What Remains of the Fair Simonetta (22 page)

“But—.”

“Have no fear, Simonetta. I shall return.” She held a hand over her mouth feigning as though she might vomit, causing the nobility to lean back as she quickly climbed over them and out of sight. I stood up to follow her, so I could find Sandro and run away from my fate, but Lorenzo grabbed hold of my arm, and pulled me back to my seat.

“You shall miss the entertainment,” Lorenzo scolded matter-of-factly.

“My attendant is ill,” I replied, and turned to flee again, but Antonella’s empty seat was now filled by Carlo.

“I cannot allow you to leave,
Signora,
” Carlo said flatly, his normally kind face expressionless. “Piero’s orders.”

The tears came again, so I ripped a handkerchief from Carlo’s pocket, and blew my nose loudly, just to spite him. I had declared war in my own girlish way, and was determined not to let Piero win the joust or anything else.

The parade wrapped up with trumpeters, drummers, flag spinners, and jesters. Giuliano and Piero re-entered the arena, where they each took a corner. Both horses pounded their hooves to the ground in anticipation.

“Yaaah!” Piero cried, as he smacked his horse on its haunches, causing him to lurch forward. Giuliano charged from his corner only a moment later, but when they met in the middle, neither struck a blow as they passed each other by. This happened several more times, allowing me a moment to ponder.

Sandro loved Simonetta. The legend was true.

No matter what my fate, I was in her body, and therefore,
Sandro loved me.
A smile crossed over my face. I caught Lorenzo staring at me, so I smirked defiantly back at him. Sandro loved me and nothing that he, or Piero, or Giuliano could do would take that away.

I watched the rest of the battle patiently, as the sun began to fade. The dance between Piero and Giuliano went on for over an hour. Points were gained for a “strike to the helm” here, or a “coronal splinter” there, but neither prevailed over the other.

When I could take it no more, I stood on top of my throne and bellowed, “Win for me, Giuliano!” I just wanted the game to end, and Piero to lose.

My victory cry seemed to have an impact, as immediately thereafter, Giuliano turned his horse and charged at the unprepared Piero, sending him crashing to the ground, shrouded in a cloud of splinters. Giuliano’s win provoking a standing ovation.

Chapter 37

In the midst of the mayhem that followed Giuliano’s triumphant strike, I tried to elude Carlo by rushing the crowd that poured between the lists. I made it only a few steps before I saw Antonella emerging from the horde.

“She’s with me!” I called, as the retinues of the Vespucci and Medici moved in to hold the eager crowd at bay. Antonella reached my side, just as a magnificent horse-drawn carriage pressed through the crowd and halted in front of us.

Two alabaster horses with braided manes were at the helm of the sculpted white carriage, which was trimmed with gold; the
palle
of the Medici coat of arms emblazoned on the delicate door. Lorenzo approached me, and with a wave of his arm, announced, “A chariot for the Queen of Beauty.”

I remained still, searching the crowd that formed on all sides for a weak spot through which to escape.

“Get in,” Antonella insisted with a slight shove.

“I need to get out of here,” I muttered.

Antonella leaned towards me. “Trust me. Get in,” she whispered. “But curtsey first.”

I knew if I didn’t behave as expected, Antonella would most likely pay the price, so I curtsied graciously to Lorenzo, before climbing into the ornate carriage with Antonella.

“To the
palazzo
on the Via Larga,” Lorenzo instructed the driver before smacking one of the matching white horses on the behind.

The retinues had moved ahead to clear the crowd for our passage. I sunk down into the luxurious red velvet, mentally preparing myself for what lay ahead—Giuliano expecting his prize.

The carriage moved slowly through the
piazza
, before turning right onto a road known in modern times as the Via Giuseppi Verdi
.
I was relieved when Antonella pulled the shades of the carriage, concealing us from the gawking crowd.

“I must take your gown off,” Antonella demanded.

“What? Already?”

“Yes.” She grabbed my shoulders, and turned me away from her so she could unlace the back of my dress.

“What am I gonna wear?”

“You shall have to wear
my
gown,” a muffled voice said from behind me. But it wasn’t Antonella’s voice. It was that of a stowaway.

Turning to look behind me, I saw movement under the lining of velvet that covered a storage area to the rear of the carriage. Lifting the cloth, I found Fioretta Gorini, tucked neatly into the carriage’s trunk.

“I shall take your place at the Palazzo Medici,” Fioretta exclaimed, as she unpretzeled herself, and climbed into the seat with Antonella and me. Her blonde hair, which had flown freely when I met her as Flora at the ball, was now fashioned into a rushed version of my own complicated updo.

