Sabina

by C. De Melo

  Camelia turned and motioned for Sabina to come closer. “I want you to meet my friend, Signora Sabina Rossi.”

  The old woman looked at Sabina, pointed to Camelia, and said, “She wants me to be fat like her.”

  Sabina stifled a giggle. Camelia frowned slightly and said, “She is interested in taking a look at your house.”

  “Look!” Signora Berta exclaimed as she held out the partially eaten orange. “Oranges in May! Can you believe it? My daughter’s gardener grows them indoors. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you,” Sabina said.

  The old woman looked extremely disappointed that her oranges were being rejected.

  “We will try them next time, dear. I promise,” Camelia assured. “Signora Sabina wishes to buy a house.”

  Cupping her hand around her ear, Signora Berta cried, “What?”

  “SHE WISHES TO BUY A HOUSE!”

  “Ah…I see. She should find a husband and make him buy her a house,” Signora Berta said then cackled hoarsely.

  “I’m recently widowed,” Sabina explained.

  The old woman crossed herself. “Forgive me, Signora. I’ll have Gloria show you around. Gloria! Where are you? That good-for-nothing girl. Where is she? Always has her head in the clouds, that one.”

  The girl with the red, wet hands crept into the courtyard.

  “There you are!” Signora Berta exclaimed. “Show these ladies inside—and take off that dirty apron!”

  Gloria led them up a flight of stairs to the main floor. It was spacious with many windows to allow in natural sunlight, and there was a big library that could house the books she had inherited from Tommaso.

  Massimo would like this house. Sabina froze mid-step at the thought.

  “Would you like to see upstairs?” Gloria asked.

  “Of course we would, you daft child,” Camelia replied. “Would you buy a house without seeing it top to bottom?”

  Gloria showed them the upstairs bedchambers and a private sitting area that looked down into the courtyard.

  “What do you think?” Camelia asked of Sabina.

  “It’s perfect. I’ll make Signora Berta an offer. Thank you, Camelia.”

  Camelia grinned and they hurried outside to speak with Signora Berta, who agreed to a fair price. Sabina realized this was the first major purchase she had ever made in her life. She was pleasantly overcome by the power of her wealth, but more importantly, her newfound independence.

  “A new house for a new life,” Camelia commented as they left the palazzo “And perhaps a new love…?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A beautiful rich widow like yourself will not be left alone for long.” Sabina said nothing and Camelia added, “Have you not noticed the eligible men of Florence circling you like ravenous vultures?”

  “I’ve noticed no such thing.”

  “Open your eyes, my dear girl. The men are being cautious because of who your husband was and who your protector is. When the time is right, they’ll swoop in on you.”

  “Stop,” Sabina said, smiling.

  “I know you were fond of Tommaso—we all were—but what are you going to do now that he’s gone? Sit in your room and knit for the rest of your life? Trust me, if the roles were reversed, Tommaso would not hesitate to remarry or, at the very least, take on a lover. Men are like that. Their needs must be met.”

  “But it’s been such a short time.”

  “It’s been over a year.”

  Sabina sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m rarely wrong,” Camelia boasted. “How old are you, anyway?””

  “I turned twenty last October.”

  “An old maid,” Camelia teased.

  “Really?”

  “I merely jest! Sabina, your life has not even begun. You’re fortunate to have inherited such a great sum of money, but please take my advice: Do not be in a hurry to give it away.”

  “Give it away? What do you mean?”

  “By getting married.”

  “Oh. I thought you were encouraging me to do just that.”

  Camelia rolled her eyes. “I’m encouraging you to find love, but I’m also advising you to take your time. You have a great advantage over other women. Your wealth allows you to be selective. There’s no need for you to rush into a marriage to give away your money and freedom. With Lorenzo de’ Medici as your protector, you may do as you please—as long as you employ caution, of course. Being discreet is imperative in Florentine society. One must appear chaste and avoid scandal.”

