I feel so stupid. I was the one who insisted that we should stay as friends and yet I still hoped that kiss would happen. Why do I still have these stubborn feelings? I wish they would just go away.
Sitting by the banks of Arno, I couldn't help but feel upset about what happened the other night. I stopped Giuliano when he tried to kiss me but I lean into Botticelli when I thought he was going for a kiss. What is going on with me?
"Greetings, Antonia." Da Vinci said as he sits next to me without waiting for my response.
"Hello, Leonardo." I then noticed his notebook and charcoals as he prepares to draw. "I see you're going to do your great sketches here today. What is it going to be?"
"In truth, I'm not going to be sketching anything or anyone." He said as he starts sketching something in his notebook.
"Oh, then what are you going to draw?" I ask, trying hard not to look at his notebook.
"Painting and cooking give me profit but I do love crafting and inventing things." He replied as he smiles, finally able to look up at me.
I forgot that he is the full embodiment of the Renaissance Man. A multitalented person such as himself shouldn't have been cooking to make a living or have a hard time finding patrons and yet he is. At least until he leaves Florence in the years ahead. "I can see why you like sketching in this place. It's so peaceful and quiet." I said as I lean back to enjoy the view.
He continues to draw and was silent for a little bit until he responded. "Yes. One of the reasons why I like it here. It's quiet enough to hear your thoughts. Contrary to my home." He said, whispering the last statement but I manage to hear it.
"Your home? Is it that loud in there?" I ask, then felt a little silly asking it.
"I have 12 half-siblings. I am certain that you can only hear quietness in the night." He said, as he looks up from his notebook and watches the water flows in the river.
"That's a lot of children," I commented.
"Indeed."
"I can only imagine," I said, thinking out loud.
He finally looks at me with a curious gaze. "Are you one of the lucky ones blessed with a few siblings?"
"I wish. I'm an only child."
"That's lucky. Your parents did the right thing." He said then switch his gaze back to the river.
"I wouldn't know. My mother died of childbirth fever, so neither of them was able to talk about how many children they wanted to have."
Taken by surprise, Da Vinci wasn't able to speak for a few seconds before looking back at me with a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," I said, shrugging.
"That must have been difficult for your father."
I look up at the sky and remember my dad inside my head. He was broken and he was never mended even before he died. "Yes. He never fully recovered after that."
Da Vinci then closes his notebook then sits upright, now more interested in talking. "Did he remarry?"
I shake my head no. "He didn't. He was so besotted, he couldn't bring himself to love another." I replied with a smile as I remember the way my father scoffs at all the women my Aunt Millie introduces to him whenever she gets the chance.
His face suddenly turns serious before he spoke. "Mine remarries multiple times."
"I see," I said, not knowing how to respond.
"I understand though. My father wanted to have legitimate children."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know..." I trailed. "Where is your mother now?"
"She died when I was young. To be honest, I don't remember her face let alone the time she passed away."
I just realized how similar the two of us are. I see how he has this look of comprehension in his eyes when I told him that my mother died. He experienced the same thing as well.
I was simply lucky enough for my father not to take a wife of his own and allow me to take his name. "We are so much alike," I said as I bring my knees up and hug my legs.
He looks toward me with creased brows. "Are you also illegitimate?" He whispers.
"Yes." Then I sigh.
"What a pair we make, you and I."
"Indeed."
1928, France
It's been 30 minutes since we were dismissed but I decided to stay inside the studio as I weep. I've been receiving many comments about my absent mother quite recently.
Unfortunately, it increased exponentially today. I usually don't mind but the comments about how my mother was never around slowly became an attack on me.
Out of all the ballerinas I'm the only one without a mother during recitals or rehearsals. It slowly made me think that perhaps they are all right, maybe my mother left because she does not want to take care of me, or perhaps love me enough to stay.
It might have been the reason why dad would not even talk about her. As I cry silently in the dimly lit studio, a set of footsteps echoed in the room making me look up. It was my dad.
"Are you alright, pumpkin?" He asks worry evident on his face.
I quickly wiped off all the tears and flashes him a smile. "Yes, Dad. Sorry to keep you waiting." I stood up and carry my bag as I hurriedly walk out of the studio as if nothing happened.