I smiled and threw my arms around both of them, sobbing. “But how will we pull it off? Don’t you think Giuliano will notice the difference?”

“I have a veil.” Fioretta raised it up in display. “By the time Giuliano discovers our deception, he will be well past caring. Trust me.”

“But Antonella, if it doesn’t go well, what will they do to you?”

“Nothing compared to what will be done to your spirit, Netta, if I allow you to be taken against your will. My life is dedicated to being your servant, and this is how I choose to serve you.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, I hugged them both tightly.

“We must hurry,” Antonella pressed, as she gently loosened my grip, and helped Fioretta remove her yellow, fan-collared gown, complete with a crazy bustle and train.

Antonella dressed me, as I simultaneously ripped the jewels from my hair at record speed, while bumping along the streets of Florence. I lifted the curtain to peer out the window as I felt the carriage turn onto the Via Sant’Adigio
.
“The Palazzo Medici is only a few blocks away!” I panicked.

Fioretta helped herself into my gown, clearly more capable than I at the task. While I laced up the back for her, Antonella bejeweled her hair, and strategically placed the veil so that Fioretta could see out, but others would not be able to see in.

As the carriage pulled into the stables of the Palazzo Medici, I leapt into the trunk, and curled myself into a tight ball, while Antonella threw the velvet cover over me.

Under the veil of fabric and darkness, Fioretta exited the carriage with Antonella. I heard the muffled murmuring of voices trail off into the distance and felt confident that our rouse had worked—at least for the moment.

The painfully long time I waited in the trunk to ensure I wouldn’t be discovered, ended with claustrophobia getting the best of me, and I threw open the lid and took a long gulp of fresh air. I slithered out of the carriage and past an oblivious equerry, who was brushing and whispering sweet nothings to the prized, dapple-gray charger called Orso.

The gate to the stable creaked, and the equerry snapped briefly out of his love affair with the horse while I swung it closed behind me, unseen. I dashed from pillar to pillar in the courtyard, hiding behind each, before peeking around and racing to the next like a spy in an action film. At the last pillar, I waited for a moment as Giuliano passed with the fake Simonetta on his arm, Antonella trailing dutifully behind them.

As they crossed the courtyard, I caught Antonella’s eye and she nodded, before purposely stumbling and falling to the stone floor in a heap. With the diversion successfully created, I passed through the open
palazzo
door, and into the night.

Chapter 38

I took side streets to Sandro’s house, ducking in and out of alleyways so as not to be seen. Merrymakers still clogged every major passage, so when I had no other option but to take a major thoroughfare, I covered my face with the only thing I had—the handkerchief I five-fingered from Carlo. I did my best to blend in with the many emotional courtiers wandering around, spouting on about how proud they were of Giuliano’s win, and pained at the loss of his affection for themselves. In their minds, Florence’s Golden Boy only had eyes for one woman. Only Antonella and I knew he’d use his hands on someone else.

Nerves got the best of me when I reached Sandro’s door.

How do I respond to his profession of love?

I was well-versed in his legendary affection for Simonetta, but still it blindsided me. And even though I felt love for him in return, raw emotion had never been my strong suit. I took a deep breath and knocked, while my heart pounded and the blood rushed to my face. When there was no immediate answer, I pounded harder, now anxiously ready to pounce on him the moment he opened the door. I decided to bear my soul, and couldn’t wait another minute to do it. Heavy footsteps moved towards the door, and when it swung open, I blindly threw my arms around him and squeezed tight—my embrace immediately reciprocated.

I closed my eyes and held him close for a moment, before I noticed the weathered hands that clutched my back, and the gray hair tickling my face.

“Mariano Filipepi!” A ratchety female voice chided. “What are you doing?”

I pushed back when I realized it was Mariano I was hugging, and when our gaze met, I was shocked to see the amorous intentions pooled in his gray eyes. Then I caught sight of a woman who appeared so haggard, it was as though she had just dismounted a broomstick. Gray, frizzy hair framed her gnarled, weathered face, complete with a bump on her nose.

“Smeralda,” Mariano answered, in a jolt of realization, “This is Simonetta Vespucci.”

Smeralda?

Mariano had always spoken of how lovely his wife was, and how kind.

She pummeled Mariano with a rolled-up scroll of paper, “Do not lie to me, husband! Everyone knows Simonetta Vespucci is at the house of the Medici fucking that blue blood! This must be some whore from the tavern in her best dress!”

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered to Mariano. “I thought you were Sandro.”

“Sandro is not here, Jezebel!” Smeralda shrieked. “Take yourself back to the brothel where you belong!” She pushed past Mariano and slammed the door in my face.

