In his dying breath, my father wishes for me to continue to study the secrets of the Preseli bluestone. Despite his weakened state, he revealed that the stone brought him back in time to meet my mother. I wish he had the time to tell me the things he already knows.
After being told that my stone has a pair, I noticed that one of its edges of it appears to be incomplete as if it was torn apart. When Aunt Simona showed me the other stone, I placed the two together and see its complete form. It formed a rectangular shape. It would have appeared normal if it weren't for the symbol I saw in between the cut. It would look like a normal circle, but as you look closer, it looks like a knot.
A knock on the door interrupted my train of thought. Franzia smiled and entered the room. "Madonna Cattaneo wishes for you to join her downstairs."
Smiling back, I place the stones on my nightstand. Hopefully, I would be able to uncover the symbol's meaning. When I went downstairs, there was a chest by the room Aunt Simona stand next to it. "What's this Aunt Simona?"
"A gift." She said as she gestures towards the chest.
Intrigued and a little excited, I found myself sauntering towards the chest. When I opened it, I was greeted by an array of colourful dresses. I gaped in astonishment. "They are all beautiful!" I exclaimed. Then I noticed a name on the chest. "Who's Antonia?"
Lady Cattaneo sat down on the settee in a fluid motion. "That's the name your mother wishes to give you. Did Constantine forget to mention that as well?"
Looking at the name once again, I shook my head no. "He was in poor shape when I was born, at least that was what my uncle says." A glossed-over version at least. My father was an alcoholic and it rendered him jobless and unfit to take care of me. Fortunately, my uncle was there to help out.
Rolling her eyes, she spoke once again. "Of course, he'd forget. Constantine's not one for remembering such details." Seeing as how my father and my great aunt were close, I couldn't help but smile at her. "Oh dear, before I forget please do choose a dress at once."
Confused, my eyebrows creased a little bit before speaking. "What for?"
"For your portrait, my dear Antonia." She said, her smile widening by the minute. "I have commissioned a painter to capture my great niece's beauty." As soon as she said that, a man suddenly came into view. Wearing what I can only guess as a brown doublet, with a red tunic underneath. For some reason, for the first time since I came here, he appears to be familiar. His light brown eyes inspect my face attentively. Lady Cattaneo looks over her shoulder and saw the man. "I'm so glad you are here." She said, gesturing for him to come closer to us. When he did, she shifted her gaze back to me. "this is my niece, Antonia Gorini." And just like that, my Aunt Simona changed my name possibly to appropriate myself at this time. Curtsying, I smiled and was given a bow in return. "This is Sandro Botticelli."
My heart skipped a beat as soon as his name was mentioned. He was my father's favourite Renaissance painter and I can't believe he's right here in front of me. That's when I remembered something that happened a week ago. He's the same guy that mistook me for Simonetta. I didn't have the time to acknowledge it because Aunt Simona urged me to change. Franzia help me choose a dress and we head upstairs.
Wearing a red gamurra and a black giornea, Aunt Simona asks Franzia to arrange my hair in a meticulous style. She said this way of style is called taping and to be honest, it is too intricate and ornate for my taste but I already assumed I do not have a say in the matter. After what seemed like hours, Franzia escorted me towards the room where I should be painting. To my surprise, it is the room where Aunt Simona likes to practice her needlework.
Franzia left both of us alone in the room and I suddenly became aware of how intently he was looking at me. He set a chair down by the window and gestured towards it. "If you don't mind." Without saying anything, I sat down facing him. Studying me, he shook his head no. "Can you turn to your right, Madonna?" Nodding, I did what I was told. "There!" He suddenly said as I situate myself on the chair. Suddenly I can hear him moving. Sketching on a paper first and then shifted his gaze repeatedly from me to the paper.
As I sat there, I realized how intimate this feels. I have never been painted before and perhaps I feel this because it's all too unfamiliar to me. I feel too conscious to move, I am hardly breathing and I can feel his eyes studying every inch of my face.
"Forgive me but how long do these things usually last?" I asked as I try my best not to look at him.
"Do you mean the painting or you posing?" He asks, nonchalantly as he continues.
"Both."
"Well, it usually depends. I might be able to sketch you in a day but that's only the beginning of the process. As to you posing, so long as I have the sun to light the subject, I can work for weeks or months."
I am not a painter or artistic. I never knew painting could take a long while to finish. After sitting motionless for a few moments, I began to debate whether I should speak up about our encounter a week ago in the church of Ognissanti. Trying to distract me from his gaze, I push on the question. "You were that man a week ago." I began. Suddenly the sound of charcoal sliding on the paper ceased altogether. "You were the one who mistook me for Simonetta."
It took him a few seconds to respond as if taken aback by my statement. "Yes, forgive me. Your similarity to her is uncanny." Just like the last time, a tang of disappointment on his voice despite his suppression.
"With the way you looked at me, I assume you were friends with her?"
He continues his sketching again with utmost urgency before responding. "We were hardly friends. We're more of an acquaintance." He says that however, I don't believe him. "Are you close with Simonetta?"
The question rendered me speechless for a few seconds. I just realize that he has probably known a lot more about her than I will ever be. For some reason, I feel a little envious of the knowledge and relationship that I never had with my mother. "Perhaps when I was a little but I was too young to remember."
Feeling my uneasiness with the subject, we both decided to stay quiet. When the sun goes down, Botticelli began to collect his things and prepare to leave until Aunt Simona insisted on him staying for supper.
He's no longer painting me, but every time his gaze goes my way, I feel conscious of my movements and my words. I have never been like this with anyone not even—no, I'm not going to let my mind wander that far. His name must remain where it should be, in the back of my head. There is no existing portrait in the world showing Botticelli's face and I have to admit that he's pleasing in the eye. I started to wonder if it's true what they accused him of— if he's gay.
I must have stared at him a little too long, as he's looking at me with confusion and then smirks as if he knew what I was thinking about. Immediately averting my gaze, I look down at my plate and berate myself in my mind for acting foolishly.
"Well, Antonia we're waiting for your answer?" Aunt Simona suddenly said, waiting for my response.
Looking up at her with guilty eyes, I spoke. "Um, forgive me but what are we talking about?" The two of them chuckled at my expense but Botticelli's eyes linger my way before looking back at my Aunt.
"We were talking about Carnivale and that you've missed it." Aunt Simona said, looking at me expectantly.
"Right, Perhaps I can do it next time," I said then Aunt Simona clapped her hands rather enthusiastically.
"That's wonderful! Perhaps Sandro will join us in Calendimaggio. Oh please humour this old lady." She said, looking at Botticelli with pleading and charming eyes.
"I-I'd be happy to." He said as he chuckles nervously. While Aunt Simona is busy making plans and being happy about his consent, Botticelli looked at me again and smiles charismatically before taking a bite off of his food. As ridiculous as these next words will be, I felt my stomach fluttering and I can feel my cheeks burning. I decided to pretend to be focusing on my plate and eat in silence. How is it that he has such an effect on me?