Roma's Spell

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Everybody wants to hear the secrets

That you never told a soul before

And it's not that strange

Because

It wouldn't change what happened anyhow

Lexus wasn’t sure what woke her at first. It was one of those hazy, half-asleep states, where she was just aware enough to realize that it was still dark out, and that she should still be sleeping. Why wasn’t she asleep? She wasn’t hot, she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t hungry, or hurt, and her hair wasn’t in her face. The sun wasn’t shining in through the windows. She didn’t have to use the bathroom, there was still a pillow under her head and a blanket over her shoulders. She was in her room, with its friendly beige walls and all her favorite posters and pictures. She could see her poem on the wall, a sonnet she had written and recited to herself every night before she went to sleep. She was laying in her favorite position—on her right side with her left leg bent and her right hand securely under the pillow. The blanket was pulled tight around her shoulders and was putting a firm weight on her left hand, giving her a sense of security. It was her favorite blanket, a heavy blue-and-cream down comforter that her father had given her just before she left for school. Just before he died. That had been two years ago. She had slept with it every night since then. Even in the summer, when it was too warm to be under any covers, she had kept the blanket with her, clutching to her front in her sleep. For the beginning of November, the comforter was perfect.

The blanket moved and made a funny sounding noise. The breath caught in Lexus’ throat as she realized that it wasn’t her blanket after all. The blanket was there, but there was an arm around her, a hand on top of hers. She stifled a gasp and closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened. Sam would be angry if he ever found out. So angry he might kill her.

Thinking of Sam and his anger, she knew there was something she should remember. The memory was there, dangling in front of her, teasing, taunting, but the thoughts wouldn’t come no matter how hard she tried, and she wanted to cry in frustration.

She dared a peek underneath the blanket, and gave a sigh of relief when she saw that she was still fully dressed, and the arm around her was clad in a red sweatshirt. The hand sticking out from the cuff was wide and tanned, and there was a signet ring on one finger.

She knew that ring. She’d recognize it anywhere. G.S.T. Gold lettering on black onyx, on a heavy gold band. His father had left it to him when he had died. Funny, wasn’t it, that their fathers had died within days of each other? Both in car accidents too. That was how they had met, in the school’s counseling center and they had long since become friends.

But what was George doing in her room, in her bed, and why did he have his arm around her? George San Tisalgo. The Fourth. That was his name. They weren’t lovers, they never had been. He was her best friend, and that was all they had ever been. And why couldn’t she remember what had happened last night?

He shifted again and the arm around her tightened slightly. She could hear him mumbling slightly, and knew he was still sleeping. She moved slightly, wanting to break free of his grasp. Maybe if his arm wasn’t around her, she’d be able to remember. But he had her trapped between his chest and the wall, and when his arm tightened even more around her, she knew he had awoken. He wasn’t a silent sleeper, and now his silence gave him away. She closed her eyes, and continued her restless shiftings, hoping to convince him that she was still asleep. Maybe then he would get up and leave, and she would be alone again.

“Lex?” he asked softly, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “I know you’re awake.” She had always liked his voice. It was deep and husky, and had a melodic undertone to it. She suspected the melodic part came from the Italian in him. He was fluent, even though he had been born in California. His great-grandfather had been an Italian prince. She wondered if that made George a prince, and then wondered why she had never asked. “Lexus?” There it was again. With a heavy sigh, she whispered, “Hi.”

“You okay?” He sounded concerned, and she wondered why she wouldn’t be okay.

“Yeah.” She felt cold as he moved, his chest no longer against her back. When he put his hand on her hip, she shivered, and he easily turned her so she was facing him.

“Hi,” she greeted him nervously when her eyes met his. She could see the worry in those deep brown depths, and again wondered what happened last night. Taking in a deep breath, she asked him, “What’s going on?”

He frowned at her. “You don’t remember?” She shook her head, slowly, half afraid of what she saw in his eyes. “It was Sam, il cazza.” The prick. She knew the word, she had heard him say it before and had asked him what it meant. She knew he didn’t like Sam, but she still didn’t understand.

George reached out a gentle hand and touched the side of her face. His fingers felt cool on her skin, and she flinched in pain as he pressed a little too hard. Raising her hand, she brushed his away and felt the painful area. There was an area that felt swollen to the touch, and above it, on the side of her forehead, there was another painful area covered by a small bandage.

Again her eyes met George’s, and she knew that he knew her secret, the one thing she had kept hidden from him for the past eight months. Ashamed, she lowered her gaze and tried in vain to keep the tears from coming.

“Why did you never tell me, cara?” She could feel his hands carefully brushing the tears away, but she couldn’t answer him. She was still confused. Sam had never touched her face before. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know, and had told her never to tell anyone. Not that she would have. She was ashamed of him, of herself, of what he did to her.

Faintly, Lexus remembered an argument, pieces of it drifting back to her. Sam had screamed at her, and cursed, which wasn’t anything different. They had gone to a club, she remembered that much, and something had annoyed him. He had taken it out on her, the same way he always did, and she remembered the fear she felt as he clutched her arm and dragged her through the crowd. George, George must have seen her leave and followed. He must have seen Sam hit her. She trembled, torn between wanting to know all the details, and wishing she could simply forget everything, even just for a while longer.

