The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 7

Being a woman in the 15th century has proven to be a lot more difficult for me than I expected. Aside from the fact that I have to stay in the house and improve my needlework, I also have to prepare for the feast Aunt Simona will throw for her birthday.

Minimizing unnecessary movements in public has also been imposed on me.

No more running away or going ahead in public. No more sneaking around or going out without my hair being done is also prohibited. In short, for me to assimilate in this time and place, I need to be what I feared the most to be, a bird in a cage.

Today, Aunt Simona has also urged me to try not to give Botticelli a hard time while painting me. Not wanting to anger my Aunt even further, I agreed. Sitting down stoically, time felt slower and slower by the minute. I am gradually losing motivation in what seems like a tight routine on a daily basis.

"You're rather quiet today," Botticelli said as he carefully started switching on a panel.

Taking a deep breath instead of sighing before I spoke. "I do not wish to impede in your work, Messer."

I heard Botticelli dropping his materials down the stable and taking a chair. He placed it next to me and sat just like last time. However, I didn't look over despite my aching neck. I remained still as I sit. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Messer. I am staying still as a diligent model should be." I said, eyes remaining on the empty vase across me.

He was silent for a few more seconds before speaking again. "Antonia, I may not know you that long but I do know you're not one to keep your thoughts to yourself. If you must say something, then speak. I wouldn't mind.

If you also need to move or feel tired, you only need to say it." His voice, calm and understanding, makes me feel comfortable enough to feel the flutter inside my stomach.

"A respectable young woman, such as myself, must refrain from doing so Messer. It is what's expected of me."

Sighing in resolve, his index finger and thumb tips my chin up, making me look at him. "You are not in a societal function. No one's here to judge you."

"But I mustn't, Messer." I insisted.

Dropping his hand on his lap, he shook his head before speaking. "Simona's imposed her strict rules upon you, didn't she?" Lowering my sight on my hand, I nodded yes. "Is It because of what happened in Calendimaggio?" Again, I nodded my head yes. "Then you need not worry. I won't tell Simona of everything inside the room unless you do."

Pouting, I look up at him once again. "Really?"

He smiles and then nodded. "Of course. You can always be yourself around me."

Reciprocating his smile, by failing to suppress my grin. "Thank you. I am trying hard and I'm starting to feel tired."

He laughs quietly. "I can tell. Besides, there's nothing more rewarding than to see you happy." Taken aback by his statement, I blushed as the fluttering in my stomach ignited tenfold. "B-because painting a happy subject makes the painting all the more appealing." He continued as his cheeks turn slightly red in embarrassment. "I-I should get back to painting."

As he walked toward the panel, I couldn't help but smile sweetly. I don't know how he managed to see through me but I appreciate him doing what he did for me. As he picks up his equipment, he looked at me and his cheeks turned red once again so he swiftly shifts his attention to the panel and his face behind it. "I know I said you can move but eyes front for now, please. I am not done with your eyes." With that I happily obliged.

When we're done, I stop Botticelli from covering the panel so I can see his progress. When he let me see it, I noticed that he was still finishing my silhouette but I can already see what it would look like in my head for I have seen the painting once before.

I fell silent by realizing that I have left a mark on history without even realizing it. They would think it was my mother but seeing it in front of me, I realized it's been me all along.

At supper, I was back to being stoic which made my Aunt happy. "So how's the portrait coming along, Sandro?" Aunt Simona asks as we all eat our meals.

Swallowing, Botticelli looked over at Aunt Simona with a smile. "Yes, it's coming along nicely."

"I hope my niece is not giving you a hard time." She said, giving me a side-eye.

"Antonia has been the perfect model so far." Then the two of us gazed at each other after his statement but I looked away so Aunt Simona wouldn't notice.

"That's great to hear. When do you think it could be done?"

"It's rather difficult to say as the lighting has made the portrait a lot more detailed."

She nodded. "Forgive me, I'm just eager to see the result."

"I understand."

They both talk some more involving me a little bit in their conversation. As they delve into some more personal subjects, one name stands out in my ear. "Lorenzo has also been eager to see his paintings so I might come over with less time in my hand," Botticelli said.

"Ah, that boy has become just like his grandfather. I forgot you're also friends with him, yes?"

"Yes but he's a lot closer to my friend Constantine than I ever will. He's my patron after all."

When Botticelli was about to leave, he gave me one last smile before departing through the night. Certain that he's out of earshot, I look over to Aunt Simona and ask. "Did he mean my father earlier?"

Aunt Simona sat down on the settee like she always does after supper before speaking. "I presume he was. After all, your father has always been an inquisitive man."

Wanting to know more, I went towards the settee and sat down next to her. "Apart from him meeting my mother and falling in love with her, he's never mentioned anything else."

"All I know is that when he travelled, Simonetta isn't the reason at all. She's just a big event he wasn't expecting to happen."

"Can you tell me more about him and his experiences?"

Smiling, she jerks her head slightly to one side and spoke. "My great-niece, I'm not the best person to tell such tales."

"Then who?" I asked with eagerness.

"Well, I thought you already knew by now that Sandro and Constantine were close friends. I figured at least he would have mentioned that."

It hit me like a bullet upon hearing her. I didn't know why it took me this long to figure it out. When Botticelli mentions another Englishman he knew, he was talking about my father.

It was rather rare for an Englishman to suddenly travel from England, especially around this time when King Edward IV is king and the country is at peace.

Embarrassed and a little shaken, I lean on the settee limply. This must explain why Botticelli is also friends with my mother. Little by little, hope starts brewing in my chest.

Botticelli might just be an instrument to help me answer the questions that have been lingering in my mind. If he's close to my father, he just might be the key to uncovering my parents' past.