by Belle Ami
“Speaking of my beauty, Maestro,” she began, with a cheeky grin. “Please, may I see the portrait before they arrive?”
Before he could respond, there was a knock at the front door. Leonardo brushed his hand gently over Fioretta’s cheek. “It seems the groom is already here, signorina.”
Leonardo opened the door, and the cold January wind blew flurries of snow into the studio. His bright blue shirt and leather doublet contrasted starkly with the dull winter’s light. His deep voice was effusive with warmth and conviviality as Giuliano Medici entered with a male companion. “My lord, welcome to my humble home, and a warm welcome to your dear friend, the poet,” Leonard said in greeting. “Paolo,” he called over his shoulder to a curly-haired assistant who came running. “Come take our guests’ cloaks, and bring wine.”
Giuliano turned to his companion with a smile. “Angelo Poliziano, poet, humanist and dear friend, I want you to meet Leonardo da Vinci, the most brilliant artist in all of Florence.”
Leonardo laughed. “If not the greatest artist, certainly the most distracted.” Leonardo shook Angelo’s hand. “Alas, I take up one project and find myself drawn to another, which is frustrating to those who employ me.”
“Your many endeavors are merely a sign of a brilliant mind. Such praise from a Medici is not easily won. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Angelo said.
“The pleasure is mine. I have been looking forward to this meeting. I am well-versed in your poetry. My favorite, of course, is your Stanza for the Magnificent Giuliano de’ Medici.”
Giuliano grumbled. “Angelo, that poem of yours has only furthered the misconception of mine and Simonetta’s love affair. No one believes when I tell them what we shared was a poetic, courtly love not found in the bedroom but in the mind.”
“We all loved her, did we not?” Angelo said. “Her loss, at such a young age, was a tragedy. To not immortalize her would have been unjust. I stand behind my work, whether it is misinterpreted or not. Only you and Simonetta know the truth, and she is with God.”
Giuliano shrugged. “Let the world think what it likes, the truth of who I love will soon be revealed.”
“Giuliano, I implore you to explain…” Fioretta had been watching the men’s exchange. She and Simonetta had become friends soon after Giuliano began courting her and the reminder of Simonetta’s death on her wedding day saddened her. She stepped forward and Giuliano’s gaze locked on her. He raised his hand, silencing Angelo.
Fioretta curtsied to the men and walked to Giuliano. He bowed with deference to her. “Every moment apart from you I have missed, cara. I am alive only when I’m in your presence.”
I love this man. Standing on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his in a welcoming kiss. “My lord.”
“Fioretta…”
“Giuliano, amore mio, did you speak to your brother? Has he agreed?”
A cloud of misery passed over Giuliano’s face. “He has forbidden it.”
“Oh…” She sagged in disappointment.
Giuliano lifted her chin. “It doesn’t matter, dolcezza mia. I am here, am I not? Our marriage will go forward tonight as I promised. I would defy God himself to wed you and make our child legitimate.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and delivered a dozen kisses to his face. “You are too good to me, my love.”
Giuliano cleared his throat and she stepped back, dropping her gaze. “Now, angelo mio, let me introduce you to my dear friend.”
She’d been so intent on Giuliano that she’d paid little mind to the other men. She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Forgive me, Giuliano, I must learn to behave more discreetly.”
“Never, amore mio. Soon I will shout my love for you from Giotto’s campanile so that all the world will know.” He gestured to the older man standing beside him. “This is Angelo Poliziano, whom I have told you so much about. He will be a witness to our marriage, Fioretta.”
She curtsied. “Great poet, you do us honor. I was moved by your stanza glorifying Simonetta. Whomever you honor with a verse will be immortal. I believe your poems will outlast our brief hours.”
Angelo bowed, “I see you are not just the personification of beauty, but are charitable in your praise and wisdom.”
Giuliano beamed. “Leonardo, I believe a toast is in order.”
Fioretta clapped her hands. “Maestro, first, please show Giuliano and Angelo the portrait. I cannot bear to wait any longer.”
“I am yours to command, fair lady. I only hope I’ve done your beauty justice. I pray you think I’ve immortalized you and Giuliano the way Angelo’s poetry immortalized Simonetta and Giuliano.” Leonardo pulled the sheet off an easel, revealing his work of art.
The extraordinary painting depicted the young couple standing opposite each other, their hands extended as though about to touch. Giuliano, dressed in Florentine red velvet, gazed with love at the face of his intended. Fioretta wore the same white gown of velvet she had on now, but she faced outward as if holding the gaze of the viewer. Her smile was a work in motion, not quite realized, as though she held a secret known only to herself.
The two lovers seemed to float above the city of Florence with the magnificence of the Duomo behind them. A banner heralding the Medici coat of arms bore five, red balls. The five palle were adorned on a yellow banner to the left of them. The painting was masterful, rendered in exquisite detail. The beauty of the two lovers mesmerizing.
Angelo whispered, “Leonardo you’ve captured the freshness of youth and love, while at the same time elevating its power above church and state. The painting is both powerful and transcendent.”
