last act on Earth.
It wasn’t as though I was in any position to express my feelings to Sandro. Putting aside my alleged husband, I would’ve never met him if he were not painting my image for Giuliano. Most importantly, it wasn’t about me and what I felt. I was here for him and his father. I had succeeded in my mission. It was over.
We returned to the Palazzo Medici where Antonella remained, bored in the courtyard with the retinue, completely unaware of our departure. Sandro led me back to the armory room, where I’d posed earlier that evening. He grabbed the sword I had used to shadow-stab the imaginary Giuliano, and a shield that was on display close by.
“Poliziano has given me an idea,” he explained.
Together with the retinue, we walked back through the streets of Florence as a silent group, despite the fact that a million questions almost slipped from my tongue.
Why did you paint the waves that way in the Birth of Venus? Why does St Augustine look like Mariano? Did you really love Simonetta?
Unfortunately, I didn’t think even he knew the answers to any of those questions…yet.
When we approached my front door, sure to never see Sandro in the flesh again, I threw my arms around his neck, and closed my eyes to avoid whatever judgmental glares would come from Antonella and the retinue. Sandro’s stiff posture should have given me the clear message to back off, but I didn’t. And within a second or two, his arms slid around my waist, and embraced me tightly. It brought enough joy to my spirit that I was ready to accept my fate and return to my realm. But, as I pulled back from Sandro and our eyes met, tears burned to push forward. It was such a strange sensation. One I could barely remember having felt before. Irrationally crying at such a moment would have everyone rightfully fearing for Simonetta’s sanity, so I quickly turned and fled into the palazzo before the tears began to pour.
Sobbing, I ran up the stairs towards my bedchamber, and immediately fought my way out of the green velvet dress, wondering how more Renaissance women didn’t die of self-strangulation during the disrobing process.
By the time Antonella came knocking at my bedchamber door, I’d pulled myself together somewhat. I didn’t want to be rude to her, since she had put up with my crap all day, but luckily she really didn’t seem to think anything I did was all that unusual for Simonetta. I hoped my emotional outburst came off as routine behavior for her as well.
As I opened the door, she entered in silence and washed me with a sponge and warm water from a bowl she’d brought with her, ignoring my swollen, wet eyes. Even though I hadn’t known Antonella before that day, and she’d spent much of it scolding me, I would miss her almost as much as Sandro.
When it appeared she was finished with the washing process, I gave her an overly-zealous hug. Then she quietly exited into an adjacent room, seemingly aware that words weren’t needed.
Truly exhausted in mind and body, I was ready to face my fate and go back. I’d been restless in the Ognissanti, but not unhappy. Perhaps now I could go on with more contentment—having this one day to hang onto, as I’d clung onto the memories of my life for all those years. Because when it comes right down to it, our memories are what we are.
I had met Sandro Botticelli, and could now calm Mariano’s fears that he’d been a bad father. I had the added bonus of parading around Florence as the greatest beauty the city has ever known. I’d even managed to avoid an encounter with Marco, my alleged husband.
After putting on the clean shift Antonella had left for me, I crawled into the cold, hard bed—which somehow felt amazing— as I once again admired the ornate ceiling. I hadn’t felt tired in eleven years, but now I was ready for my mind to shut off—if only for a moment—before vacating this wondrous place.
Chapter 16
I lay on my back, in hopes of avoiding bed sheet creases
It wasn’t as though I was in any position to express my feelings to Sandro. Putting aside my alleged husband, I would’ve never met him if he were not painting my image for Giuliano. Most importantly, it wasn’t about me and what I felt. I was here for him and his father. I had succeeded in my mission. It was over.
We returned to the Palazzo Medici where Antonella remained, bored in the courtyard with the retinue, completely unaware of our departure. Sandro led me back to the armory room, where I’d posed earlier that evening. He grabbed the sword I had used to shadow-stab the imaginary Giuliano, and a shield that was on display close by.
“Poliziano has given me an idea,” he explained.
Together with the retinue, we walked back through the streets of Florence as a silent group, despite the fact that a million questions almost slipped from my tongue.
Why did you paint the waves that way in the Birth of Venus? Why does St Augustine look like Mariano? Did you really love Simonetta?
Unfortunately, I didn’t think even he knew the answers to any of those questions…yet.
When we approached my front door, sure to never see Sandro in the flesh again, I threw my arms around his neck, and closed my eyes to avoid whatever judgmental glares would come from Antonella and the retinue. Sandro’s stiff posture should have given me the clear message to back off, but I didn’t. And within a second or two, his arms slid around my waist, and embraced me tightly. It brought enough joy to my spirit that I was ready to accept my fate and return to my realm. But, as I pulled back from Sandro and our eyes met, tears burned to push forward. It was such a strange sensation. One I could barely remember having felt before. Irrationally crying at such a moment would have everyone rightfully fearing for Simonetta’s sanity, so I quickly turned and fled into the palazzo before the tears began to pour.
Sobbing, I ran up the stairs towards my bedchamber, and immediately fought my way out of the green velvet dress, wondering how more Renaissance women didn’t die of self-strangulation during the disrobing process.
By the time Antonella came knocking at my bedchamber door, I’d pulled myself together somewhat. I didn’t want to be rude to her, since she had put up with my crap all day, but luckily she really didn’t seem to think anything I did was all that unusual for Simonetta. I hoped my emotional outburst came off as routine behavior for her as well.
As I opened the door, she entered in silence and washed me with a sponge and warm water from a bowl she’d brought with her, ignoring my swollen, wet eyes. Even though I hadn’t known Antonella before that day, and she’d spent much of it scolding me, I would miss her almost as much as Sandro.
When it appeared she was finished with the washing process, I gave her an overly-zealous hug. Then she quietly exited into an adjacent room, seemingly aware that words weren’t needed.
Truly exhausted in mind and body, I was ready to face my fate and go back. I’d been restless in the Ognissanti, but not unhappy. Perhaps now I could go on with more contentment—having this one day to hang onto, as I’d clung onto the memories of my life for all those years. Because when it comes right down to it, our memories are what we are.
I had met Sandro Botticelli, and could now calm Mariano’s fears that he’d been a bad father. I had the added bonus of parading around Florence as the greatest beauty the city has ever known. I’d even managed to avoid an encounter with Marco, my alleged husband.
After putting on the clean shift Antonella had left for me, I crawled into the cold, hard bed—which somehow felt amazing— as I once again admired the ornate ceiling. I hadn’t felt tired in eleven years, but now I was ready for my mind to shut off—if only for a moment—before vacating this wondrous place.
Chapter 16
I lay on my back, in hopes of avoiding bed sheet creases
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