This world wasn’t exactly like my old one, but there were echoes or ripples, probably from other people being brought in over the centuries. The lingua franca of the nobility was influenced by Latin, some familiar Italian words cropping up. Similarly, the geography was different, but my country was on a peninsula jutting into a large, temperate sea. Built on trade and commerce, the port cities were very diverse places and that had started to trickle up to the nobility.

Although it wasn’t explicitly written in any books, I thought that probably had something to do with nobles taking on “exotic” companions; even if they didn’t have noble children together, just having those lovers around probably normalised other people for their heirs. As a loose example, Mattie’s curls and darker skin came from her grandfather marrying a foreign noblewoman, which her great-grandfather had arranged to secure a deal—Mattie didn’t know the specifics. That seemed like something that wouldn’t have happened in my old world.

For the most part, that side of Mattie wasn’t brought up. Formal settings had more important things to focus on. Besides, being rude was, well, rude. It wouldn’t do to be rude to the host, or to be rude to the guest, or to be rude to another guest of the host.

However, we were around thirteen now and so some of our peers were above following silly rules.

“I am dreadfully sorry, but may you please explain the joke? It seems that it is awfully funny, yet I cannot understand why,” I said with a very polite smile and icy cold tone.

Mattie tugged at my arm. “Ignore them, Bella,” she whispered.

No matter how much she tugged, I didn’t budge, staring down the trio of girls. They met my gaze with narrowed eyes and pouts at first, but that already began to crumble. “I fear you have misunderstood our conversation,” Miss Amnis said, playing the subtle blame game.

“Then explain it. After all, you would surely hate it if I were to wrongly have such a terrible impression of you, no?” I said, smile unwavering.

Neither Mattie nor Miss Amnis and friends understood just how deeply I hated covering up these little indiscretions. How humiliating it was to confront someone and be told, “It’s just a joke,” and then have to deal with everyone looking at you like you were the problem.

The silence deafening, I turned to Mattie and my smile softened. Reaching up, she didn’t so much as blink when I stroked her under the chin, then I checked my finger.

“Ah, it isn’t dirt, but makeup—who would have thought?” I said. Returning my attention to Miss Amnis and friends, my smile turned very polite again. “Still, I do not understand why it would be funny if Lady Matilde was dirty?” I asked.

The only answer they had for me was barely concealed anger. Truly, there was nothing more bitter to the narrow-minded than a taste of humiliation.

My smile dropped. “Do not expect any further invitations,” I said, then turned to Mattie again. “Let us freshen up.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, looping her arm around mine and practically dragging me to the powder room. Once inside, she almost let go of me, her hand coming to hold mine, squeezing it, a little painful.

“There was no need to…” she said.

“Of course there was a need to. You are beautiful, not in spite of your differences, but with them.” I punctuated my point by hugging her and she quickly hugged me back.

A funny change, in the last year or so, my friends rather liked our hugs to linger. Today was no different—was different, her hands slowly moving down until they rested on the small of my back, her chin on my shoulder. Strange, but it didn’t bother me, no reason to ask why.

When she finally pulled back, she left a kiss on my cheek like she always had when we were younger. It stopped once we started wearing makeup. Maybe because she hadn’t done it in a while, she was careless and kissed close to the corner of my mouth.

I chuckled. “That was almost on my lips,” I said, chiding.

She only gave me a mysterious smile in reply.

—

“Happy birthday, Tina,” I said, finally having a chance to talk casually with her.

Giggling, she sat next to me on the sofa, so close our dresses touched. Well, they were puffy. “Thank you, Bella,” she said, voice a touch strained.

I chuckled and, calling over a maid, asked for a honey and lemon tea.

However, Tina didn’t wait for it before talking more. “I already have a flower viewing planned. You will attend, won’t you?”

“If I cannot, you know it is because there simply wasn’t a way,” I said, humour in my voice.

Oh she pouted, so I let her hold my hand. It was a bad habit from our younger years, but, whenever I upset her, this cheered her back up. Today was no different. She squeezed my hand with all her (little) strength, then her face relaxed, smile returning.

“When is it?” I asked.

“The weekend after this,” she said, whispering to save her voice.

I mulled it over. “My mother already has plans, so there may be an issue if my father or brother also travel. Well, I shall have the horses readied to solve that,” I said, talking to myself.

However, she certainly listened and happily squeezed my hand again. “Perhaps you should stay here.”

“A couple days is already pushing it—how could I ask for a fortnight’s hospitality?” I said lightly.

She turned her hand around, sliding her fingers between mine. “Who said for a fortnight? You just stay with me forever, understood?” she whispered.

I smiled to myself. We certainly were all teens now, selfish and clingy. “What of the others? I worry that, between you all, I wouldn’t even make it home for capodanno.”

Her pout returned, but it would have been far too awkward to give her my other hand. Instead, I reached up and patted her head, melting away her displeasure. Another bad habit, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Once she looked happy again, I started moving my hand away, only for her to instantly scowl at me.

“Are you a gatta?” I said wryly.

Of all the responses she could have given, the one she did give exceeded my imagination: “Miao,” she said in her soft, hoarse voice, squeezing my heart the way she sounded just like a needy cat.

Without thinking, I resumed petting her. A moment later, a brilliant pun came to me: “No, you’re not a gatta, but mia gat-tina. My cute kitten.”

She chuckled, mouth stretched in such a grin that her cheeks puffed up, apparently very happy with her new nickname.