  Sabina pondered the older woman’s words.

  Camelia sighed. “If only I was as young, beautiful, and rich as you are…”

  “Go on,” Sabina prompted. “What would you do if you were me?”

  Camelia smiled slyly as she peeked over her shoulder at the two guards. “Knowing what I know today, I would discreetly take on a lover, keep my independence, and enjoy my wealth!”

  Sabina’s mouth gaped open in surprise. “Camelia, I would never have expected such scandalous advice from you!”

  Both women burst into laughter as they walked toward the cathedral.

  ***

  Sabina assembled her servants and announced her intention to sell the Palazzo Caravelli. Only a handful of the best servants would follow their mistress to her new home. Although the buyer insisted on purchasing most of the furniture, there was still much work to be done before the move. Tommaso’s clothing was sorted and either sold or given to charities. The same was done with his books since there was no room for all of them in her new home. Messer da Bisticci was given first choice and expressed his gratitude with a gift copy of Le Livre des Trois Vertus.

  The day prior to the move, the solicitor came by with official paperwork requiring her signature. Before handing over the keys, she wandered through the rooms, her memories bittersweet.

  Goodbye, my dear Tommaso.

  Sabina descended the stairs to where her few servants were ready and waiting to depart. A sturdy horse-drawn cart was piled high with her belongings. She took one last look at the Palazzo Caravelli before locking the gate and handing the keys to the solicitor.

  One chapter of her life was over and another was about to begin.

  Chapter 11

  Sabina was enchanted with her new home. One of the first things she did was plant a garden full of her favorite herbs. She decorated the walls with tapestries, and even commissioned a painting from one of Lorenzo’s protégées. She made it a regular habit to buy fresh flowers in the market and display them in vases throughout the house. Bit by bit, she filled her home with items she loved, and soon it became a special place; her refuge.

  When the flowers were in full bloom, her desire to write outdoors compelled her to procure a small wooden desk and a chair. She placed them in the courtyard under the portico, which afforded her a view of the fountain. Her days were long and quiet, but fulfilling. She read and wrote, and even tried her hand at tatting. Camelia came over frequently when her husband was away, which provided some merriment in her otherwise solitary life.

  Sabina sat outside scribbling a short story on a sunny June day when someone knocked on the door. Teresa, who was seated in the garden reading, went to open the tiny viewing door to see who it was.

  A moment later she came back and said, “Signore Massimo is here.”

  Sabina set down her quill. The last time she saw Massimo was seven months ago at the Palazzo Medici. It was unconventional for a man to visit a woman’s home, but inviting him inside could incur rumors. “Show him in and have one of the servants fetch some refreshment.” Looking down in dismay at her ink-stained fingers, she said, “I need to clean my hands.”

  She ran inside, scrubbed her hands clean, then stared at her reflection in the looking glass. Pinching her cheeks to give them some color, she slowed her breathing, then calmly walked outside. Massimo sat on one of the stone benches accepting a goblet of wine from a servant girl.

  “Massimo, what a pl
easant surprise.”

  He set down the wine and stood. “Sabina.”

  “When did you arrive in Florence?”

  He reached for her hand and kissed it. “Last night. Forgive my intrusion. It’s been too long…I simply had to come.”

  She withdrew her hand and dismissed the servant with a look.

  “I’ve thought of you often,” he confessed, his eyes sweeping over the parchment-strewn desk and quills. “I’ve disturbed your writing.”

  “It’s only some notes.”

  “So, this is your new home.”

  “Yes. How did you know where I lived?”

  “Everyone knows where Sabina Rossi lives.” He paused, smiling. “It’s charming. Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “Do you not miss the grandeur of the Palazzo Caravelli?”

  “Sometimes, but this is more fitting for me. Would you like to see the rest of it?” she asked, indicating the open door that led inside.

  Massimo nodded and she felt self-conscious as he followed her upstairs to the main floor. She showed him around, pointing out various works of art, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything she had to say. He picked up the blue journal on the desk in her study.

