Free What Remains of the Fair Simonetta by Laura T. Emery Page A

salvation. Even children were convinced to report their parents.
    Mariano’s favorite son, Simone, was responsible for convincing Sandro to throw one of his own paintings into one of Savonarola’s Bonfires of the Vanities in the Piazza della Signoria. I never knew if this was because Sandro truly believed he was sinning, or because he was in fear for his very life.
    Simone had not yet returned from Naples in my current existence. I knew all of this because Mariano had shared it with me in the Ognissanti. Mariano and his conservative, religious ways, which were passed along to Simone, were to blame for the loss of Sandro’s precious painting. Just thinking about it made me cringe. I was definitely not ready to go back to my isolated world with Mariano.

Chapter 13
    I wanted to scream “No!” to Leonardo, like a spoiled child, while stomping my feet in a tantrum.
         Don’t make me go back to him!  
    I knew, realistically, I didn’t have a choice, and even as ingenious as Leonardo was, he didn’t really have a way to return me to the future.
    Sandro turned from his conversation with the other painter, appearing a bit put off by the intimacy of my exchange with Leonardo as I was leaning in very closely to him so no one else would hear.
    “Come, Simonetta. Let us see the halberd,” Sandro interrupted brusquely, as he approached.
    Quickly, before Sandro was in earshot, I whispered to Leonardo, “It’s important we keep this between us.”
    Leonardo opened his mouth to speak, but Sandro pulled me away before any words made it out. I could tell there was just a glint of belief in Leonardo’s eyes, and he probably had a million questions, but Sandro was the last person I wanted to offend. And upon considering once again that this may be the only day I would spend in this marvelous world, I wanted to enjoy it.
    Sandro laced his arm inside of mine and escorted me through the palazzo as if he had full run of the place. We entered a small room containing all manner of armor, swords, shields, axes, and chains on display. Sandro lifted the halberd from its angled wall mounting. It was shiny and bejeweled, but otherwise exactly as he described it: a pole weapon with an axe on one side and a spike on the other—and a familiar sight. It looked identical to the weapon that Camilla held in Botticelli’s misnamed Pallas and the Centaur , the companion painting of his famous Primavera.
    “The halberd was a gift to Lorenzo from a Swiss knight when Lorenzo won the Florentine Joust of 1469.” Sandro seemed to know everything about Lorenzo and his house.
    He handed the halberd to me, taking care to wrap his hands over mine to prevent me from dropping the heavy weapon. His magical touch was about business rather than pleasure, but it caused sensations in my new body, I’d long since forgotten were possible. The warm touch of a man was not something I’d ever expected to experience again.
    The halberd was quite heavy and long—much taller than either of us when it stood on end. The small muscles of my previous, waifish body couldn’t have handled the weight as he let go of the halberd, leaving it only to my hands. I dared not move. Without a word, Sandro pulled some paper from a bag he carried, and sketched as I held the monstrosity.
    The best part of modeling was that I could unabashedly stare at Sandro as he worked. It was my job to stare at him, as it was his to examine me. I could look directly into his eyes, and take in every curve of his strong masculine features and curvaceous, kissable lips. I watched him breathe as he meticulously sketched; as everlasting life was created.
    So enraptured, I barely noticed the tall, dark, muscle-bound man who entered the room, until he charged at me, smiling. The beautiful creature reached for me like a crazed zombie about to eat my brain.
    Oh crap. Who is this dude?
    My first instinct was to cross the halberd defensively in front of me, inspiring him only to chuckle as the weight of