From this point on, it appears that I have to be wearing the same dress I wore yesterday and have my hair styled the same way until Botticelli's done with my portrait.
As I sat there, looking at the vase in front of me, I couldn't help but realize that despite how bored I feel, people do not normally have enough things to do. Perhaps this is not the worst thing at all.
"Do you normally prefer painting people only when they're looking away?" I ask as he sketches.
"In a way, I guess you can say that."
Unable to resist it, I smiled a half. "Is it easier to paint half of everything?"
He was silent for a bit. When he looked up, I can sense the intensity of his seriousness from my bad timing jest. "I know my work may seem a joke to you, but I'll have you know that every artist has a way of capturing things artistically."
Sensing that I may have gone a little overboard, I let myself look over at him with a regretful look before speaking. "Forgive me. Perhaps I'm not used to sitting around, posing, and doing nothing. Nor am I good at being around people altogether but I sincerely do not mean to belittle you or poke fun at your work."
For a day and a half, his eyes have been on me and yet the way that he studies my face now is not just on what he sees on the outside. He's trying to read me. "I understand. This is your first time posing for your portrait?" Nodding, his brow creases. "I'm surprised no other painters have asked you to pose for them."
Shrugging one shoulder, I responded. "I only arrived recently."
Crossing his arms across his chest, he nodded. "In Florence?"
"No, In Italy. I'm from England."
He took another chair and set it a few meters from me before his light brown orbs bored through mine. "That must have been a drastic change for you."
I pursed my lips and look out the window to suppress the fluttering of my stomach. "A change I openly welcome. England suddenly became strange to me."
I can feel his eyes still fixed on me as he speaks. "Why is that, if you don't mind me asking?"
"The war of the roses has cost a lot of life in my family and I found myself alone. Remembering that I still have relatives here, I decided to move." It may not have been the war of the roses but I have truly lost a lot more in the war I have left 400 years from now.
"Apart from you, I only knew one Englishman. I find him quite odd probably because he asks so many questions almost about everything but he's an agreeable person."
When I bring back my gaze to him, his face lights up as he smiles from the memory. Just by looking at how he smiles in the memory of his friend, I'm certain they were close.
"Where is he now?"
"Frankly, I'm not sure where. He suddenly disappeared without a word. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's fine. After all, his inquisitiveness will soon show its uses." As I smile, I have not noticed a tear falling down my cheek until Botticelli reached up and wipe it off gently. Then he caresses my cheeks while my blood races up towards my face. Averting his eyes and clearing his throat, he got up and went back to where he was sketching and spoke. "Right, l-lets get back to it."
After catching myself, I once again face the unmoving vase in front of me and try to forget the way he softly caresses my cheek and how I reacted to his touch.
It's been hours since he left but I can't shake the memory of his hand on my cheek. What has gotten into me? Frustrated, I stood up and lean on the window.
Perhaps the chilly wind will help me relax. With the night sky filled with shimmering stars, I realized that it's been a while since I even look up at the sky and just appreciate its beauty.
1927 London, England
"There's the north star, do you see it?" Dad said as he points at the star that shines the brightest.
Gasping, my eyes twinkle upon seeing it. "Wow, dad how do you remember all the names of the stars?" I ask as we both lookout out the window from my room.
"Well, people remember them by their location, pumpkin." He said as we admire the sky.
Pouting, I jerk my head to one side and ask, "But how do people know it's north and not east or west or south!"
Chuckling, dad procures a compass from his pocket and shows it to me. "You see this?" Nodding yes, he continued. "This instrument will always point north."
"Really?"
"It has its limitations but yes. This will help you stay on your path no matter where you are."
He then places the compass in my small hands. "Maybe we should give one to mom so she could find us here."
He quietly laughs at the thought. "Perhaps we should, but I don't think your mom might come down here."
"Maybe she can visit my dreams instead."
Looking at me with gentle teary eyes, his smile widens ever so slowly and spoke. "She might, pumpkin. She might." He then kisses my head as we continue to look at the beautiful stars up above.
1476, Florence
The next day, Aunt Simona, Franzia, Botticelli, and I all travelled from Florence to Assisi to celebrate Calendimaggio. Missing out on the Carnivale, Aunt Simona thought it best for me to immerse myself in festivities, hence the travel to Assisi.