—

Another unusually modern part of this world was lingerie. Corsets were aesthetic, worn on top of a thin dress—tight, not but painfully so. Underneath, old-fashioned drawers were common for everyday wear and very comfortable, but, after my mezzo debutto, my mother and Aunty Bica introduced me to the more skimpy options, albeit still far from g-strings. That was alongside my graduation from training bras to actual ones—brassiere, they were called here.

Of course, I wasn’t the only one going through such rituals of growing up.

“What do you think?” Ella asked with a strange smile, her eyes half-closed.

I chuckled. “Emma helped you, did she?” I asked.

“Only my hair. This outfit is something I decided on,” she said.

It was quite the incredible outfit. A delicate dress, almost sheer, with a corset that really pushed her boobs up. We were only thirteen, so there wasn’t much there, but she was the biggest of us—other than Stef who was two years older. As always, white dresses with her gold hair made her look angelic and innocent, just that her outfit this time was a little sexy. Honestly, it felt weird to look at her, really an adult, but I remembered being that age, how everyone wanted to look like an adult and that meant looking sexy.

“You look rather mature,” I said, guessing that was what she wanted to hear.

Sure enough, she giggled and stepped closer. “Won’t you tease me?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“You have long since taken the fun out of teasing you,” I said wryly.

She lowered her head. “You no longer love me?” she softly asked.

“You have enough love for the both us, teasing me so,” I said.

Sure enough, she looked up with a bright smile. “I have another outfit I wish to show you,” she said, then began to undress on the spot.

It took me a moment to realise and turn away. “Honestly, Ella, we aren’t children. Pray have some modesty,” I said.

“I have nothing I wish to hide from you, so do watch if you so wish,” she said.

Sighing, I really missed when her innocent appearance wasn’t a deception. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, her cheekiness fun too. I rather just wished she didn’t think my “shyness” was funny. However, as an adult, it wasn’t like I could watch her change.

I supposed I really had her mother and Emma to blame, setting a flirty example of relationships between girls. That said, strangely enough, Ella didn’t seem to tease the others much like this. But I guessed that was because they didn’t react shyly and she mostly did it when we were alone, so I naturally wouldn’t see if she teased others.

“Bella, could you help with the zip?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, turning around.

It was a very different dress this time, a vivid scarlet. Not only that, but, visible in the unzipped gap, she was wearing a matching bra. Really, what were her mother and Emma thinking? Not that I could blame them, Ella hard to resist when she acted cute, so I probably would have given in too.

Careful, I zipped her up.

Turning around, she said, “Grazie,” her mouth staying in a smile with the last sound.

My gaze flickered down and noticed something. “Lipstick too?” I asked lightly, smiling too.

She answered by kissing the air, the little pop sound her reply.

“Red suits you, diavolina,” I said—little devil.

As if proud of the name, she puffed out her chest and smirked, overflowing with confidence.

—

I had almost no issues with Stef. Almost none.

“Bella, sweetie,” she said, scooping me into a tight hug.

“Hullo, Stef,” I said, my words muffled. Why were they muffled? Stef was older and rather tall, myself on the shorter side, which put my face at, well, chest level—and she had a decently large chest too. Even turning my head sideways, I couldn’t escape.

Eventually, she let go, taking a step back. “How was the journey? Comfortable, I hope?” she asked.

“As pleasant as ever, the route scenic and blessed with a sea breeze,” I said, straightening my dress out.

She laughed, different to how she used to. It sounded more like a woman’s laugh. Although sixteen was still very much considered childhood in this world, that didn’t mean girls like Stef wouldn’t prepare. She laughed like a woman, walked like one, talked like one too. A slower, deeper voice, every word elegant and proud, every pause deliberate.

At least, that was what she had told me her training intended to imprint on her.

“Come now, mia sorellina, there is much conversation to be had,” she said, taking me by the hand.

I sighed, but didn’t take my hand back. For a couple years, she had stopped treating us like her little sisters, but, ever since my mezzo debutto, she’d picked it up again. Well, in private, and I was sure she did the same with the others. We mostly gathered at things like balls and tea parties with others present, so some level of decorum was required.

As for now, she led me to the solar, which was really her personal library. Under the coffee table were many books, stuffed full, and the fireplace mantel was covered in piles too. Being a solar, it let in plenty of the midday light unlike gloomy studies.

Which was rather ironic as the stories she read were better suited to somewhere seedier—not that I had any right to talk, a willing accomplice.

I slipped the book delicately titled “THE DUKE’S DAUGHTER’S DESIRES” out of my dress, the pocket intended for gloves just large enough for the small, violet book. Unfortunately, my mother had found me “enjoying” a similar one last year, resoundingly forbidding me from forming unrealistic and unhealthy expectations of love and sex.

Thus I had to rely on Stef and her very wide selection.

“How did you like it?” she asked.

I placed the book on the table and took a seat. A moment later, she sat next to me, drumming her fingers on my knee.

“Well,” I said, drawing it out to prepare my thoughts, “I enjoyed it. You know what kind of books I like and this was certainly one of them.”

Stef chuckled, almost throaty. “Indeed. Mia sorellina likes dirty books of morbid love,” she said.

I couldn’t argue with that, instead focused on how she said mia sorellina, her tone almost musical as she rhymed the words. It reminded me of how tenderly my mother and Aunty Bica called each other when it was only me around.

But it surely couldn’t be like that, Stef’s love sisterly.

“How about this one next?” she said, sliding over a book.

The title read: “A LITTLE SISTER’S FORBIDDEN LOVE.”

Her love was definitely sisterly… right?