We were silent in the car. Even as we arrive home—my Aunt Millie's house. After changing my clothes and taking off the bun on my hair, I went downstairs to sit by the log overseeing the meadow. I don't want to cry anymore but I can't help myself from feeling sad.
"May I join you?" Dad said as he stood by the end of the log, waiting for my response. I only nodded in response. When he sits next to me, he joins me in looking at the beautiful meadow in front of us. "I saw you crying." He said all of a sudden after a few seconds of silence. "Do you mind talking about what happened?"
I pouted. I'm quite conflicted about whether I should tell him or not. Even if I reveal what happened, I'm pretty sure he's not going to tell me anything. Maybe it's best to steer clear of the topic. However, I found myself unable to keep it a secret as I spoke. "The other girls were being mean. They kept telling me that my mother must not have loved me to leave me." Overwhelmed by my feelings, I began to cry. Dad immediately took a hold of me and made me lean my head to his chest as I weep, followed by a series of gentle back rubs to calm me down. "Is it true? Did she leave me because she doesn't love me?"
Sighing, he spoke, "I'm so sorry, pumpkin. Your mother didn't leave you and she certainly loves you."
"Then why isn't she here? Everyone else has their mothers around. Why don't I have mine?"
I felt his chin lean on top of my head before responding. "I'm afraid she's not with us anymore, Emma. She passed away."
"Why didn't you tell me? Why do you never talk about her with me?"
He then pulled away to wipe the tears from my cheeks and smile bitterly at me. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I know I should have told you before. I just didn't have the heart and courage to say it."
"Did she die because of me?" I said in between hiccups.
"No, my love. Of course not. She died of illness but she loves you very much." He said, flashing me a smile that meets his eyes. "You know, when you were born, I remember her holding you in her arms as she smiles down at you. She didn't even want to let you go even if her arms are tired."
Blinking many times in the hopes to stop my tears, I replied, "Really?"
Dad, eyes welling up in tears, chuckles then kisses my forehead before looking at me again. "Yes, pumpkin. Even in the short amount of time, she spent with you, she truly loves you. Always remember that."
1476, Florence
The wind gently caresses my cheeks as my red locks dance with it. Staring down the city from up above calms me. I wonder if my mother has seen this very view before. I think she never has. My mother and I are quite different. She might have been the same as Semiramide. Reserve and subservient.
"Forgive, me. I didn't realize anyone was here." When I look over my shoulder, Botticelli stood by the stairs, as he carries his equipment.
"Hello to you too, Botticelli," I said with a smile.
He walks up towards me and leans on the banister to look over the view. "The view is always amazing up here."
"Yes. I prefer the view right now than 500 years in the future." I said candidly as we both look on.
We were silent for a while as we take in the beauty of this great republic. It became apparent that if I ever choose to leave, it would not be easy to part with the city, the culture, and especially the people. "There is something that I must tell you." Botticelli suddenly says as he looks down and towards him. "The other day, when I came over to give you the portrait, I heard what you said about your previous marriage." He then faces me with an apologetic look. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to eavesdrop."
"That's quite alright. I'm going to tell you about it anyway. It may not have been then but I still would have."
"Losing someone so close to you isn't easy. How long has it been if you don't mind?"
Sighing, I switch my gaze back to the city. "It seems a lifetime ago. If you would have asked me the same question as soon as I got here, I would have told you that it appears as if it were only yesterday."
"My sincere condolences, Antonia."
"He didn't die, Botticelli. I only said that because I went towards the lie Aunt Simona mentioned to Semiramide." Turning to face him once again, I revealed everything. "In truth, he left me for someone else." I can see his eyes bear understanding and empathy towards me. I'm grateful. It would have hurt a lot more if I saw pity in his eyes. "He was presumed dead after a few months of joining the war yet I waited. Hoping that he would still come back to me. When he did, a few years later, he has a pregnant woman in tow and tells me that he wants a divorce. It's the worst experience of all the unfortunate things I have gone through."
"I don't know why horrible things happen to good people but I urge you to not let it bring you down. You're an amazing person, Antonia." He said as he holds my hand to his.
How will I be able to resist my feelings for him when he's being so sweet to me? I did not want to have any doubts about my choice, yet here we are. I bring my free hand to his face as I smile gratefully.