New Kind of Renaissance

Hello! New story here! Now it's set during the Renaissance in Northern Italy and I know I've messed something historical up at some point in here, but it's my kind of modern spin on the whole thing. Enjoy!

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His eyes stared into mine. His gaze was so harsh, I felt threatened. It was as if his stare could hurt me; kill me even. I was terrified.

His hands were calloused from long hours training with a sword. He trained more often than anybody else. He was ruthless in battle and had won duel after duel to a point where no one had the guts to test themselves against him. Those rough, terrifying hands were keeping me anchored in the ballroom, waltzing with him. I wanted to run away, let go of him… But I was power less and a good woman.

I had to say something, start a polite chat. Maybe his eyes would soften and he’d relax.

“I hear your skill with a sword is unparalleled in Northern Italy, Lord Pancrazio.”

“Then you gossip.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had tried too compliment him, but he turned it into a reason to dislike me. Flustered, I tried to respond.

“Oh no! It’s a common known fact! My brother watched you duel once. He couldn’t find anything wrong with your technique.”

“That’s because there is nothing wrong with my technique.”

Arrogance. One of the most unattractive traits a man can have.

The song ended and I tried to hide a sigh of relief.

He let go of me and nodded politely. I returned his nod and watched him walk away. Sighing I went to stand at the edge of the ballroom; hating this night. All the men were older and all the girls were younger. I’d been an eligible bride for a year and a half. I’ve been counting the days. Today was 538. Tomorrow will be 539. Mother told me she only had to wait 50 days before she was wed and pregnant with my brother, Gavino.

Speak of the devil…

Gavino walked with a confident limp and slight sway over to me.

“Gloria!” he said joyfully. “Having fun? You’re so gorgeous, with your wide, child-bearing hips, that these men must want to marry you today!”

“Gavino? How much wine have you consumed this evening?”

“Gloria! Gloria. Gloria… You should know! Gavino does not like fine wine! Sh! Don’t tell mother.” He pulled me close to him and I could smell the wine on his breath as he giggled childishly.

“Gavino! Why don’t you go sit down before something happens to your richly clothed rear?”

He let go of me. “Dear sister,” he said as he tried conversation one last time. “Mother is worried. She knows you’ve been an eligible bride for a while, and you have very nice, wide, child-bearing hips. We’re worried you won’t be wed.”

I glared and looked around quickly to make sure no one was paying attention to us. “Quiet, Gavino!”

“Mother says you’re picky. A man must be perfect to wed you, eh?”

“No, not perfect…”

“Then what?”

“I want to feel safe when I’m with my husband. He needs to be able to protect me and our children. That’s all. Mother can bring in all the nobles she wants, but I’d rather marry a peasant if they can protect me better than a silly old man with a title.”