I don't know how I can go on after this. I'm scared. I'm terrified of what I would feel whenever I look at him and remembers that he's in love with my mother. To be honest, I'm not quite sure if he still loves her. I don't know anything at all.
From what I gather, Botticelli is not one to share anything personal with anyone. Now that I think about it, he's never mentioned anything to me about his feelings, nor did I.
What we shared was a single kiss that I couldn't forget followed by continuous clandestine flirtations. What if these feelings are just one-sided?
I only saw three possibilities that may confirm his feelings for her: one was the sketch of her with an endearing label; the second was the way he looked at me the first time I met him; the third was from Marco Vespucci.
I do not know Marco long enough to trust him but the fact of him being my mother's widow makes him more credible in his statements, especially with men that seem to be attracted to his late wife.
I am aware that courtly love is still practiced in this century where men admire married women and only use them as a muse but never acted upon their desires. If it were just courtly love, Marco wouldn't have come to that conclusion.
It could also be that he is a very jealous man after all his late wife was hailed as the most beautiful woman in Florence.
Botticelli arrived a little later than usual as I wait by the stool where I was designated to pose. Reading a book, I could no longer keep the focus on the words or try to read at all.
Hearing him enter the room, my heart simply stopped and for the first time, my heart feels as if it was breaking already. He was setting up his equipment when he began to speak. "Good morning, Madonna." He said with a chirpy voice, amused by something I have yet to know.
"Good morning, Messer," I replied rather stoically than I prefer, immediately regretting being unable to control my thoughts and feelings.
Knowing he was studying me, I forced myself to look up and flash him a genuine grin I could muster. "Are you alright, Antonia?" He asks, seeing through my fake smile.
"Yes, I'm terrific, Messer."
If he noticed anything odd, which I highly think he did, he didn't say anything. Today, he didn't bring any flowers for me nor decided to make small talk. The silence made my thoughts worse. Did he even like me at all? Why did he kiss me? Did he try to give it a go just to see how it would feel like to kiss perhaps the second version of his love?
It's started to be overwhelming that I could no longer contain it. In my frustration, I closed the book rather hard and loudly, surprising not only Botticelli but also myself.
"Are you sure that everything is alright?" He asks, his voice a little more demanding now and curious.
I lay the book on my lap debating whether or not I should confront him. If I don't, I know it will eventually eat the best of me but if I do, would I dare listen or accept the words he'll come to say? "I wasn't able to sleep well last night."
"May I ask what has kept you up?"
Still looking at the book on my lap, I spoke. "I believe, if my memory serves me right, you're friends with my parents, yes?" Relying on my peripheral view, he nods. "Were you close with my mother?" That's when he started to be quiet. Suspicious, I decided to continue. "Immersing myself in a feast has given me the liberties to be acquainted with the Florentine society. It's not something I have expected but it happened anyway."
Fidgeting, I started trembling and I'm not sure why. Anger? Anxiety? I couldn't identify myself. "Sharing a few conversations with my late mother's widow is the last thing I expected myself to do and yet I did. At first, I thought he'd call me a witch or something but he didn't." I paused and laugh bitterly. "I have to admit, I was terrified to talk to him. Knowing that I am the product of the misdeeds of my parents carried a huge weight on my conscience. With everything he could have told me, one thing stood out." Looking at him, I see his eyes intently on me as he patiently listens but the way that he clutches his paintbrush gives his anxiety away.
"He said, you have harbored feelings for his late wife." His eyes slightly widen and he becomes still. Speechless. "I thought at first it was a courtly love but then I remember your sketches of her." I stood up, completely disregarding the book that fell on the floor. I walk towards him slowly with my eyes locked on his. My hands balled into fists on my side, not from anger but from holding my tears, at least until I have already said my piece. "Is it true?"
He stood up, meeting me halfway but his eyes averted. His only response is a nod. A simple gesture and yet it arouses so much pain in my chest. "Is that why you show interest in me?" I said, unable to control my tears as they fell.
He looked up at me with lips apart but no words came out. He held my hands from my side with pleading eyes, but seeing how he chose to stand there quietly, I knew this time silence means yes. It was enough for me.
I could no longer stomach the pain. I run towards the door. I can hear him calling my name but I did not dare to look. Afraid that if I do, I might feel and be more hurt than I already am.
