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word count; 1492
Alessandra
Nonetheless, my brother's attempts were in vain. Francesco was a kind friend but that was all he, I felt, could amount to. A friend. Marriage was a whole other situation that neither of us wished to delve into at this time, despite my brother's attempts to strengthen Pazzi-Medici ties. Bianca had married a Pazzi, why should I? It seemed tedious.
Thus, as dinner came round, there was a tension within the room. Henry perpetuated it, of that I was sure, but I could not quite understand Francesco's reasoning for reaffirming it. The two men stared at me like hawks, shyly glancing away whenever I made eye contact.
Giuliano leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Smitten."
I shot him a glare as soon as I heard the word he uttered, "No such thing," I denied. "To whom are you referring?"
"Your two men," He smirked, eyeing them. "Suitors."
"Hardly," I scoffed, looking over to the two of them.
Perhaps he was correct. The two men looked away from me as I glanced over, failing to pretend they had not been looking in my direction whatsoever. Henry, for one, didn't like to be overshadowed. He was the golden boy of France. The Prince who simply wouldn't be tamed. There was nothing wrong with that when Francis was King, no, he'd been allowed to do as he wished when he wished -- or who he wished.
But now he was King.
And, to the best of my knowledge, he was to be married to Josephine. God, I envied her. I felt sick to admit but I did. She would be Queen whilst I was reduced to a low ranking position, without title, and would have to pay homage to her if I ever returned to France. It was sickening. Francis never would've seen me reduced to such a position but he was not here, and even the Almighty knew Henry's position was precarious at best. He had only just been anoinated and yet, here he was, visiting his brother's widow. For all his claims of diplomacy with Florence, all those around us knew that was not his reason for the visit.
"The wine is lovely, mother," I commented, looking at her. I simply said it with the intention to remove my mind from my thoughts, to detach myself from my emotions. I knew no other way than menial, simple conversation. Nothing too complex, nothing too thought provoking. Just simple, menial, forgetful conversation. "Is it from the vineyards in Tuscany?"
