Working for Francesco Pazzi was the last place she expected to find herself. She expected even less to grow to like the job. Falling for him was the biggest surprise of all.
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Word Count: 1030
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We arrived in the northern town just as the sun began its dip towards the horizon. Rays of light kissed the hills in the distance where Francesco pointed. "There. That's where the vineyard is and where Guglielmo probably went."
"How long will it take to get there?"
"It would take all night."
I turned to peer up at him. "Is that safe?"
With a sigh, he admitted that it was not. "There might be a boarding house or a stable we can stay in for the night." Apprehension pulled his lips into a thin line, but I doubted anyone would recognize him here even if the news had spread this far yet.
"Why don't I ask around," I offered.
He grunted and nodded once sharply.
We headed into the market square next. Francesco hung back while I approached a merchant and his wife as they closed up their stall for the day. "Excuse me, Madonna. Messer. Could you spare a moment of your time?"
I proceeded to ask them if they knew of any place for travelers or homeless to shelter in for an evening, and they informed that the church would accommodate such travelers. Part of me knew there was no better place than a church, but another part of me worried how Francesco would feel about this. He had just committed his worst sin in a church, and I doubted he was eager to confront it in another just yet.
After thanking the merchants for their help, I turned about in search of Francesco, but he was nowhere to be seen. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and dark. He shouldn't have been so difficult to pick out in the uncrowded market, but he was no longer where I left him.
Catching sight of a familiar dark cloak disappearing into a building, I rushed across the square in search of him.
The building I entered in pursuit of him turned out to be the church. I slowly walked through the aisles with my eyes lifting to the vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows.
At the sound of a stifled sob, my eyes were drawn up to the altar. There, kneeling with his hands on the banister and his head hanging low, Francesco prayed and wept for his soul.
The sight tore a jagged hole in my already bleeding chest. Conflicted, I stood back in the pews to give him a moment in case he needed it, but then I heard his prayer.
"Please forgive me, God," he breathed through heaving sobs. "I don't deserve it, but I can't live with the weight of this. Please take it. Please."
My feet moved before my brain gave any command. Spurred on by heart only, I rushed to the altar to join him. I dropped to my knees beside him, but he continued to cry with his face buried against his folded hands on the banister.
Reaching out hesitantly, I laid a hand on his shoulder. My fingers gripped the fabric as I tugged gently, but he took little coaxing to pull into my embrace.
Francesco's head slumped against my chest as he shook with tears and guilt.
"God forgives, Francesco," I breathed. "In time, you must forgive yourself too. He gave you a second chance, spared your life from the noose, and now you must focus on doing His will. Doing good for the world."
He continued to weep, and it hurt me just as much as him since I knew he only ever intended to do good in the world. He cared for Florence as his home, and he had wanted to liberate the people, but his uncle had twisted the route taken and led his nephew astray.
I wasn't sure how long we sat in the church together, praying and weeping. But eventually, the sun disappeared behind the hills and the town grew dark. Only lanterns and candles lit the nave now. We fell asleep in a pew, my head resting on his thigh and his arm stretched out protectively over his cloak he had draped across me.
In the morning, he roused me gently. "Time to go, Alice."
I sat up to rub the sleep from my eyes, my back aching from sleeping on the hard wooden seat, but it beat lying on a prison cell floor for the rest of my life. It even beat sleeping in a bed in a world without Francesco Pazzi.
We headed out of the church and left town just as the sun rose again, casting peach and blush hues across the vineyard landscapes. It took several hours, but the Pazzi home came into view mid-afternoon. My stomach was hollow since we had not eaten properly in two days, but I felt more inclined to find a warm hearth since the air had chilled.
As we walked up the stone steps leading to the porch, I stopped short when Guglielmo called, "Who goes there?"
"A friend. It is Alice. And— And Francesco."
Guglielmo squinted his eyes from where he stood up on the porch, then hurried down the steps to confirm what he saw. Looking overtop my head, he gaped at his brother. "You— You're supposed to be dead. They told me they hung you from the Palazzo de Signoria along with Salviati and Uncle."
Francesco tugged at the collar of his jerkin. The motion revealed the scar the noose had left around his neck. "They did hang me."
"God spared him," I added.
Guglielmo continued to gape.
"Guglielmo? Who is it?" Bianca appeared in the doorway with her babe in her arms.
"We've been exiled too," I said quickly, "And we were hoping you would take us in."
The look the brothers shared nearly broke my heart. So many questions, hurts, and betrayals lay between them. But Francesco had always loved his brother more than anyone. He would have laid down his life in a heartbeat for Guglielmo. Their brotherly bond was also the only thing I had ever seen turn Francesco so violently against his uncle.
I internally pleaded for them to just embrace already, but that would take time. Guglielmo stood aside and allowed us to pass, welcoming us into his home for the time being.