“The artist can only paint what he sees and feels.”
“My friend, I am humbled before your talent and greatness,” Giuliano said. He raised Fioretta’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Amore mio, the Maestro has given you immortality.”
Fioretta smiled and caressed her stomach. “Every painting by the Maestro will live forever. My immortality rests here with our child. I pray our families will accept, love, and embrace this child.”
“It will happen, tesoro mio. I promise you.” He bent to kiss her, his eyes brimming with love.
Leonardo raised his glass. “To your future, Salute!”
After the marriage was formalized by a priest, who’d been sworn to secrecy, the celebrants sat down to a simple but delicious meal.
Fioretta excused herself from the table. On her return, she was about to pull back the drapes separating the hall from the main studio when she heard Giuliano and Angelo whispering. “Giuliano, this plan of yours worries me. A marriage not sanctioned by Lorenzo is bound to bring disaster. I’m worried for you, my friend, and for Fioretta. You are contracted in marriage to another, or have you forgotten?”
“I implored Lorenzo to sanction this marriage but he refused. I reminded him that, while he married to further the power of the Medici, I would not. I warned him I would marry for love and nothing less. He will not deprive me of my happiness.”
Fioretta held her breath and peeked around the drapery. The two men stood near a work table where dozens of Leonardo’s silver pencil drawings of horses and strange mechanical devices were displayed. Angelo picked up a drawing and studied it.
“Where is Fioretta living? Certainly not here with Leonardo.”
“She was living with her aunt, but that situation is no longer tolerable. I’ve purchased a villa for her, not far from the Via Larga. I adore her so much, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
“And if Lorenzo figures out, before the child is born, that you haven’t obeyed his wishes?”
“Lorenzo is not only my brother, he’s my teacher, mentor, and best friend. We are like the bread and wine of the Eucharist, one without the other is unthinkable. Don’t fret, Angelo, after the baby is born, I’ll announce my marriage to Lorenzo. I will give him the opport
unity to stand up and recognize the child and Fioretta. He will argue, he will challenge, but he will never sever the ties of blood. In the end, he will accept.”
“I pray you are right, my friend.”
Giuliano squeezed Angelo’s shoulder. “Come, let us return to the party. This is a time for celebration.”
Fioretta released the breath she’d been holding and covered her belly protectively with her hands. As much as she loved Giuliano, she knew he was impulsive. Until the baby’s birth and Lorenzo’s blessing gained, she would not rest easy.
She returned to the table. Caressing Giuliano’s cheek, she asked, “Is there something you need, husband?”
“Only to hear you call me husband every day of my life.”
“A simple request that I will fulfill joyfully.” She pressed her lips to his, eliciting a resounding applause from Angelo, Leonardo, Giuliano’s bodyguards and Katerina, who’d joined them.
The wine flowed long into the evening, and toasts to the newlyweds were made by all, but none were more heartfelt than those spoken by Giuliano to his beloved. “I promise you, amore mio, that this life will never divide us. I will love you today, tomorrow, and into eternity. Our wedding portrait will speak of our love long after you and I have passed from this earth.”
Fioretta lay her hand against her beloved’s face, pouring all of her love into her gaze. Feeling another breeze tickling the back of her neck, the room began to spin around her.
The swirling wind lifted her up, pulling her into a dark tunnel. Spiraling backward, she closed her eyes…
She opened her eyes. Her hands smoothed the softness of the quilt on the bed. Her closet door stood open, just as she’d left it. The alarm clock on her nightstand read 6:30 p.m. Everything was the same and yet everything had changed.
It wasn’t a dream.
I was Fioretta Gorini
The love of my life was Giuliano Medici
My dearest friend was Leonardo da Vinci.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Alex.
He’s the only one who can help me understand what’s happening.
Chapter 7
Los Angeles, California
August 4, 2018
The restaurant was located nearby in West Hollywood. The French Door was everything Angela hoped it would be, intimate and candle lit. Alex ordered a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet. He swished the wine in the glass, inhaled the fragrance, and took a sip. Satisfied, he nodded to the waiter to pour.
“To moving forward.”
She touched her glass to his, and they both sipped.
“You seemed pre-occupied on the drive here. Did you get a chance to rest before we left?”
“Yes and no.” She set her glass down. I had another dream. But it wasn’t a dream. I’m positive now that what I’ve been experiencing are past-life visions.”
Alex laid his hand over hers. “Tell me.”
“I saw my wedding—Fioretta and Giuliano’s wedding.”
“But they never married.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve been doing my research on the Medici family.”
“The historical record is wrong. Fioretta and Giuliano were secretly married.”
His brow furrowed. “So, for five hundred years the truth has been hidden? That’s one hell of a secret.”
She nodded. “There’s more…”
“More?”
She bit her lip in indecision and searched his eyes. She wanted to unburden herself. She decided to test the waters. “Fioretta Gorini and Giuliano Medici were married in Leonardo da Vinci’s studio in Florence. His gift to them was a bridal portrait, a stunning painting of Fioretta and Giuliano.”