“Shhh,” George soothed her, and oddly enough, she found his hand on her waist comforting. “Just go back to sleep for now, cara. It’s not even even four yet,” he yawned. She was glad when he kept his distance as she rolled over, not moving to wrap his arm around her again.

“George?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah?” She could hear the drowsiness in his voice, and felt guilty for having said anything.

“Never mind…”

“No, tell me.”

“Will you…will you tell me a story? Dell'Italia e del…” her sleep ridden mind stumbled over the Italian word, and finally settled for the English, “your great-grandfather?”

“You’ve heard this story before.”

“But I want to hear it again. I want to hear about Italy.”

“All right, all right,” he said, giving in easily. His voice deepened as he started the story that she loved to hear. “Una volta ci era un principe,” it began. He always started off in Italian, but with the next few sentences, he would switch to English, except for a few words that he knew she would know.

“Once upon a time there was a prince. He lived in a palazzo in Roma. When the war came, Giorgio, il Principe di San TiSalgo sent his sister and his mother away to America, where he knew they would be safe. He stayed behind, much to their dismay, wanting to protect his house. One day, he awoke to the sound of men marching. In only his nightrobe, he ran outside to see the American men parading down the street outside his gate. He watched them go, and soon became aware of a crippled old man standing on the other side of the cobble stone street. The man barely stood upright with the help of a cane. He was wrinkled and hunched, but there was still fire in his eye, and it was an Italian fire. The old man was a fighter. As Giorgio watched, the man pulled out a pistol, and aimed for the marching men. Old age had made his hand shake, however, and the next thing Giorgio knew, he was laying on the ground with pain taking over his body. The American men never noticed him fall, on the other side of his protective gate, and he laid there, huddled up in pain. Even the old man paid him no mind, and disappeared once the soldiers were out of sight. Giorgio didn’t have the strength to move, but even still, he started when he saw a young, skinny boy come out of the bushes towards him. The boy laid a cool hand on Giorgio’s forehead, and Giorgio knew that he was already growing feverish. He didn’t know how long he had lain out there, and he didn’t know if he could trust this boy, but there was really no choice in the matter. The boy pressed his hands to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the wound in his arm. “Il signore, sveglia, noi deve ottenerlo all'interno. Prima del ritorno dei soldati,” he told the prince. “Sir, wake up, we must get you inside. Before the soldiers return.” With the help of the boy, Giorgio was able to get inside, and he took the boy with him to the secret room below the palazzo, knowing that he had no chance if the soldiers returned to take over his beloved palazzo. The boy nursed him back to health, and finally, Giorgio grew well enough to ask the boy his name. He was shocked at the story that came. “When the American soldiers marched up the road towards my home, my brothers bade me to run away. My parents, they had been killed not long ago, and my eldest brother along side them. I hid, and I watched my other brothers die before I had the sense to flee. I am Alessandra, Principessa of what remains of the palazzo di San Latia.” Needless to say, Giorgio was shocked by the declaration of femininity. He recognized the name San Latia, a lesser prince, but one deeply immersed in the politics of Italy and who had been against Mussolini from the start. If it was as this girl had said, and they were all dead, then Giorgio knew that little hope remained. He too would need to flee his home, and this girl would come with him. And so, when he had regained his strength, he and Alessandra gathered what was left of his family’s riches, and fled to Paris. They made their way to America, and from there to a small town outside New York City, in hopes of finding his family. On the way there, Giorgio fell in love with the girl who still dressed as a boy to make her journey easier. They found his sister, well protected in a convent, and heard the news of his mother’s passing. Giorgio sold his few jewels, and tried to create a life for his sister, and for Alessandra, who shortly agreed to marry him. Giorgio the Second was born, and soon after, they were able to return to Italy, to San TiSalgo. In Roma, Giorgio the third was born. He married, and he and his wife decided to return to the United States... You know the story from there, cara,” he murmured softly.

Somewhere during his story, Lexus had fallen asleep. Taking care not to wake her, George again slipped his arm around her, and was soon fast asleep as well.

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A/N: May I now present to you, the first chapter of Roma's Spell.

I think/hope you'll find it different from FA and AON, even though many of the basic elements are the same. I'm striving for a different effect on the characters, and to portray them differently. "Younger," really, even though they're only 2-3 years younger than Alaska in FA. You'll have to let me know what you think.

Although, I do promise you, in the next story, as far as I know, there are no rapes, assaults, or otherwise majorly physically traumatic events planned

And if it bothers anyone that Lexus' name is so close to Lexie's, let me know. I tried to change it, and it just didn't sound right, because to me, Lexus is Lexus and Lexie is Lexie, and even after I changed Lexus's name, I kept typing Lexus and finally changed it back, but I don't want anyone getting too confused.

We'll see how it turns out. I usually don't post stories until I have at least 25K written, and I'm only at about 14K right now, so updates might not be AS often, but I'll definitely have one out at least once a week. I'm hoping once the reviews come in, the words will start flowing even more :)

Read and review, and welcome to all my loyal readers of other stories!

Love, Ashley

PS: All Chapter titles in this story, and the lyrics at the top of each chapter, are from various Billy Joel songs. They are not mine, I am not stealing, etc etc.