All the four of us were quiet during the travel, which I appreciate as I look at the view from the window. Soon as we arrive at Aunt Simona's friend's house, I head straight to my room after supper, hoping to avoid any interactions with Botticelli as much as possible.
As soon as the morning shines, I started hearing music and people outside. The commotion woke me up, but as soon as I look over my window, all the irritation of being awakened disappeared.
Due to the celebration, Aunt Simona insisted that I wear the grey giornea over a grey gamurra with gold leaf brocade. I have to admit that I like her choices in dresses.
The cut-out sleeves are a little fuller than the others but it adds more to its allure. Having an Aunt as a noblewoman is perhaps the reason why my hair must stay ornate and complicated to show my rank in society.
Franzia has done a complicated taping all over again but lets some of my hair be loose to show its natural wavy curls. As I admire my reflection in the mirror, someone knocked on my door. "Antonia, Sandro has arrived. Go downstairs when you're done." Aunt Simona said then footsteps followed as she walks towards the end of the hall to the stairs.
For some reason, my heart started to pulsate when I heard his name. No longer able to blame caffeine, I have to admit to myself that Botticelli has become someone able to give me such reaction.
When I reached the foot of the stairs, wearing a green Cioppa, a yellow doublet, green giornea, and a red hose, Botticelli stood magnificently with confidence.
Seeing him like this seems as though he's one of the subjects he's painted before and not the painter. Hearing the footsteps, he looked over his shoulder to see me. His mouth slowly parted as his eyes followed my every move.
"How exquisite, my dear." Aunt Simona said then went ahead to talk to her chambermaid.
I slowly walk toward Botticelli with a coy smile. "You're beautiful." He said, his voice was so low it almost seems like a whisper.
Feeling the rushing of blood on my cheeks, I averted my eyes and spoke. "Thank you. I'm glad you came with us."
"I did promise to come. I'm not one to withhold on any promises I made." He said, smiling down at me.
The commotion outside starts to get louder, making me look over the door. All of us seem to have been taken by the loud noises outside except for Botticelli whose eyes are still upon me. I wanted to look over but I fear that if I do, the effects that he has on me might get worse.
"It's best to get going!" Aunt Simona said ardently.
Apart from that one time I sneak outside to see my mother be buried, I was never able to explore the beautiful Tuscany street until now. Women are usually expected to stay at home and practice their needlework according to Franzia and only servants can go about doing errands.
It was a typical boring life for 15th-century women but during these occasions, they revel in festivities until it's over.
Franzia was kind enough to join me as our arms linked to one another. Botticelli, with respect, escorts my Aunt Simona. It's such an amazing experience. The loud singing and the flock of people would normally make me feel restless but the smiling faces and the spirit of these festivities are infectious I could hardly contain my excitement.
I can hear my Aunt Simona telling me to slow down and wait for them but I couldn't help myself. Looking over my shoulder to smile and wave for my aunt, both looked on as I slowly disappear into the crowd with Franzia in tow.
"Slow down, Madonna. The parade won't start until the banners are blessed!" Franzia said as she keeps up with me.
Chuckling, I walk on with eagerness to see the colourful dresses and the banners forming somewhere in the crowd. Seeing how rich this tradition is, I couldn't help but be mesmerized by everything. As I stand there watching the parade, I felt someone tug on my dress.
When I look down, it was a blonde little girl with red cherub cheeks, probably around 6, holding a flower crown made of white daisies.
I knelt to level my eye towards hers. "Is this for me?" I ask as the girl nodded and her lips still smiling. I bowed my head a little bit for her to be able to place the flower crown on my head. When she's secured it, I look back at her and smile. "Thank you, this is lovely."
"When I grow up, I want to be as pretty as you." She said coyly.
Flattered by her compliment, I grinned widely and lightly pinched her cherub cheek and said, "I'm sure you'll grow to be much more beautiful."
"Really?" The girl gasps. I nodded but then her mother suddenly calls on her to come back to her family. Waving goodbye, the child went over back to her family. As she disappears into the crowd, I saw Botticelli is still situated next to my Aunt Simona from afar.
I'm not sure if Botticelli has witnessed my encounter with the little girl but as he glanced at me, his lips curve up in one of the sweetest smiles I've seen on him before bringing his attention back to my Aunt and her friend. Watching the parade once again, I began to feel warm and elated.