Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) (17 page)

“Thank you, Zia,” I said, holding her tightly in my lanky arms.

“What did I tell you about saying thank you?” She shook her head. “If you ever feel uncomfortable tonight, I want you to tell Sandro and come home directly, you understand?” I nodded earnestly. “I think Sandro is already here. Don’t be long,” Zia said before leaving the room. It wasn’t until I heard her footsteps reach the stairs that I reached for Idan beneath the pillow. A folded parchment tumbled from the same hiding place and onto the floor.

The red horse that fused the letter’s secrets together stared up at me. My hands shook as I opened it. After re-reading the first sentence over and over again without understanding it, I folded the paper and tried to steady my heart beat. After a deep breath, I opened it again.

23
rd
of December

Viola, 

You have thrown yourself into the path of dangerous people. If you hope to make it to the door, avoid the man of justice named Pietro and the Medici family despite temptations. An unquenchable lust for control lies behind every powerful man. It would not do for a young girl full of secrets to dine with such characters. With a bit of luck and wit you will not be hearing from me again.

The playful excitement I had allowed to build fizzled.
What a disaster
, I thought to myself.

It was as if the fairy godmother had turned the pumpkin into a coach and then decided Cinderella could not go to the ball at all. My mind tried to find a happy medium between going and heeding the letter’s warning. Either way I looked at the situation, there was no way to do both. I was sick to my stomach of always doing the right thing.

“I never do anything I’m not supposed to,” I snapped at the letter. “There is no way I’m going to let anyone spoil my evening,” I said, hiding Idan’s chain beneath all my layers. But deep down I knew the letter already had. My mother’s locket hung outside the dress, just in case Lorenzo got handsy again. Picking up the train of the dress, I left the room and the letter before sense got the better of me.

While I maneuvered down the steps, Sandro was fidgeting with his own costume. He was dressed in olive and wearing a round mask with wide nose. Sandro almost looked surprised to see me.

“You look nice,” he stammered.

“Nice? A grown man like you should be able to make a woman fall madly in love with you in five syllables. Viola will give that famous Simonetta a run for her jewels.” Zia hushed him with her eyes as she helped fasten the fox mask.

“You’d better be the proper gentleman, Sandro … and don’t you dare let her out of your sight,” cautioned Zia, guiding us to the door.

“Of course, signora,” said Sandro with a nod before we stepped out into the brisk air.

The sky above us was streaked indigo and orange. My bare neck and ears were cold but everywhere else was toasty.
It’s still so dirty
, I thought, lifting up the dress’ thick fabric. The foul smell followed us as we turned onto Via dei Neri. “So what are you supposed to be?” I asked.

“A frog.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“It’s all I had.”

“But it looks good on you.”

“
Grazie
.” He reddened as we passed the Signoria.

“So why did you want to be my chaperone?” He was quiet for a long moment before he answered my question.

“Since I just opened my workshop, I don’t have many patrons. My prosperity would be certain if the Medici supported me.”

“So this is for your business?”

“Yes.”

“So this has nothing to do with Simonetta?”

“I would be lying if I said no,” he admitted.

Sensing he did not want to talk about her, I dropped the subject. We reached a corner where a line of people wrapped around a tall, narrow building. Their hungry eyes lingered on the pearls of my dress.

“What is this?” I asked, pointing to the ornate windows and niches that cut into the sandy stone.

“It is many things … but mostly a church and the granary for the city. The people in front are most likely waiting for charity.”

“I see,” I said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my clothes.

“It is called Orsanmichele. Those...” he pointed at the niches that harbored detailed statues “...are depictions of saints and the Virgin Mary. Different guilds commission them. In fact, it is my understanding that Verrocchio is working on one for the Merchants’ guild of Christ and St. Thomas.”

“If you keep explaining it like that you are sure to kill her of boredom,” said Leonardo. Sandro and I turned around. There he was, dressed in a flattering pink tunic with his mane pulled back.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, thrilled to see him.

“I am coming with you … You are walking into the lion’s den,” he said, tapping his lion mask. “You will need more than one chaperone.”

“I am perfectly capable of—” protested Sandro.

“Of staring into Simonetta’s eyes all night,” finished Leonardo.

“How will you sneak in?”

“I won’t have to, I’m wearing pink.”

“How will that help you?” I asked.