  “What a finely bound book,” he commented.

  “It was a gift from Lorenzo. I filled the pages of my other journal, so he had this one made for me.”

  He frowned slightly. “How generous of him. Have you filled these pages, too?”

  “Almost.”

  “Do you mind if I take a peek?”

  Normally, Sabina would have been reluctant to honor such a request. For some reason, she trusted Massimo. Implicitly. “If it pleases you.”

  He turned the first few pages and read aloud, “ ‘and there began her uncertain journey to the edge of night, where she found sweet solace in the shadows, in the absence of light.’ ” He stopped, his fingers hovering above the page. “Do you often taste the salt of your own tears, Sabina?”

  No one had ever asked her such a direct, personal question. His gaze pierced her soul. Without a word, she gently took the book from him and placed it upon her desk.

  He looked stricken. “Forgive me, I did not mean—”

  “Stop. There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “I know you’ve suffered great losses since your arrival to Florence.”

  “All I have left in this world is my sister,” she whispered, willing herself not to cry. “Everyone else is dead.”

  “You have so many friends who admire and care about you,” he pointed out. “I care about you.”

  She took a deep breath and put on her best smile. “I appreciate your words more than you know.”

  “Let’s talk of happy things,” he prompted. “There’s been too much sadness in Florence lately, and we need to put it behind us.”

  She looked out the window and noticed that her well-trained staff had set two chairs and a table by the fountain. “It’s past midday. Are you hungry?”

  “I had no intention of dining with you.”

  “Nor I with you, but you’re here and the day is lovely, so why not enjoy a meal in each other’s company?”

  “You have not shown me your bedchamber,” he countered softly.

  In an attempt to maintain a sliver of propriety, she avoided showing him the most intimate room in her home. “It’s the last door on the right.”

  Massimo walked into the largest of the bedchambers. There were two big windows with shutters thrown open to reveal a sea of terracotta rooftops and the shimmering Arno River beyond. The scents of roses and lilacs wafted up from the courtyard below. Sabina’s bed was big and comfortable, hung with green velvet and gold-patterned silk. An enormous tapestry depicted a traditional scene of a maiden with a lion at her feet and a unicorn in the background.

  “I feel like the lion,” he said, pointing to the tapestry.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m at your mercy, my lady.”

  Sabina’s heart raced but she said nothing.

  Massimo walked to the window and jumped back when a black crow landed on the sill and snapped at him.

  “No, Mendi!” Sabina admonished. The bird flew into the room and landed on her shoulder. “Sorry. He tends to be possessive about his territory. I’m afraid it’s my fault for spoiling him.”

  He stared at the crow in astonishment. “You have a crow as a pet?”

  “Oh, for quite some time now.”

  “Does he ever bite you?”

  “Never. It’s my hand that feeds him. Is that not so, Mendi?” she cooed to the ominous bird.

  Massimo was oddly intrigued. “Do you own an owl as well?”

  “An owl? No, why?”

  “It just seems fitting…if you have a crow, why not an owl?”

  “Next you’ll ask if I own a black cat.”

  “I assume you do.”

  She shook her head. “Mendi actually chose me.”

  The crow gave a loud caw at the sound of its name.

  He eyed her intently. “You’re an interesting woman, Sabina.”

  “Interesting is a polite way to describe unusual,” she accused playfully.

  “Perhaps mysterious would please you?”

  “Perhaps.” There was an awkward silence and she felt the intensity of his presence in her bedchamber. “Let’s take some refreshment downstairs.”

  Rather than accept Sabina’s suggestion, Massimo stepped closer and casually waved Mendi off her shoulder.

  “How I missed your face,” he whispered while caressing her cheek.

  She held her breath, standing very still as he bent his head and softly kissed her lips. The kiss did not remain soft for long as they finally gave in to their pent-up passion. A dozen thoughts ran through her head in that blissful moment; Camelia’s advice among them.