“Damn.” He shook his head. “Was this the first time you had a vision of their marriage and the painting?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because of the journal. It’s in Scordato’s slimy hands.”
She thought back to the entries in her journal, much of it included snatches of her dreams, but lacking in the awareness she had now. “Despite how creeped out I feel that Scordato has my journal, there’s nothing in it about the painting or the secret marriage.”
“I’m certain his days are numbered.” Alex refilled their glasses. “Unfortunately, it’s possible the board will simply fire him and agree not to prosecute.”
A flash of anger bolted through her. “Why would they do that?”
“A long drawn-out lawsuit isn’t to their benefit. Better to minimize the scandal and hold Scordato to a confidentiality agreement where neither party discusses what happened.”
“And why would Scordato agree to that?”
“They have enough exculpatory evidence to destroy him.” He took her hand in his. “Have you thought about pressing charges?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I never want to see him again.”
“My offer is still open, you know.”
“What offer?”
“To beat the shit out of him.”
She quirked a smile. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
Despite Angela’s worry about Scordato, or perhaps because of it, Alex entertained her with stories from his travels. When the waiter arrived, Angela decided on the pistachio-crusted goat cheese with roasted baby beets, and the Mediterranean Sea bass. It looked too good to pass up. Alex ordered the spinach-and-cheese-stuffed ravioli, and duck breast and leg confit with blood orange marmalade sauce.
“And my beautiful friend and I will share the cannoli, but don’t rush the courses, we’re in no hurry.” Alex winked at her.
Everything Alex did, including that wink, attracted her. Her instincts told her to trust him. In a short time, he’d become a lifeline for her. Despite what she’d been through the past few months, Angela was looking forward to working with Alex. “I’m so excited about our trip. I can hardly believe I’m going to Florence with you.”
“I’m excited, too. I know we’ll be working, but showing you around Florence and seeing it through your eyes… will be a reminder of why I love living there.”
“Don’t worry if it doesn’t work out. You can always fire me.”
“That ain’t gonna happen.” He grinned. “If anything, I’m sure once we wrap up the case, you’ll get a slew of offers from museums and universities all over the world.”
“I’ve actually already had offers from several universities to teach.”
“Did you now?”
“Why are you smiling?” She was having trouble keeping her heart from doing backflips. “Is it so hard to believe that I could be offered a teaching position?”
“I just pictured you walking into a first-year art history class with that gorgeous hair and those killer legs; the administration trying to figure out the sudden upsurge in male enrollment in art history. Yours would be the most popular course on campus.” He wiggled his brows. “Hmmm, makes me want to go back to school.”
She burst out laughing. He was a charmer, that was for sure. She’d have to keep on her toes if she didn’t want to fall head over heels for him.
And what if you did?
The dinner was perfect. Their conversation, like the wine, flowed easily.
Alex leaned forward, the intensity of his gaze made her feel like she was the only person in the world that mattered. “I know about your love of art and your work, but tell me about your childhood?”
She smiled and took a sip of her wine. “I’m a small-town girl from the Midwest. I grew up outside of Chicago, in Lake Bluff, a little town on the shore of Lake Michigan, near the Lake Bluff Naval Base. That’s where my father worked. My mother died giving birth to me. My world revolved around books. My best friends resided between the pages of history, art, and literary novels. I couldn’t wait to escape and write my ow
n life,” she said with a self-deprecating smile and a shrug. “Now it’s your turn to bare your soul, detective.”
“Have you got a few hours to kill?”
Angela loved the way he scratched his stubbled jaw as he was thinking.
“My father was in the diplomatic corps and my mother was an expert at packing and unpacking. Our lives were in constant flux. We moved a lot, so I don’t have much in the way of roots. When I went off to college, my mother finally threw up her hands and said, ‘Enough!’ They divorced, mother’s remarried, father’s sworn to the single life. My mother lives in San Francisco and my father calls London home. I see them once a year, taking turns between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I guess you could say that early nomadic life made me something of a loner.
“After college, I rebelled, enlisted in the Marines, trained as a Seal and was deployed to Afghanistan. When I got out I wanted nothing to do with the real world, so I got my master’s degree in art history. Art seemed a great escape. I tried teaching, but didn’t have the patience. A friend turned out to be my first client—a stolen Dali. I retrieved it and the rest is history.”
“Are you saying academia isn’t the real world?” She crossed her arms. “Because I can assure you it can be just as cutthroat as any other career path.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just needed to immerse myself in something that didn’t include bombs and war.”
“It must have been a terrible struggle, returning home and readjusting to civilian life.”
A cloud passed over his face, his eyes darkening. “It’s hard for me to think about those years. I was really close to the guys in my unit… they didn’t all make it. A part of you dies out there, too. With them.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry, I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Her face rested in her hands as she listened to him. Their backgrounds were as different as night and day, his childhood was privileged, hers was not, and his military service left her in awe. She’d never let herself become vulnerable with any man, never wanted to let go of that part of herself that she kept tucked away. But since meeting Alex, she felt an overpowering pull. For the first time in her life, she wanted to take a risk…