My tears are hot against my cheeks and my sight starts to blur but I head to the Florentine streets, not knowing where to go. I let my feet carry me, hoping that they will instinctively take me to a place where I would feel less hurt if such a place genuinely exist.
I suddenly felt droplets of water falling from above. The drizzle then turns into a downpour.
As everybody else takes cover, I decided to keep heading on, not caring about anything at all. Then, someone abruptly held my hand and pulled me backward. Thinking I'd fall against the muddy ground, I closed my eyes and prepare myself for the impact that is until I felt a strong pair of hands holding my arms to keep me steady.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the darkest brown I have ever seen. "Forgive me, Madonna, if I were a bit brash but I did try to warn you,"
Confused, my brows crease. "Warn me about what?" I said, with an unsteady voice due to my running and crying at the same time.
He then looks over my head and spoke. "A carriage, Madonna."
Not figuring out what he was trying to say, I look behind me and saw an angry coachman gesturing towards me then continued as he shakes his head in annoyance. When I look back up at this beautiful man, he looked back up at me with a smile.
He then opened his lips to say something but I started feeling dizzy and incapable of focusing. When my ears failed me, my eyes followed. My vision begins to blur until everything else fades into darkness.
1935, Norway.
Johann Sebastian Bach is my Uncle Thomas' favorite musician or at least he does whenever I play his pieces of music on my piano. Sitting down next to me, playing the Goldberg variations, I couldn't help but feel calm.
He wasn't as historically inclined as my dad but he makes up for it with his talent in music. He can play cello and piano but he's only been able to teach me the latter. When he was finished, he then looked at me and poked my nose. "Uncle, is it true what Aunt Millie said about you?"
He sighed heavily at the mention of his older sister's name. "Well, which one specifically, sweetie?" He said with a chuckle, finding my question amusing. It might be because Aunt Millie has always had something to say to her siblings.
"That the reason you didn't marry is that you never get to wed the woman you love?"
His smile and amusement completely disappear as soon as I said it. My Uncle is never one to reveal everything about his personal life, especially the romantic parts but growing up, I can see that he's not truly happy. He immerses himself in so much work probably to push the secrets in.
I treat my uncle as if he's my second father and he's always one to make sure I have a good life. He always has my safety and happiness in mind and I know little to reciprocate it. He then smiled bitterly and nodded.
"As much as Millie likes to say things about his siblings, most are just exaggerated things to nudge us but I can't deny the truth in what you just said." He then sighed, looking at the keys of the piano as if remembering a specific memory in his mind.
"What happened uncle?"
"She died before our wedding."
Not understanding the pain he's been through, I continue to ask. "Was she the one?"
He then smiles and showed me the diamond ring I can only assume was for her then he nodded yes. "Yes, indeed she was."
"I bet you were as devastated as my dad was when he lost mom," I said, now fidgeting my fingers on my lap.
"I was dazed by the loss but knowing that she loves me gives me comfort even in her early passing. Your dad, however, was dealing with much more complicated matters when he lost your mother."
He then began playing the piano again, this time it was something I don't know. "Why won't he tell me? I deserve to know too."
"Emma, sometimes, it's difficult to impart something to someone you love. If your father deems it right not to tell it yet then you must respect it."
I look up at him whilst he plays. "But why?"
"There are things that can only be said at the right moment. Your father is just as similar as I am. We both lost the woman we loved but for him, he is still grieving. The pain of loss sometimes sticks with you."
I still don't understand. Perhaps because I never met her, that's why I do not feel I lost something part of me but I do know that something's missing. My mother has always been a mystery to me.
I didn't know if I want to know but it bothers me that she continues to be an enigma. I wonder, if I try, would I discover? Do I even want to know?
Uncle then sighs. "Love is such a fickle complicated thing, Emma. You should know that."
"Seeing as how you and my dad end up, I think I will just pass."
He then laughs. "Oh love, please don't speak too early. You may never know when you'll fall for someone as intense and pure as we have."
"How can you believe in love when it left you unmarried and shattered?"
He smirks then looks at me as he plays. "That's the thing about love. It's something that we all seek. When we love, we love deeply. When we hurt, we hurt intensely but most of the time, it's a leap of faith."
Still not understanding, I decided to simply listen. After all, I'm only 15. Love may perhaps leave me alone for now. I would never know love as much as they do but I do hope that when the time comes, I'll be able to love as much as they have.