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word count; 1708
Alessandra
It felt as if my heart would burst from my chest as I heard that name. I swallowed and felt my knees tremble. It wasn't fear. It wasn't excitement. It was sheer trepidation. I knew not what I would say to him. I knew not what I would feel around him.
"Are you feeling well, Alessandra? You've gone pale." Francesco commented, snatching my thoughts away from me. I smiled weakly and met his eyes,
"Yes, I... I must return home for our guest." I admitted, feeling my palms begin to sweat. I could hardly think straight, knowing that what would occur when I reached the steps of my home would be tantamount, politically and socially.
Francesco smiled,
"Allow me to escort you." I breathed a sigh of relief at his words; I would not spend the entire carriage ride home worrying about Henry.
Thus, as Francesco escorted me home, I distracted myself with menial conversation. He proclaimed I could visit the gardens whenever I wished and I was thankful for it; there was little doubt in my mind that it would be a sanctuary in the coming weeks.
"Forgive me, Alessandra, but..." Francesco began, with as much anxiety in his voice as in his expression.
"What is it?" I asked, smiling softly at him. He smiled back, almost immediately, and spoke again, this time with a calmer tone.
"Is this man.. do you find him.." He stuttered before sighing and speaking again. "Do you fear him?"
"No, no," I shook my head. "Why? Do you think he will hurt me?"
"No, I, you just look so... You look as if you'd rather be anywhere else but here."
I giggled lightly, shaking my head. "No, I..." I trailed off, feeling my heart weaken. "I love him, Francesco," I admitted with a whisper. "And I can't have him. And now he shows up in Florence and I cannot bear it. I can't bear to see him with her."
He looked pleased that I would make such an admittance to him but I remained somewhat skeptical. I was vulnerable to him. Though he was Lorenzo's ally and my friend, I was not as trusting as my siblings. After all, we'd had wholly different experiences of life.
It was not until I turned sixteen that I realised the true extent of my husband's nature. Alas, we had only been married a few years but the truth was kept hidden from me by his servants, by his courtiers, by his confidantes.
But Francis had been having his little secrets for years. Before he ever knew my name. And he would continue to do so, even as they become common knowledge to his wife.
"You would treat me in such a manner?" I asked, infuriated by his actions. It was a dark night and the candlelight flickered, enlightening the room like God himself. "You would humiliate me before the whole of France?"
