Stop it. That kind of thinking would serve no one, and get Cass nowhere. She needed to focus on finding the Book of the Eternal Rose.
“I’m afraid I must walk you back to your carriage soon,” Belladonna said abruptly, startling Cass from her reverie. Were she and Madalena being tossed out? “I have a meeting this evening,” the signorina continued. “But I insist that you both come back tomorrow, and bring your husband and father too, if they would like,” she told Mada. “I’m having a little party, and I would love to talk more with both of you. Especially you, Cassandra. Signor da Padova speaks quite fondly of you.”
Madalena arched an eyebrow at Cass. Cass ignored her. “We became friends when he did a portrait of me,” she said cautiously.
“I see.” Belladonna’s lips twitched. “I honestly think he’s grown as an artist, just in the few weeks he’s been here.” She rose from her seat. “Of course I work the poor boy to death,” she added.
“Would it be possible to see your library?” Cass blurted out. “Just for a moment? I’ve heard you’re quite the collector.”
“Certainly, dear,” Belladonna said. “In fact I can show you Signor da Padova’s most recent painting at the same time.” She clasped her hands together as she headed for the stairs.
Belladonna led the girls quickly through the villa, giving Cass and Mada scant time to marvel over the paintings, sculptures, and other odd bits of beauty scattered throughout the cavernous rooms.
“Where does that door lead?” Cass gestured toward a large wooden door at the end of the hallway, carved from top to bottom with images of Greek goddesses.
“To my chambers.” Belladonna smiled slowly. She adjusted the neckline of her dress. “But only certain guests get invited there.”
Cass blushed at the insinuation. It was odd that Signorina Briani was so beautiful and wealthy, but wasn’t married. Maybe one man isn’t enough for her, Cass thought.
Then they turned a corner and entered the library, and Cass couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping. Belladonna had more books than Cass had ever seen in one place before, perhaps even more books than the Doge of Venice. She quickly began to scan the shelves from a distance. Was the Book of the Eternal Rose tucked away in this room?
Her eyes didn’t get far before they settled on a large painting above the fireplace, just as Belladonna proclaimed proudly, “There it is.” It was Falco’s work—Cass could see it in the muted real-world colors and the sharp brushstrokes. It was a painting of Belladonna, dressed in voluminous gray skirts and a low-cut emerald bodice, her breasts peeking out over the lacy neckline.
Cass dropped her eyes. It wasn’t the revealing dress that bothered her. It was the way Bella’s body was arranged, reclined on a bed, with one hip rolled forward, hair hanging down over her exposed collarbone. Cass thought back to the night in Tommaso Vecellio’s studio, where she and Falco had shared their first kiss. He had insisted on painting her. His soft hands had seemed so purposeful as he arranged her body, as if his growing feelings had determined the tilt of her head and just the way a lock of damp hair should fall over the bare skin of her throat. Cass forced herself to look at the painting again. She wasn’t imagining things. Falco had positioned Belladonna’s body in exactly the same way.
seventeen
“All pages pertaining to meetings, theories, subjects, and trials must be maintained in a single place, carefully guarded by the leader of the Order.”
—THE BOOK OF THE ETERNAL ROSE
Cass thought about the painting for the rest of the evening. She woke early the next day still thinking of it. Over and over, she replayed her terse conversation with Falco’s patroness in her head. “What a . . . lovely background,” Cass had managed to say when Belladonna had asked her opinion. “Such a unique color scheme.”
“That piece was actually painted in my bedchamber.” Belladonna had seemed very pleased to relay this fact. According to her, Falco had insisted on the location because the light through the southern windows was best for sitting. Belladonna had then raised a gloved hand to her forehead, adding that she had spent several excruciating days posing for the painting, saved from a cruel death from boredom only by Falco’s witty conversation.
“Signorina Cass. Am I hurting you?” Siena had finished lacing Cass into her favorite topaz gown and was now brushing her hair.
Cass snapped back to reality. She had unconsciously balled her hands into fists. “No. Why do you ask?”
Siena pulled Cass’s silver-plated hairbrush gently through a tangled area. “You’re making the most dreadful faces.”
“I’m sorry, Siena. I was just . . . thinking about something.” Cass took in a deep breath and uncurled her hands. She didn’t know if she was mad at Falco for painting his patroness exactly as he had painted Cass, or if she was angry with Belladonna for her baiting, suggestive remarks. All she knew was that she was in an exceptionally foul mood. Were it not for the chance to scour the library once again in search of the Book of the Eternal Rose, she might have decided to skip Belladonna’s party altogether.
Siena patted her shoulder awkwardly in a feeble attempt to soothe her. “Has there been any word from Signora Querini?”
“No,” Cass said. “No news of Luca.” She’d received just a single letter from her aunt since she’d arrived in Florence. The short note said only that Agnese was getting on fine without Cass and that she would send word if Luca’s status changed. Just over a fortnight remained before his execution.
“You must be so worried,” Siena said. After a pause, she ventured, “Perhaps coming here was a mistake.”
Cass didn’t answer. She wished the little room at Palazzo Alioni had a mirror. She felt different since coming to Florence. Older. More tired.
Outside her window, the piazza was growing crowded: another trial, and another execution, had been scheduled. This time, a pair of girls no older than Cass were to be drowned up on the wooden platform. Cass had seen them being dragged into the square when she first woke up. They had the same honey-colored hair and heart-shaped faces. Sisters, undoubtedly.
Now, as she listened to the shouts and roars from the assembled crowd, she was surprised to feel tears pressing behind her eyelids.
She blinked them away. “Could you latch the shutters?” she asked. Even her voice sounded old and unfamiliar.
“But this room is so dark without—”
“Light a candle,” Cass snapped. “Light two.”
Wordlessly, Siena went to the window and pulled the wooden shutters tightly closed. When she turned around, Cass saw spots of red blooming on Siena’s cheeks.
“Mi dispiace, Siena,” Cass said, rubbing her forehead. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. Please forgive me. I’m not feeling very well today.”
“That’s all right,” Siena answered softly, dropping her gaze.
Cass’s bad temper persisted throughout dinner. She picked listlessly at her food and did her best to avoid eye contact with anyone. Madalena tried to ease the obvious tension on the carriage ride to Belladonna’s villa. She chattered the entire trip, commenting on parts of Florence and lamenting repeatedly Marco’s inability to attend the party because of yet another business meeting with her father’s associates.
“He comes back to the palazzo so late and then falls right asleep. I can’t believe he and my father decided to attend a meeting instead of a party at Villa Briani.” Mada fussed with her lavender overskirt. “What do you think, Cass?”
Cass thought Madalena was being overly dramatic, as always, but she refrained from saying so. “Maybe things will calm down soon and you can spend more time together,” she offered. She had more important things on her mind, like how she could sneak away from the party to search for the book, and whether Falco would be present. Was he still angry with her? Was she still angry with him? She didn’t know.