“No one will protest against a man who wears pink,” smiled Leonardo. “Cosimo Medici himself used to say that two bales of pink cloth made a gentleman,” he said before leading the way to the Palazzo Medici.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Garden

Flames wavered on the wicks that illuminated the grand walls of Palazzo de’ Medici. Unlike the houses on Via dei Benci, the square mansion wrapped around an entire block. Its first floor was built with heavily carved stones. In between the arches that framed the tall windows were iron stakes that held the sweating candles. As we passed their glow, I looked up at the two rows of arched windows. At the corner, we could see a set of guards looming over the entrance. I looked at Leonardo but he seemed calm.

“Signora Vespucci?” he called.

A young woman ten feet ahead of us turned around at the sound of her name. While Leonardo had quickened his stride, Sandro slowed to an awkward tiptoe. The lovely lady wore a gown of teal with flecks of gold that shimmered. Thick blonde waves unraveled artfully down her back. She looked curiously at the handsome Leonardo from behind her peacock mask.

“How stunning you are,” Leonardo said with such easy charm that I blushed, even though the compliment was not meant for me. The girl’s pink lips curled before she could stop them.

“I am sure every gentleman behind those walls will tell you the exact same thing for it is truth itself. But, I am so happy that I was the lucky one who told you first.”

“And who are you, sir?” she hesitated.

“Hopefully your escort into the palace and by doing so the envy of every breathing man in Tuscany?” My mouth fell open almost as wide as Sandro’s. He looked inconsolable as Simonetta Vespucci took Leonardo’s arm and glided past the guards who barely spared a glance at his pink tunic.

“Well, I guess you will just have to settle for me,” I said, pulling Sandro along towards the tall paneled doors.

The guards bid us good night as we stepped through the doorway into a sparkling courtyard. Lorenzo and Giuliano were greeting guests that lined up by one of the staircases. We took the open space right behind Leonardo and Simonetta.

“Hello again,” said Leonardo. “My lady, allow me to introduce my friends. This is Viola Orofino and this is the famous artist Sandro Botticelli.”

“Yes … of course,” she said, holding her hand out for Sandro. Whether she really knew who he was or not, it was clear that the famous artist did not care as he rushed to kiss the hand of his golden opportunity. “How fortunate we are in meeting each other!” she exclaimed. “I have been meaning to get my portrait painted.” Her sugary words could not have reached a more grateful ear. We switched partners and all was as it should be.

“You are so lucky,” I said, glancing at the triumphant smile below the lion’s whiskers.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.”

“So you just had that mask lying around the workshop?”

“Handsome, no? It is one I made for my father … I suppose Signore Soldo just threw a few scraps together when you got home,” said Leonardo, tugging at one of my sleeves.

“Very funny … You know it was a gift, and you have already figured out from whom.”

“Now that we can both agree we look dashing, let’s talk about your sweetheart’s palace.”

“He’s not my sweetheart.”

“What do you think then?”

“Of what?” I asked. Leonardo rolled his eyes and put his arms up.

“Of the palacio!”

“Oh, well it smells wonderful,” I observed, breathing in the perfumed air.

“That is it?”

“Of course not,” I replied, peering into the courtyard’s arcade. “It’s very nice … I mean elegant. Maybe it’s more discreet than I had expected.”

“That is true. It is very classical,” he agreed, staring at the empty pedestal in the middle of the courtyard. “What a shame.”

“What’s a shame?”

“I think that is where Donatello’s David usually is,” he explained. “It is actually one of the reasons I came.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“That was poorly phrased.” He grinned. “What I meant to say was that I have heard so much about its beauty that I was eager to see it with my own eyes.”

“Maybe I can ask Giuliano about it?” I offered just before our hosts greeted us.

“
Buonasera
, Viola,” said Giuliano, tilting his handsome head.

“
Buonasera
,” I managed with an awkward bow. “Your home is beautiful.”

“I am so glad it is to your liking.” He beamed. “You look …”

“Out of place?” I suggested.

“Wonderful,” he said, passing my hand to his brother. The tingly feeling fluttering around my heart instantly vanished.

“How purple is thy bloom, fresh Viola,” interjected Lorenzo. “And oh how white the hand that gathered thee.” He pecked my hand. When he looked back up, I noticed his face was rosier than usual and his eyes less alert.

“Did you like that?”

“Excuse me?”

“My couplet?”

“Oh, yes it was … very original.”

“Poetry is one of my many passions,” confessed Lorenzo. The corners of his mouth were welcoming despite the notes of wine in his breath. “With your permission, I would like to introduce you to someone during the course of the evening.” Bewitched by the incandescent atmosphere, I nodded. “Excellent. We will be up shortly. Straight up the staircase.”

