ugh, I didn't include any translations in the last chapter. I'm really sorry for that, but now I'm typing it all in English, except for a few phrases, and translations will be provided for those. D: really sorry about the last chapter. This one's kind of EHH but I wrote like 3 chapters for this and I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE FILE THEY WERE IN. But anyway, here it is, and I'm probably gonna do a double update today because I'm currently halfway through the 3rd chapter. R&R~

Claudia shows no mercy when combing my hair. She pulls her heavy ivory comb through all the snarls and tangles in my curls like it doesn't hurt, not at all. I cringe through it and try to keep my neck straight and my head steady, because if I let them give out under the painful tugs, she shushed at me, more like a mother than a teenage girl. She's serious business about everything fashionable, too, already babbling to me about what'll match my dress and what else we should do with my hair. Not much has changed over the years, clearly.

"How old are you, anyway?" Claudia asks me as she sets the comb down on her vanity, running her fingers through my untangled hair. "It's hard to tell. I'm fourteen."

I blink, comparing the two of us in the mirror. She had a round face, all cherubic and rosy-cheeked, and she looked a little younger than fourteen. I'm fifteen, and I look way older when next to her, like I'm her older sister by ten years. "I turned fifteen last month," I answer her. "So I'm really not much older than you,"

"Hm," she frowns. Within minutes she's bustling around her room again, disappearing into her closet. I switch from the chair of her vanity to the comfort of her bed again, lying on my stomach with my arms and legs spread like a seastar. She keeps shifting between the shelves, muttering to herself, fingering through the pairs of shoes she has before yelling out, "What color shoes do you want to wear, Caterina?"

"Does it really matter?" …is anyone even going to SEE my shoes under all the skirts?

"It DOES. Things have to match. Not matching is like wearing black shoes with your wedding gown. It would not make sense at all." Claudia pops out after those words, eyes narrowed and scrutinize me. "Are you insane?"

I bite my lip. We'd be in here for awhile.

I ATTEMPT to breathe, following Claudia through her family's home while she chatters about her tutoring and girls in Florence and little things about herself. After our several disagreements about what I was going to wear, she ended up matching the blue dress she picked out for me with shoes nearly the exactly same shade. Somehow, even though her feet looked like they should be on an elf rather than her, her shoes fit me just fine. She shoved me behind the changing screen, and I coped with changing into the underclothes she provided me with well enough, but when it came down to the corset, I was like a fish out of water. She practically had to pin me to the wall and lace it up to the VERY top, tying it off with a satisfied smile, then slipping the actual dress over me and lacing it with nimble and experienced fingers.

"Supper isn't for a few hours," Claudia remarks to me as we turn a corner, entering a little shaded balcony, "so I apologize if you're hungry."

And thirsty. Horribly goddamned thirsty. It feels like my throat is closing up and my tongue is swollen, but I don't want to seem like some selfish girl, so I settle on one of the sofas arranged on the balcony. It's called a loggia, and I'm pretty proud of myself for even remembering that, thanks to my HGTV obsessed mother. Claudia kisses her mother on the cheek, taking a seat beside her, and Maria looks up from the small shirt she was mending, probably belonging to the youngest, Petruccio, who I actually had yet to see. Maria looks up at me, smiles, and all I can give her is a lame little lift of the corner of my mouth.

"So, Caterina, where are you from?" she asks, looking up for a quick second. "We all assume that you're from one of the northern countries, maybe Spain. Your skin is very fair, though, so I doubt that."

Where I'm from… "England," I instinctively blurt out, and wonder if there's a word in Italian for England, hoping that they understand me.

"Ah," she nods. "My husband has been there. It's a good thing you speak Italian; he can't speak your native tongue very well."

I nod, starting to chew on my thumbnail. It's like she's interrogating me, but subtly. Or maybe I'm just naturally overly paranoid.

"I mended your clothes while you were sleeping, by the way, if you would be more comfortable wearing those after that dress. And Giovanni stored all of your bags away under your bed. It wasn't looked through, so you can rest assured. Besides, it would have been impossible for any of us to figure out how to get them open. They had such odd mechanisms."

Zippers. They're fairly easy to open, but I guess to these people, they're the most complicated thing since sliced bread… I sigh in relief, thinking of the skinny jeans and plain t-shirt I'd been wearing when I was walking home from my friend's house… and the pajamas I packed into the bag. The second pair of clothes I intended to wear the next day was buried underneath it. Maybe I could get away with wearing them. Maybe I could get away with wearing pants while I was here. I watch as she finishes her work, folding up the shirt and placing it neatly beside her, storing away the extra thead and her needle, and looking up at me expectantly.

"Thank you," I finally respond. She smiles, nodding, and I look out into their garden below. It has well tended pushes, small patches of flowers, little blossoms dangling off of the low and tiny trees. Two stone paths intersect, where a table sits on a rectangular space, and the longer of the two paths runs up into a fountain, where a cherub of a little angel sputters out water. It's nice, not to mention it smells ridiculously good. The family was obviously rich, if their house wasn't enough of a dead giveaway.

What does their father do, I wonder…

Giovanni Auditore is an intimidating man. While he's welcoming and open and perfectly respectful and friendly, there's something about him that makes me want to shrivel into a corner and hope he doesn't notice me ever again. His children and wife either don't notice it or don't care. He's clearly loving with them, and it seems like all four of his kids are his pride and joy, so I'm guessing I'm confusing my respect with intimidation, or the first impression I have of him is immediate intimidation. People say it takes 29 times to change a first impression. It would definitely take an entire 29 times for me.

