patriotic enough to think of it as a grand adventure.
With a shaky hand, Vi reached down to grab her bag and then headed for the front door. She had to stop this, but how? Because she would be damned before she let her friend rush headlong into danger, even if it was the girl’s choice. Sal had put her in charge of keeping Marcie safe. And while Sal and Papa Maggio may have been thinking only “safe from losing her virginity,” Vi meant to keep her safe from impulsively risking her life, too.
Which meant there was only one path left. She had to talk to Sergeant Danger and somehow convince him that no matter what Wyatt might say, Marcie’s life was also too important to risk.
More important than the lives of Allied soldiers?
The question made her sick.
Because the answer had to be no, which meant perhaps never going home to Chicago, never seeing Jimmy again, and, worse, perhaps taking on the crushing guilt of her travel buddy’s death, someone she had been charged to protect and had grown to genuinely like.
Lord, what a mess. No longer sure what she wanted to say to the sergeant, she reversed directions and headed toward the stage, where Marcie was likely waiting for her. If there was any justice in the world, inspiration would find her quickly, before disaster struck. Otherwise she and Marcie were both doomed.
Chapter 23
La Fiorentina was crowded by the time Vi and Marcie got there. Soldiers and locals crowded the front waiting area, angling for a place to sit, while waiters carrying bread and wine pushed between them. Vi stood on tiptoe and scanned the restaurant for Gertie and Frances. Her stomach growled at the mouthwatering smells of ripe tomatoes and garlic and lemon. It had been a long day, and she was hungry despite the worries plaguing her.
“Well, shoot. It looks like we missed them,” Marcie said about the time Vi had reached the same conclusion. Disappointment pulled her friend’s full lips into a pout even though Vi was elated. After the conversation Vi had overheard between Wyatt and the sergeant, she needed a quiet moment to think without the added task of trying to keep Frances and Marcie from throttling each other. “And here I had wanted to ask them about the new dance configurations.”
Vi snorted at the bald-faced lie. What Marcie really wanted to do was impress the girls with all the new gossip she had picked up. Not that Vi held that against her friend. Even the kindest of theater people weren’t above showboating when it was deserved. And being promoted from chorus to the rarefied circle of leads was definitely worth boasting about.
“Since they’re not here, let’s go somewhere else.” Vi took her friend’s arm. “Somewhere with an actual place to sit.”
“Wait.” Marcie shook Vi’s hand off. “I think I see two empty places at that table over there, with those soldiers.”
“Marce, you know how I feel about eating with strangers,” Vi said, a headache forming at the mere thought. “Especially when I’m tired.”
“You also need to eat, and the food here smells too delicious to pass up.” Marcie took Vi’s hand and raised it to her chest. Her dark gaze was soulful. “Please, for me? I’m only thinking about your health and well-being.”
Vi inwardly winced as she recalled Wyatt’s similar declaration.
My responsibility is for the health and welfare of this troupe . . .
If only she could believe him. Trust that he would protect Marcie with the same ferocity as he did Luciana. Because if the powers at the top, perhaps even the mysterious OSS, decided that the sergeant’s mission trumped USO contracts, Marcie would be in danger. Because Vi knew without a shadow of a doubt that the lure of saving lives and possibly shortening the war would be irresistible to her spirited, impulsive friend. Why stop at taking on a starring role in a mere USO musical when she could swap it for an even more exciting one?
Vi shook off the troubling thought. “We can come back—”
The maître d’ appeared beside them. “Signorine, may I help you?”
“Yes!” Marcie said quickly, before Vi could refuse.
Then, to both the man’s and Vi’s surprise, Marcie launched a volley of questions in rapid Italian. His dark eyebrows rose toward his slicked-back hair as she chattered on, pointing this way and that. He responded with a question of his own, and soon they were deep in conversation. Vi couldn’t follow any of it, the few words that