The Secret Muse (#1)

Chapter 12

I felt like floating in the air remembering our first kiss. It is rather difficult to forget. Every time that I do, I always find myself touching my lips followed by a rush of blood in my cheeks.

Though we were awkward afterward, our relationship has gotten closer. His gazes have become more and more intense and I feel every weight of it.

There were times that I'd bite my lips to suppress my smile or steal a gaze to see him focusing on his work. He would sometimes let me read while he worked.

I'd read Boccaccio, Chaucer, and Petrarch and we'd engage in a conversation about it.

Surprisingly, after days of working half-day, Botticelli decided to work on my portrait the whole day today. It certainly made me happy.

"You must invite us to your workshop, Sandro. I have always wanted to see your other masterpieces." Aunt Simona said after taking a sip of her soup.

"How kind of you, but I don't know if my works deserve such remark." He said, smiling as he spoke.

They're all masterpieces, at least for my father. "Well, I'll be the just of that." Said Aunt Simona who now looks at him expectantly.

He sheepishly smiles then nods his head yes. "I'd be happy to open my workshop for you at your earliest convenience."

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed then her eyes went towards me. "I know Antonia would be delighted to finally see your works. She's been admiring your talents for quite some time."

Flustered and blushing, I immediately look down at my plate. Even then, I could still feel his gaze upon me.

After eating, Botticelli packed his equipment in preparation for his departure. He was halfway through when I stood by the door. "It was nice of you to always agree with my Aunt," I said, aware of my presence as soon as I stood, he glanced at me for a moment before he continued to pack.

"Of course. Simona has always been a good friend. No one can say no to your charming Aunt." He said, grinning.

"That's true. I don't know if she's told you of this but her feast will be this week, I was wondering if you'll be there."

Despite being a few moves away from finishing, he stops only to smile and confirm his attendance. "I will be there." His voice was rather raspy and intriguing while his eyes held a promise that he'd be there on a day when I'd be with a crowd of people I don't know. The silent promise has comforted me greatly. When he picked up everything, he smiled once again and purposely, surreptitiously touched my hand lightly. I walked him towards the door with his fingers lightly touching the back of my hand. "I must leave now. Good night, Madonna."

Smiling, I spoke. "Good night, Messer."

"I remember when I was a kid, I'd always ask my father to tell me the myths about the Greek Gods and Goddesses and my father would always decline. Little did I know that he has his reasons for doing so." I said as I looked at the orange tree flower Botticelli placed on the vase.

"What are those reasons?" He asks while working.

"Well, for one the myths were filled with venereal acts of almost all the Gods and Goddesses and two the myths have been mostly debunked in my time after the foundations of scientific knowledge have been established."

"Hmm..." He said as he looked up with confusion in his eyes. "It must have been interesting living in your time. Being able to find out the truths in almost everything."

"That's one way of putting it but sometimes I couldn't help thinking that somehow it has removed some whimsicality in life. Sure, it gives us the truth but usually, truths are boring and insipid. That's why I'm fond of the Greeks. They are great storytellers. They do not necessarily tell the truth but make something ordinary to something remarkable." When I looked back at him, Botticelli was smiling admiringly at me and I suddenly felt a little unconscious. "Forgive me. I tend to speak deliberately about literature."

He suddenly laughs quietly. "Please, don't stop on my account. I do enjoy listening to you talk about the things you're passionate about." Alec wasn't like this before. We have some similar aspects that we like in history but not everything we like is the same. He only ever likes to talk about the things he can contribute to a conversation and it somehow makes the conversation bland over time. I have never met anyone else who responds the way Botticelli did when I geek around. His different approach has taken me aback. "So I assume that Roman mythology is somehow similar to the Greeks, yes?"

Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I nodded yes to him. "Yes. The Romans have just changed their names."

He continues to work again. "Can you tell me about the stories you find interesting?"

"I have always liked Venus and her stories."

Looking on in the distance, finally able to share something I consider intimate feels delightful. When I look back at him, his eyes are upon me smiling before he goes back to painting. "What makes you like Venus?"

"My father told me that Greek mythology centers their Gods as the extremes of human capabilities while Roman mythology centers on the very ideal Gods with no particular appearances, unlike its counterpart. For me, Venus or Aphrodite is one of the most interesting of all because despite being gifted with the most beautiful appearance, she's flawed. She's loved dearly but would love another apart from her lover. Revered by her beauty, yet feels threatened by the beauty with the likes of Psyche and Helen." I stood up walked towards the window and leaned on it as I faced him. "A lot of Gods have always admired her beauty but she'd always find a pair with Ares or Mars, the God of war. Two Gods with great passions for love and war respectively have made them a match."

"Indeed." He said as he smiled with a spark in his eyes. "Has Venus ever been described before?"

Smiling, I realized that this may catapult him into painting the greatest work he'd be known for. "According to the Illiad, she has strawberry blonde hair and fair skin with a voluptuous figure. Her face has an unearthly beauty."

His smile softens as he looks at me. "A beautiful image."

Those light brown eyes are so magnetic, I couldn't help but be pulled by them.

Aunt Simona's feast is only days away. Every single gamurra and giornea are now laid on my bed as Aunt Simona tries to pick a dress that I should wear.

"It's your feast, Aunt Simona. Must I dress extravagantly?" I ask as I try on the 13th dress.

"Well, of course, dear." She said her figure comfortably seated across the room. "You represent my household thus you must dress appropriately."

It took a while before she finally settled with the yellow gamurra and maroon giornea. As Franzia placed the dresses back on the chest, Aunt Simona spoke once again. "Tomorrow, we'll finally visit Sandro's workshop."

"Alright, Aunt Simona."

She stood up and smiled. "Good night, dear."

"Good night."

Walking side by side with my Aunt as her arms linked to mine the next day, I couldn't help but love this city. Over the next centuries, this place would look almost the same. When we got there, I didn't realize that Botticelli's workshop was located in his own house.

When we went inside, the pungent smell of paint welcomed us. Botticelli was arranging his panels together with what I assumed was his apprentice.

When he noticed us, he placed it down and hurried towards us. "Welcome, Madonnas. Forgive me, arranging my work took longer than expected."

My Aunt Simona smiles. "I'm afraid I'm too anxious to see your works that I and Antonia went on ahead a little earlier."

That is when he looked at me and smiled. I smiled in return and he went ahead to show us his works in progress. As my Aunt and I gape in astonishment at his beautiful creations, my eyes suddenly travel to the table filled with sketches.

He was sketching the same man, studying the movements of the human body in different forms.

In the far corner of the table, almost covered with other sketches, I saw a familiar figure carefully drawn. At first, I thought it was me until I saw the name written on top of the sketch. It reads Simonetta, my beloved.