Supper has been fine for the past half an hour or so. It's straightup Italian, all the courses and everything. All I've been able to eat are olives and arancini, a Sicilian appetizer that my grandma makes all the time, plucking them out of their bowls every now and then while everyone else is familiar and talking and teasing, Maria and Giovanni presiding over their children looking like the proud parents they should be. It almost feels like I'm not there anymore. The family is so close and I'm the guest that really shouldn't be here.

The moment Giovanni lifts his wine glass my eyes flick towards him. I don't know why, but it seems to encourage him to finally make conversation, and he raises his brows in acknowledgement, setting the glass down in front of him with a little clunk.

"So," he starts, silencing all of his children and drawing eyes in our direction, "Caterina. My wife tells me you're from England."

I nod. "I am."

"How did you end up here?"

"Floating in a river?"

He chuckles a bit but everyone gives nervous bursts of laughter. They all probably thought I was a suicidal maniac that flung myself off a bridge. "Yes," he finally nods. "How did you make your way to Italy and end up in a river."

I blink. Time to lie.

"My family's been dead for 2 years. Since then I've been living with my father's sister," I start. I'm actually really good at lying, not that I'm proud, but it's a good skill to have around. Most people believe every little word I spurt out of my mouth. "I felt like a burden when they started hitting financial problems so I left. I was able to pay for passage on a small boat and since then I've been working my way down until maybe I reached Sicily or Naples." But why did I end up in a river…. I purse my lips, coming up with the fastest lie. Exhaustion. "I didn't sleep for a day and a half when I reached Florence. I was walking across the bridge and all I remember was leaning against the wall and closing my eyes for a moment, so I toppled in. If you hadn't been there, Signore, I would have been sleeping at the bottom."

"You thrashed, though," he remarks, skepticism on his features, while everyone else believed me. "You must have been sleeping violently."

"Well, I DID awaken for a moment. I felt someone grappling for me, and that was clearly you." I shrug, giving a little smile. "And now, here I am. Wearing a silk dress and dining with you fine people."

They all smile but Giovanni looks disbelieving, like he doesn't entirely believe what I said, only a fraction of it. I turn away quickly, hoping that he doesn't see any of the guilt lurking in my eyes, and reach nonchalantly for more olives as the family maid, Annetta, begins to clear the tables to replace it all with the main course.

As Annetta brings out all the sausage and peppers and veal and pasta, I sit in my little bubble of silence, watching everyone around me. Claudia told me all of her brothers' names while she argued with me about shoes, and it isn't very hard to pick them out. Ezio and Federico are the loudest, and obviously two peas in a pod, naturally brotherly, but anyone can see that Ezio worships the ground the older walks on. Ezio teases Claudia more, and he occasionally earns a nudge to the ribs from Federico for what he says, so it's clear the oldest Auditore keeps them in order when their parents don't. Claudia sits beside me, and I finally notice that I'm sandwiched between Maria and Claudia. She's more quiet, but doesn't hide her girlish laughter when her brothers continue with their idiotic antics, looking to have a good time, clearly. Petruccio, the sickly, youngest Auditore child, sits with a sweet smile on his face. He's pale, and it looks like his hands are trembling a bit.

Federico reaches over then, giving an affectionate ruffle of his brother's hair, saying something to him low in his ear. The boy shakes his head, brows lowered, and Federico nods, giving him a pat to the back. He looks up, and for a second, I realize what a creeper I am, looking at their brotherly moment like some stalker. He chews his food slower, just staring at me for a moment, but the corner of his mouth lips up, noticing my sudden embarrassment from being caught… well, creeping.

"You're a quiet one," Ezio says at that moment, through a mouthful of pasta he just forked into his mouth. He slaps at Federico's chest, nodding at me. "Eh? She's shy. That's it, isn't it? You're just intimidated by our devastating beauty?"

I smile, shaking my head. "I just didn't want to burst into the conversation, is all."

"No, the more the merrier." He waves at me as if ushering me over. "Come on, we don't bite."

I chew on my lip. I WOULD need to make friends while I'm here.

"You should be careful about my brothers, you know."

I look up at Claudia, who combs through her surprisingly waist-long locks, running her fingers through the chestnut waves slowly. Her hazel eyes are clouded up, secretive, so it's impossible to see the reason for her random words. We were sitting in complete silence, while she prepared for bed, and I sat on top of her bed, running my fingers in awe over the smooth texture of the nightgown she let me borrow.

I furrow my brows, trying to think of a reply. At dinner her brothers were perfectly friendly. Even if Ezio always talked through a mouthful of food, and he and Federico had all their inside jokes, they seemed just fine, like normal, rowdy teenage boys in the comfort of their own home. But she starts looking at me more sincerely, eyes hardening, trying to get a message across to me that I couldn't really understand.

"What's so bad about them?" I finally say. "Do they murder people for fun?"

"They love wine and pretty girls," she says, exchanging her brush for a jar of off-white cream. As soon as she takes off the cap I cringe, but she notices nothing, continuing talking. "Obviously, since my father is very willing to let you stay here, they'll try to be as kind and… just as welcoming to you. But you're staying with us. You're easily accessible." She frowns, beginning to smear the cream over her tan complexion. "Ezio is going to be far more brave about it. Federico is smarter. I'm just suggesting that you be careful… as a friend."
I lick my lips. She was their sister; she knew them best. Not to mention she could have plenty of friends that were tricked by one of the brothers.

"Alright," I mumble. As a friend. Maybe they were the only reason she was my friend.