Stunned, I slowly backed up from Mariano’s house, then raced away from the weird scene. Even if she had seen me before that day, my face was surely unrecognizable after an entire days’ worth of crying.

But why did Mariano look at me like that?

I refocused on my mission to find Sandro, and headed for the only spot I could think to look; the place I dreaded the most—the Church of Ognissanti. With the handkerchief covering my face once again, I darted down the Borgo Ognissanti. Done with the charade, I burst through the church’s doors.

“Anastasia,” I heard the Abbess call, as I whizzed past her through the nave.

“Not now!” I screamed and continued on, completely disrespecting the house of worship. I reached the choir, out of breath, and pushed open the door, only to find an empty room. Even Ghirlandaio had taken the day off to join the festivities. I stared blankly at Sandro’s incomplete fresco, as the Abbess quietly approached me.

“We must talk, Anastasia.” Her voice was soothing. “He’s not here. You have missed him, dear child.”

“But I know where he is!” Only the upper right-hand corner of Sandro’s
Saint Augustine
had been frescoed, but it was enough. I recognized the twenty-four hour Italian clock as the one that graced my nightstand, and behind it was the open book. The clear words jumped out at me from the garbled text, and this time I knew exactly what they meant.

            
 
Where is Brother Martino?

              He fled.

              And where did he go?

              He is outside the Porta al Prato.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. It was a message to me from Sandro—one that would last hundreds of years into the future—with no one to interpret it but me. He wanted me to find him. He knew I would come. I turned from the Abbess, who was now smiling a toothless grin, then ran as fast as my throbbing feet would take me down the Borgo Ognissanti towards the city gate.

The guard stepped aside, allowing me to pass easily through the Porto al Prato, as if he expected me. I veered to the left, and quickly reached the sprawling meadow with the lone olive tree. Pondering what to say once I found him, I agonized over how to express the multitude of emotions that barraged me all at once. But there was no need. No words were exchanged, as Sandro stepped out from behind the sprawling tree, and with a rapid gait, marched over to me and pressed his lips onto mine. It was the first time he came to me without inhibitions.

He kissed me deep and hard, stimulating every nerve of my being. He caressed my hair, shoulders, and arms, as he whispered in my ear, “I love you, Simonetta.”

“I have always loved you,” I admitted, and at that moment I realized that was precisely what I was put back on this Earth to do. To say the one thing she had never been able to say. Not because she didn’t feel it, but because she didn’t act on it.

Sandro looked into my eyes as if he had never seen my face before. He kissed me again, softly this time, his hands running all over me with delightful gentleness. He unlaced my gown, as he had done so many times before, but I could tell that tonight it was for a different, more fateful purpose. Tonight it wasn’t about the painting. He slipped Fioretta’s dress down my shoulders, and after he guided me to step out of it, he spread the endless fabric onto the soft grass. He stood frozen, and a blush came over his face as I went to remove his tunic, my hands caressing his warm flesh as I pulled it over his head.

His chest was not a mass of rippling muscles, but firm, with the soft skin of a young man. The warm night air rushed past, and Sandro trembled as I crouched and slowly slid his hose down his legs. He hesitated before removing my shift. I could see in his eyes that he felt he should not fully disrobe me, that it would be a dishonor. So I removed the shift myself, and stood there as the warm breeze kissed both of our naked forms.

“Make love to me,” I insisted.

“I just want to look at you for a while. I want to remember you, in this moment, always.”

“You will.” I assured him, knowing he’d paint Simonetta’s face forever. Then I rubbed my hand against the side of his precious cheek, and kissed his lips once more, before he gently laid me down onto my dress, and explored my body with kisses.

My breasts tingled in anticipation of his mouth, my hands clinging to the soft waves of his hair. I had longed to feel his touch every moment since we first met, and I couldn’t wait any longer for him to be inside of me. I pulled him up to my mouth again, and kissed him deeply as I guided him between my yearning thighs. He let out a startled moan, as I clutched his hips and pulled him further into me. And as I did, an unexpected pain shocked me briefly, before the intense pleasure set in. Sandro had devirginized me.

We were no longer a married noblewoman and a lowly painter, but merely two young people in the act of love. Our rocking motion was quiet and gentle at first, and I was careful not to let my experience show through. But the intensity and heat of the moment took over, and we both moved more quickly and furiously. Cries of pleasure emanated through the meadow, with nothing and no one to separate us. He continued to kiss me throughout, taking my breath away in every sense.

Even when it was over, I refused to let him go. I never wanted the night to end.