After climbing the stone steps, we followed the trail of candles and laughter down a long hallway. The path was outlined by rich carpet and pedestals crowned with proud busts. As Leonardo and I walked past the shut doors that flanked the passage, I wondered what marvels they might hold. I broke off from the procession when I spied one door that was slightly ajar. It was hard to see much since the room was not lit. The round elegant lines of the architecture were outlined by the moonlight that entered through the windows.

“Viola! Andiamo,” implored Leonardo. “Supper hasn’t started and you are already sneaking around!”

“Hush!” I placed a finger to my lips while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the faint light. Magnificently carved furniture held countless books. The scrolls’ spiral parchment budded from the many shelves that bordered the room. Dark padded chairs spread across the marble floor. As I approached the large table at the center of the room, I could make out loose parchments, silver point pens, and two empty wine glasses that burdened it. Smoke from a smoldering fire added to the haze that consumed the study. “It’s amazing how you can be so scared of some things but—”

“I can’t believe it.”

“What?”

“That is mine!” I pointed to a meticulous drawing of Idan that lay on the top of the paper. “How could he—”

“After he saw your small clock at the Duomo … he must have drawn it.”

“What does that say?” I asked, staring at script that flanked the drawing. Leonardo squinted in the dark.

“My Latin isn’t very good,” he admitted.

“Excuse my intrusion,” signaled a boy’s voice from behind us. We both spun around, guilty as thieves. It was the same page boy that had delivered my dress. “Were you looking for the chamber pot room?” There was an awkward pause until Leonardo spoke up.

“I tried to tell her that it wasn’t here. But she was in such a hurry. You know, when nature calls …”

“Yes, well, it is actually just past the dining room,” the page boy said, gesturing back towards the door.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus,” I whispered, thoroughly embarrassed.

“What is a bus?”

“Nothing. What it means is that you blamed it all on me.”

“Well … if you recall, I was against going in there,” said Leonardo as we entered the blazing dining room.

“But if we hadn’t I wouldn’t have seen the drawing,” I retorted.

The detailed drawing of Idan brought the letter’s warnings back to my mind and with it a whole bouquet of emotions. Each one threatened to wake me from the dreamy fairy tale I was living. A symphony of string instruments tried to lull me back into the delightful banquet.

Flames danced off the painted ceiling and its golden frame. Tiny angels glided between fountains while birds flew against the rose sky of the overhanging beams. Many guests had already sat down and begun drinking the red wine that the servants were pouring into the glasses. The tables were arranged in a horseshoe shape with settings on only one side.

“That way no one has their backs turned towards one another,” explained Leonardo as I gazed with wonder at the scene before me.

“Is that so everyone can be seen?”

“That’s part of it. This way they can see the jewels that dangle from their necks and judge each other’s table manners.”

“Everyone does seem to have put in a lot of effort to how they look.”

“Not a lot,” corrected Leonardo. “All their money, time, and care. In Florence, there are sumptuary laws. People cannot show off their wealth. The laws are especially strict about women's dress.”

“You mean the few times they are allowed to step out their front door?” I snapped.

“Yes.”

“Like what kind of dress is illegal?”

“They are not really allowed to wear trains,” he said, pulling on the back of my dress.

“Oh!”

“What about where you come from?”

“Well …” I stalled thinking about the busy streets of New York City. “In the city that I am from you can wear anything you want.” Leonardo’s eyes bulged at this and he was on the brink of flooding me with questions when the music died down.

“Thank you for waiting,” pronounced Lorenzo. The gray mask he wore looked like a dog and matched the silvery thread of his periwinkle tunic. “We are very glad you are all here and will not be content until you enjoy the amusements and your neighbors’ company. Therefore, let us be the merriest of parties.” He raised his glass. While his guests followed his excellent instructions, the instruments came back to life.

“Where do we sit?” I asked Leonardo.

“Anywhere,” he answered, grabbing the closest chair. I had barely sat down at the seat next to him before someone touched my shoulder. Giuliano smiled down at me from behind his brown bird mask.

“I had to make sure no one else took my seat,” he said, taking off his mask and setting it on the place setting next to me. “I actually have to sit by my brother for a while, but I’ll be back soon.”

He strode back towards the main table. Leonardo let out a low whistle and I jabbed him in the rib with my elbow. Austere-looking men sat at the table where Giuliano was required to sit. Among them was the man with the shaved head.

