Page 196 - The Grotesque Children's Book

Chapter 17.

After the spit

“Pietro! What do we do? He's the Grand Duke's son! He'll have you killed, and once
he's done with me, I'll be next!” But to herself she was thinking, He won't kill me. I see his soul
in his eyes. Were he Duke already, or butcher or serf, my feelings wouldn't be any different.
This is the man for me. Could I be the mistress of a duke? Mistress. Is that...a life?

“20 florins!” shouted Pietro. “You have to meet him.”
And so she did. The next day, she watched for him from her window, and when she saw
him walking across the Piazza del San Marco, she gathered up her coat and her courage and
headed outside. As if on cue, two thick clouds parted just as Bianca stepped outside and he, the
future Grand Duke of Tuscany, Francesco de’ Medici, was lit in a shaft of light.
“You're making the sun shine on you, on purpose!” said Bianca, and the Grand Prince
grinned. At that moment Bianca’s fate was sealed; his seal was fated to become hers as well.
The rest was merely a matter of time. Over the next few weeks, they lunched several times, and
went for strolls along the Arno. It was all very tame and respectable. “Bianca,” he said one day
over tea.
“I know, I know what you're about to ask,” she said. “I've known since the first day I
saw you from my window.”
“You shouldn't have looked out.”
“You shouldn't have looked up.”
“I ordinarily don't. Something made me look up that day, that very hour.”
“Well, I spit on your head, that's why you looked up.”
“You did not spit on my head.”
“I almost wish I had. You're going to be trouble for me,” said Bianca, looking down at
her teacup, a few tears beginning to well.
Francesco said kindly, “We could stop now, before it's too late.”
“Can we, I wonder? I don't think we actually would. Listen,” she said, reaching over to
take his hands in hers, “What do we do about Pietro? It's one thing for me to get hurt; I could
bear anything so long as you're near me. But Pietro, what would happen to him?”
“I'll assign some carabinieri to watch him, and nothing but him.”
“Oh dear!” laughed Bianca. “He wouldn't like that, feeling he's being followed.”
“He wouldn't need to know he's being followed. Ever.”
“Than...thank you for that, Francesco,” she said, “but I actually meant --”

196