Farnese. (Francesco Pazzi x Reader)

Chapter Seventeen

The Church of Saint Catherine, Florentine Countryside.

TW! Mentions of SA.

***

Y/N laid down on one of the pews, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of the church. Her father had chosen to hire a Byzantine to do the design, instead of an Italian, making the comparably-new church feel hundreds of years old. It was an outdated style, but one of magnificence. Stain glass windows and highly detailed frescoes decorated the wood interior, with plenty of hand-carved elements.

The central fresco, which sat above the altar, was of Saint Catherine -- the patron saint of Siena -- as she reached out to hold the hand of a visible Christ. Her father had always told her that Catherine was her personal saint, as she too was a woman who had to fight for her convictions. She had also been sent to Florence for the sake of peace, which comforted Y/N -- if her life had so many parallels to that of a saint, how could she be living incorrectly?

Francesco sat on the pew beside her, his body just inches away from the top of her head, and he looked to the large fresco she was staring at.

"Saint Catherine... who was she?" He asked, entranced by the image.

"You don't know your Italian saints?" Y/N asked, not judgmentally, but definitely with an air of curiosity.

"Not well."

"She was the daughter of a merchant in Siena, and when she was seven she declared her life to God. Of course, when she was a bit older, her parents wanted her to marry -- her older sister's widow, no less. She cut her hair in protest and began fasting, declaring that God may be the only man in her heart. She wrote extensively on God, and when she was twenty-one she had a spiritual marriage with Christ himself... people thought she was mad, but she is venerated in Siena. She gave everything she had, she believed in the Lord, she spread his word... she was a real woman."

Francesco was quiet, staring at the painting of the saint, who wore white robes and a dark cloak. A halo clearly defined her as a saint.

"My father always said I should look to Catherine and Athena when I needed guidance," Y/N spoke quietly, "To be a woman of God, and to be a woman of War and conviction."

"I would like to meet your father," Francesco said suddenly, "He built this church, yes?"

"Yes, before he even knew I was coming to Florence. Father Gasparo wanted to build a church in this land, one meant to service farmers in an accessible way."

"How so?"

"Well, after mass in Latin, Father Gasparo will go back and explain the sermon in Italian," Y/N explained, "And this church is so beautiful, despite not collecting donations, because Gasparo wanted the common man to see God's grace."

Francesco nodded, and Y/N shifted her gaze upwards once more, to the vaulted ceiling.

"I come to this church every Sunday, and Father Gasparo has taken every confessional I have ever had in my life," Y/N told Francesco, "He knows about me, almost as much as God himself."

"I wasn't aware you were so devout."

Y/N nodded, "I share my devotion in unconventional means for a woman."

Francesco chucked, "Everything you do is of unconventional means for a woman."

"I sincerely hope that is a compliment," Y/N spoke, shaking her head with a smile.

Francesco reached into her pew and took up her hands, holding them gently. She saw he was smiling, and looked at peace.

Y/N studied his hand in her grasp. It was soft, and covered with ink -- a sign of a banker. His fourth finger had a slight indent from where his pen laid in his grip.