  Kissing her urgently, Massimo carried Sabina to the bed. She made no attempt to stop him. Why should she? Tommaso was dead. She had mourned a respectful period and was free to love again if she chose. Yet, there was a pang of uncertainty in her heart. His hands caressed her back and neck and she moaned softly, giving in to the pleasure of his touch. She decided to cast aside her doubts and enjoy the moment. Did Camelia not advise her to take on a lover as long as she was discreet? Did she not deserve to be loved and to love in return? Had she not secretly desired Massimo since the day they first met?

  Yes, yes, and yes.

  With firm resolve, she allowed him to untie the laces of her bodice. His tongue sought the sweetness of her mouth as she unfastened the clasp of his cloak. They undressed eagerly.

  “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you,” he confessed as he nuzzled her neck and inhaled the fragrance of her skin.

  “As have I,” she admitted into his ear as he held her close.

  Sabina surrendered to the lovemaking, meeting his passion with her own. They looked into each other’s eyes with intense wonderment when it was over. After a few more languid kisses and caresses, she sat up and noticed that the sun was casting long shadows on the floor. They had lost track of time during their passionate tryst, and neither of them was sorry for it.

  Massimo’s eyes were pleading. “Please let me come see you tomorrow.”

  Sabina nodded in consent and snuggled into his warm embrace.

  Massimo visited Sabina on a daily basis. Their hunger and need for each other was overwhelming. When not wrapped in each other’s arms, they talked for hours about anything and everything. To their mutual delight, they shared many interests.

  Sabina studied Massimo’s handsome features in the candlelight one night after he had fallen asleep. He was perfect—perhaps too perfect—and for the first time she felt something sinister lurking beneath the surface of her newfound joy. A premonition? She ignored the nagging doubt. Throwing caution to the wind, she fell headfirst into the blissful arms of love.

  ***

  Lorenzo returned to Florence after a successful campaign in the South. There were othe
r enemies to convert and his work was far from over, but he decided to celebrate the small victory with a summer fête. Massimo was forced to leave Sabina’s bed early on the day of the Medici party.

  “Stay a bit longer,” she pleaded.

  “I promised Clarice that I would help her with the music selection. The minstrels will arrive this morning to practice,” he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. “Besides, she nags me enough as it is.”

  “Does she? About what?”

  “Clarice is no fool. She begs to know the identity of the lady claiming my attention.”

  “What do you tell her?”

  He sat up in bed. “I tell her I’m out with friends.”

  She pulled him back down. “Drinking, gambling, and whoring?”

  “Something like that. Don’t pout, dolcezza, I would scream your name from the rooftops if I could, but your reputation is at stake.” He kissed her deeply then added, “We must be discreet tonight.”

  He was right. Their relationship had to remain secret to prevent gossip and scandal. Lorenzo was Sabina’s protector and Massimo was Clarice’s cousin; neither wanted to risk Medici displeasure.

  She wrapped her arms around him. “Make love to me before you go.”

  “How can I refuse such a sweet request?”

  Their lovemaking was brief and intense. Sabina stretched languidly and remained in bed after he departed.

  “Love is a natural cosmetic,” Teresa observed, entering the room with a pile of laundered linens. “Your skin glows and your eyes are bright, Signora Sabina. Which gown shall you wear tonight?”

  “The light blue silk.”

  Later, Sabina set out into the sultry evening looking fresh and cool in the azure gown. Accompanied by her guard, they walked the short distance to the Palazzo Medici. The outside torches burned brightly against the violet twilight sky. Inside the courtyard, a riot of colorful potted flowers delighted the guests. Lorenzo decided to pay homage to Bacchus by filtering wine into the statue of Judith and Holofernes. Some of the guests were already filling their goblets with the “blood” and becoming inebriated by the ruby elixir.

  Lorenzo materialized before her and inquired, “Sabina. How are you enjoying your new home?”