“What are you doing?” asked Leonardo.

“Nothing,” I murmured, bending my ear towards my tummy. “I’m checking to see if Idan is ticking.”

“You mean your little clock? I wish you would let me tinker with it … I bet I could fix it for you.”

For a moment I thought I could make out a faint beat but the music was too loud. “It doesn’t need fixing,” I insisted, sitting up. The servants pranced in and out of the dining room carrying large jugs or platters laden with exotic foods. “I don’t think you will be eating much here,” I said, staring at the platter of roast beef wedged between us.

Leonardo quickly exchanged it for a plate of sharp cheese, green grapes, and sliced apples. As I served myself, I could feel the gaze of many around me. “Where did Sandro go?” I said, seeing Simonetta across the way. She was cutting tiny pieces but eating nothing. The gorgeous lady was surrounded by young women dressed in equal splendor.

“I’m right here,” he said through a mouthful of a dark pudding. He was seated on Leonardo’s other side.

“Honestly, if I would’ve known that the only dish without meat was going to be cheese and fruit and that all you would be doing was flirting the night away, I would have stayed with my father,” complained Leonardo.

“More food for us then,” added Sandro, cutting a thick slice of mutton covered in hot butter. “What were you expecting?”

“I thought there would be more … drama. At the very least, I hoped for better food.”

“Sorry you are disappointed,” said Giuliano coolly. Leonardo tried to hide his embarrassment in a gracious smile.

“Viola, would you like a tour of the house?” asked Giuliano, leaning close towards my ear. One of his stray curls rested against my cheek.

“I would!” I said, getting to my feet. He grasped my hand and led the way out of the dining room. Giuliano was almost running down the hallway. “Why are you in a hurry?” I asked.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can before we are missed.”

Grinning, we rushed down the hallway and leaped down the stone steps two at a time. Once we were in the courtyard and I saw the empty pedestal again, I remembered what I wanted to ask Giuliano.

“Giuliano?”

“
Si
?”

“I heard that you have a wonderful Donatello sculpture here.”

“Had.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was stolen.”

“Oh … I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. We will get it back soon. Then you will have to come back and see it,” he said, guiding me under a portico of trees.

“How can you be so sure you will get it back?”

“Because Lorenzo cannot bear any other secrets other than his own,” admitted Giuliano. “This is all quite serious talk! I wanted to show you the garden and take you away from all that.” He waved at the fireflies of light that came from the windows overlooking the courtyard.

Beneath the cover of leaves, I took a deep breath. How crisp it smelled beneath the damp green canopy. It had been so long since I had seen trees.

“What I wanted to show you is farther along,” said Giuliano, squeezing my hand and leading me into Eden. He stopped at a clearing where there was a stone bench.

Giuliano let go of my hand and crouched down by the bench. The bottle-green fabric of his tunic stretched across his athletic form as he reached for something behind the bench. When he turned around he held a potted plant with one purple flower blooming beneath a glass case.

“It is probably the only one in the city, at least at this time of year.”

Even in twilight the violet’s petals were vibrant. The plant’s round leaves touched the sides of its crystal prison. It struck me then that I felt like that flower. Mrs. Reed had plucked me from my home and planted me in a time I did not belong. “The glass is what keeps it from wilting,” said Giuliano placing the flower back behind the bench.

“It’s beautiful.”

“But it is not as rare or as warm as my Viola,” he said, drawing me closer to the bench. “Do you know why this is called the city of flowers?” I shook my head. As Giuliano leaned closer to my face, I could feel his breath brush against my face and smell his minty cologne. My whole body felt like it was on fire. “It is said that during the Roman Empire, Florence was nestled in between hills and covered with flowers.”

I could feel his cold fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck. My heart was beating louder than Idan’s tick, and I had lost feeling in my legs. He looked at my face for a moment. First, he stared into my eyes, but then his gaze roamed over every freckle and bead of sweat. With his other hand, he pressed the small of my back. As Giuliano locked his soft lips between my own, time sat still on that garden bench. His right hand moved up from my neck and into my hair and I could feel his arms pulling me closer to me.

“Giuliano!” called Lorenzo from beyond the garden path. I pulled away, but Giuliano rested his forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry, Viola,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“No matter what happens … I truly—” Lorenzo’s footsteps drew closer.

“Truly what?” I asked. Giuliano got quickly to his feet. His brother came into the gap of trees.

“Giuliano … Viola,” he said, his eyes catching my disheveled hair net.