you deserved better) - but who sees this doe-eyed brat who got her own mother killed through sheer negligence and stupidity, and turns into the stern, tell-it-like-it-is uncle because he sees the damage caused by everyone treating Hope like she's perfect and above reproach… He may not be liked by Hope, but she'd damn well respect him and try to live up to his expectations.

In general I have a thing about how Klaus' hybrid nature is written, and the fact that somehow Hope's genealogy incorporates witchcraft as her strongest trait, when only her grandmother was a witch (and if you could be a hybrid witch-werewolf, don't you think there would've been way more before Hope?), and she has two parents who are werewolves, with Klaus' vampirism overlying his genes. If they wanted an all-powerful witch baby, they should've brought Kol back as a witch early and…ooh. Ideas… Focus! (I should also note that I'm still not a Davina fan, either, sorry - but you'll be happy to learn that Cami is finally growing on me! I've got more in store for her than Klaus-bait and inevitable death.)

You guys probably also remember that I've never been a Hayley fan. I'm afraid I just still can't move past the writers ignoring that Hayley set up a dozen of her friends, who trusted her, whom she helped, to be butchered, for a USB-stick. I know they altered her sob-story that she was kicked out of her adoptive-parents' home when she was 'thirteen'; but she never mentions the fact that she got someone killed because they were out in a boat and she was drunk and thought she wasn't, or are the writers ignoring TVD canon again?

I don't want people to think I'm demonising Hayley just because I don't like her; I do like some things they've done with her in TO, because she's pretty on it with Teen!Hope about consequences etc. I just don't find her very interesting or consistent. And from the perspective of my story, she became a mother and a wife very quickly before she really knew what was happening: Hayley has had ten years in Mystic Falls, where she was so afraid of her wonderful life with Mason and their son being ruined and being abandoned that she does what people like Hayley do; she messes everything up first so she's not the one hurt and abandoned, and then she runs, because she always has. By the time she reaches New Orleans, Hayley's in her thirties and realises what a mistake she made; but she also provides an excellent source of tension for Giulia and Tyler, who doesn't appear in this story but will be a big character in New Orleans - once again, the writers abused and neglected what could have been a very interesting character, he tried to battle his aggression with sports, was abused by his father, had a borderline-alcoholic mother, was a talented artist, and became a better person through his change and his friendship with Caroline. The writers mishandled Tyler so badly. I also hate that they wrote off Carol Lockwood's death, even Elijah wasn't respectful about what Klaus had done to Tyler - but then, the fact that Klaus killed their mother and lied about it for a millennium was never addressed in canon either, so what do you expect?

Also, Enzo was underutilised. So that's being fixed right now. I had a thought recently that I would've loved to see Enzo in New Orleans, reacting to Marcel trying to punish him over breaking one of his laws - and his disdain at another of Klaus' many mantrums!