𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 || 𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

Juan Borgia x reader [Pt. 1]

Author's Note: I loathed Juan throughout the entirety of The Borgias but had a crazy dream that with a bit of plot rearrangement inspired a one shot involving him that sounded too good to resist writing. I hope y'all like it <3

"But, mamma, why can't we see the celebration? We only had Carnevale last year!" my small son, Angelo, begged me, pulling on my hand in that childlike manner as I wove between street stalls.

Despite myself, a smile tugged at my lips. Angelo had been the light of my life these five years - I hated denying him anything and in truth, if I can, I always grant my son's every whim and wish. But most times, the salary I received as a laundress forced my hand in the matter. This, however, was an entirely different circumstance. This time I needed to keep my son far away from the proceedings.

Juan Borgia was coming home.

He had left for Spain to take a bride many years ago now at the behest of His Holiness, his own father, Pope Alexander VI. I hadn't seen him since.

I gazed down, then, into the hopeful face of my son - his deep brown eyes full of a child-like adoration for his mamma, the sun alighting on strands of his chestnut brown hair that fell in waves across his skin. I had not been prevailed upon to know his father in childhood but if I had, I knew my son was the very image of himself reflected in a gilt-framed mirror.

Juan and I had not been in love - at least...he hadn't been. It was a brief affair which I knew had an eventual demise. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him that it would be a tumultuous, clandestine liaison. I had been working as a servant at the Vatican at the time and he was the womanizing golden child of Rodrigo Borgia. It was only a matter of time. Perhaps destiny if you believed in that.

In truth, I never should have let him goad me into that entanglement. I knew it would end badly - especially if it were found out. For him, I was just another conquest. But for me? I had my reputation at stake. Although, to be fair, in the end, I suppose it hadn't mattered. Juan left only six months later to wed King Ferdinand IV's distant cousin, María Enríquez de Luna. And I had been left in Rome, pregnant with an illegitimate child and consequently disinherited by the only family I had: my older brother, Gonçalo, and his beautiful wife, Catalina.

However, I believed it was more at her behest than his. She had always gloated about wedding above her station. I suppose in a manner of speaking she had, seeing as she would have been a Duchess otherwise. Too bad her family lost all of their money due to her grandfather's inability to quit gambling. That, though, was neither my brother's fault nor my own.

But I digress - I was now left on my own and with child. It's true - I could have asked for help from the illustrious Borgias but I chose not to create a scandal where there was no cause. No matter what I may or may not have been to Juan - lover, convenience, or just one of many women he had entangled himself with - I would never ask for charity. I would raise this baby on my own. And so I had.

I quickly found myself a position as a laundress and never asked for not one florin of the Borgias. Or anyone else for that matter. And no one was the wiser for it. To them, I was just a victimized woman, perhaps, or just one of loose morals who had found herself with child. It never mattered, though, in the end because I had my son - it's all I needed.

Yet the mere idea of Juan Borgia coming back to Rome niggled at the back of my brain like a maggot, creating ebbs of fear that began to grow in the pit of my stomach. Because in truth, I had no inkling of just what his reaction would be if he ever found out I had given birth to his child and kept it from him. Would he be like his brother, Cesare, in that regard? With so many illegitimate children, he scarcely knew how many he had even fathered?

Or would, like his father, Rodrigo, a paternal instinct kick in and he would feel compelled to acknowledge Angelo as his own blood?

Although...I'm not sure I was fond of the latter choice. Angelo was mine - I didn't want him mixed up in Borgia affairs as I had once been. What if, for example, this Spanish wife of Juan's could bear no children? Would he take my Angelo? Could that even be a possibility?

The thought was repugnant to me so I tamped it down as I held my son's hand tighter and shook my head in response to the question continually pouring from his lips.

"No, my love, I'm afraid we cannot be in attendance on this celebration. There are far too many responsibilities your mamma must attend to be apart of it," I told him with a frown.

I truly did hate letting my son down when his heart was so set on something of this nature. Angelo's expression matched my own in a heartbeat, the frown tugging at his small lips which melted into a pout.

"Cannot Francesca accompany me?" he asked instead but still, I shook my head.

Running a hand through his hair lovingly, I sighed, "I'm sorry, piccolo, but not this time. She has other engagements as well."

Angelo sighed with a tiny nod of acceptance of the situation and together, we continued our walk through the cobbled street that led to the small house complex I shared with a few other laundresses. And for the time being, the fears that were plaguing me were forgotten.

Little did I know that just a few short weeks later they would resurface with a vengeance.