Marie sat back down and grabbed her wine glass, draining it in one gulp. Her cheeks were flushed, breathing uneven, lips swollen from Lorenzo's kiss.
She looked thoroughly kissed. Thoroughly affected.
Bess, who had watched them leave together and return in such a state, felt her certainty wavering. Her mistress looked flustered, yes—but not distressed. Not frightened.
And the way the master looked at her lady... there was so much longing in those eyes. So much barely restrained desire.
Perhaps she had been wrong about Lorenzo.
The party continued. Marie found herself laughing at the soldiers' jokes, clapping along to their songs. The wine flowed freely, and the meat was delicious.
Then two of the younger soldiers began arguing over something trivial, who had made the better shot during training that morning.
The argument escalated. Suddenly they were on their feet, squaring off.
The other soldiers began cheering, forming a circle around them, placing bets.
Before Marie could process what was happening, Lorenzo pulled her onto his lap and covered her eyes with one hand.
"Don't watch" Lorenzo said, using an Italian endearment that made Marie's stomach flip.
But Lorenzo was grinning as she called out encouragement. "Guard your left, Stefano! Good! Now use your footwork! Don't just stand there like a tree!"
Marcello was laughing, shouting his own advice, clearly having bet on the other fighter.
The fight wasn't serious—more wrestling match than true combat. But it was enthusiastic and rowdy.
Marie, pressed against Lorenzo's chest, could feel the rumble of laughter. Could smell that intoxicating scent of leather and musk and something sweet underneath. Despite herself, she relaxed into the embrace.
Lorenzo's free arm wrapped around her waist, holding her secure.
It felt... right. Safe. Like coming home.
When the fight ended—Stefano victorious—Lorenzo removed her hand from Marie's eyes.
Then Marie stood abruptly and returned to her own chair, not meeting Lorenzo's eyes.
But her hand was shaking slightly as she reached for her wine.
---
Over the next few days, Lorenzo found every excuse to be near Marie.
She would appear in the library while Marie was reading, settling into a chair with her own book. They would sit in companionable silence, occasionally reading passages aloud to each other.
Except Lorenzo kept choosing scandalously romantic poetry. In Italian. With very explicit metaphors.
Marie would blush furiously and throw cushions at her.
Lorenzo would laugh and dodge and read another verse.
Lorenzo would join Marie on her walks through the gardens, offering opinions on which flowers should be planted where.
"Roses there,"Lorenzo would say, pointing.
"You suggested roses there yesterday," Marie would reply, exasperated.
"Did I? Well, you can never have too many roses."
"You know nothing about horticulture."
"And I know you like roses. Therefore, roses."
Marie would try not to smile and fail.
---
Lorenzo would invite Marie to watch training sessions.
Marie would come and stand at the edge of the grounds, Pierro beside her. When a blow came toward Lorenzo during a sparring match, Marie would gasp and close her eyes—
And Lorenzo would dodge effortlessly and wink at her.
"*Fai attenzione!*" Marie would call out in Italian. "*Ti farai male!*" *(Pay attention! You'll get hurt!)*
"*Preoccupata per me, tesoro?*" Lorenzo would call back, grinning. *(Worried about me, treasure?)*
"*Sei insopportabile!*" *(You're insufferable!)*
But Marie kept coming to watch.
---
The arguments were never truly fights, more like a dance of wills.
"I want to go riding," Marie announced one morning over breakfast.
Lorenzo looked up from her map. "Absolutely not. It is not safe for you to ride alone."
"Then come with me," Marie challenged. "I have training—"
"Are you afraid I will outride you?"Lorenzo's eyes flashed. Twenty minutes later, they were both mounted and galloping through the fields, Marie laughing as the wind whipped through her hair, Lorenzo riding close beside her to ensure she stayed safe.
Another day, Lorenzo suggested, "You should learn to use a sword."
"Absolutely not," Marie said primly. "That is unladylike."
"It is practical. What if you are attacked?"
"I have Pierro for that."
"What if Pierro is not there?" "
Then I shall scream very loudly."
But three days later, Marie appeared at the training grounds in riding breeches—borrowed from somewhere and demanded Lorenzo teach her.
They trained in a secluded area behind the castle walls, away from the soldiers' eyes. Lorenzo stood behind Marie, adjusting her grip on the wooden practice sword, her hands lingering on Marie's waist.
When Marie executed a move correctly, Lorenzo would steal a kiss as a reward. When she made a mistake, Lorenzo would pull her close to "correct her form" and steal a kiss anyway.
"You are a terrible teacher," Marie gasped after one particularly long kiss.
"You are a terrible student,"Lorenzo countered, her hands sliding down to Marie's hips.
"I wonder whose fault that is."
All the touching, all the stolen kisses, all the heated looks were building a sexual tension that neither of them could ignore. Marie found herself blushing at the smallest things—the way Lorenzo's shirt clung to her body after training, the sound of her laugh, the feel of his hands guiding hers.
But they didn't share a bed.
Every night, Lorenzo would walk Marie to her chambers. Would bow formally at the door. Would force herself to turn away and return to her own rooms.
Every night, Marie would lie alone in her bed and remember the feeling of Lorenzo's mouth on her lips.
Before they realized it, four months had passed. Marie was reviewing the household accounts when a messenger arrived with a sealed letter bearing her father's crest.
She broke the seal and read:
*Dearest Marie,*
*It has been too long since we have seen you. Your mother misses you terribly, as do Philip and I. We formally invite you to return home for a visit of no less than two months. Arrangements have been made with your husband regarding this matter.*
*Your loving father,*
*Thomas Boleyn*
Marie's heart clenched. Home. She wanted to see her family desperately.
But the thought of leaving Lorenzo... She took the letter and went directly to Lorenzo's office.
Lorenzo was bent over a map, marking routes with a quill.
She looked up when Marie entered.
"This arrived," Marie said, handing over the letter.
Lorenzo read it, her expression growing somber. Finally, she sighed.
"It is legitimate. The agreement states you may spend six months with your family each year. You will have to go."
"Will you come with me?" Marie asked, trying to keep the hope from her voice.
Lorenzo set down the letter. "I have been summoned back to the Italian court. I will have to return to Italy soon."
Marie felt something crack inside her chest. "Of course. You are running away again."
"Marie—"
All that talk about making me fall in love with you...it was just empty words!"
Lorenzo stood abruptly. "I only agreed to this arrangement because I thought you would appreciate spending time with your family!"
"I did appreciate it!"Marie cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Originally, I did! But now I feel torn! Going back means seeing William again. Being near him. And I fear the distance will make it easier for me to... to turn to him." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Because when you abandoned me before, he was there for me."
Lorenzo's expression darkened. Jealousy flared hot in her chest. She crossed to the other side of the desk and grabbed Marie's wrists, perhaps more roughly than she intended.
"Is your heart so easily swayed?" Lorenzo demanded, her voice rough with emotion. "I have done everything I could to show you how I feel. I have been patient. I have courted you. I have given you space and time. And if you still have doubts....if you are still thinking of him, then perhaps it is for the best that we are separated."
Marie yanked her wrists free, her eyes blazing. "You are ...How naive of me to think you would be sincere! You brought this situation upon us! You abducted me, you forced yourself on me, you forced this marriage! And now you dare punish me for going through the emotions you started?"
She stormed toward the door and slammed it so hard the hinges rattled.