Jeanne Kalogridis - Painting Mona Lisa

A part of Lorenzo revelled in the power, and delighted in extending the family’s influence. The Medici Bank had branches in Rome, in Bruges, in most of the greater cities of Europe. Yet Lorenzo was often exhausted by the demands of playing the gran maestro. At times, he complained, ‘Not a soul in the city will marry without my blessing.’ Quite true. And that very week, he had received a letter from a congregation in rural Tuscany, begging for his advice: The church fathers had approved the creation of a saint’s statue; two sculptors were vying for the commission. Would the great Lorenzo be so kind as to give his opinion? Such missives piled up in great stacks each day; Lorenzo rose before dawn and answered them in his own hand.

He fretted over Florence as a father would a wayward child. Lorenzo spent every waking moment dedicated to furthering her prosperity and the Medici interests.

But he was keenly aware that no one loved him, save for the favours he could bestow. Only Giuliano adored his brother truly, for himself. Only Giuliano tried to make Lorenzo forget his responsibilities; only Giuliano could make him laugh. For that, Lorenzo loved him fiercely.

And it was the repercussions of that love Giuliano feared.

Giuliano straightened and cleared his throat. ‘I am going,’ he said, rather loudly, ‘to Rome.’

Lorenzo lifted his brows and his gaze, but the rest of him did not stir. ‘On pleasure, or on some business I should acquaint myself with?’

‘I am going with a woman.’

Lorenzo sighed; his frown eased. ‘Enjoy yourself, then, and think of me suffering here.’

‘I am going with Madonna Anna,’ Giuliano said.

Lorenzo jerked his head sharply at the name. ‘You’re joking.’ He said it lightly, but as he stared at Giuliano, his expression grew incredulous. ‘You must be joking.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘This is foolishness … Giuliano, she is from a good family. And she is married.’

Giuliano did not quail. ‘I love her. I won’t be without her. I’ve asked her to go with me to Rome, to live.’

Lorenzo’s eyes widened; the letter slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor, but he did not retrieve it. ‘Giuliano … Our hearts mislead us all, from time to time. You’re enthralled by an emotion; believe me, I understand. But it will ease. Give yourself a fortnight to rethink this idea.’

Lorenzo’s paternal, dismissive tone only strengthened Giuliano’s resolve. ‘I’ve already arranged the carriage and driver, and sent a message to the servants at the Roman villa to prepare for us. We must seek an annulment,’ he said. ‘I don’t say this lightly, brother. I want to marry Anna. I want her to bear my children.’

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair and stared intently at his younger brother, as if trying to judge whether he were an impostor. When he was satisfied that the words had been meant, Lorenzo let go a short, bitter laugh. ‘An annulment? Courtesy of our good friend Pope Sixtus, I suppose? He would prefer to see us banished from Italy.’ He pushed himself away from his desk, rose, and reached for his brother; his tone softened. ‘This is a fantasy, Giuliano. I understand that she is a marvellous woman, but … She has been married for some years. Even if I could arrange for an annulment, it would create a scandal. Florence would never accept it.’

Lorenzo’s hand was almost on his shoulder; Giuliano shifted it back, away from the conciliatory touch. ‘I don’t care what Florence will or won’t accept. We’ll remain in Rome, if we have to.’

Lorenzo emitted a sharp sigh of frustration. ‘You’ll get no annulment from Sixtus. So give up your romantic ideas: If you can’t live without her, have her – but for God’s sake, do so discreetly.’

Giuliano flared. ‘How can you speak of her like that? You know Anna, you know she would never consent to deception. And if I can’t have her I won’t have any other woman. You can stop all your match-making efforts right now. If I can’t marry her—’

Even as he spoke, he felt his argument fail. Lorenzo’s eyes were filled with a peculiar light – furious and fierce, verging on madness – a light that made Giuliano believe his brother capable of true malevolence. He had only seen such a look in Lorenzo’s eyes rarely – never before had it been directed at him – and it chilled him. ‘You’ll do what? Refuse to marry anyone at all?’ Lorenzo shook his head vehemently; his voice grew louder. ‘You have a duty, an obligation to your family. You think you can forget it, go to Rome on a whim, pass our blood on to a litter of bastards? You would stain us with excommunication? Because that’s what would happen, you know – to both of you! Sixtus is in no mood to be generous with us.’

Giuliano said nothing; the flesh on his cheeks and neck burned. He had expected no less, though he had hoped for more.

Lorenzo continued; the hand that had reached for his brother now became a jabbing, accusatory finger. ‘Do you have any idea of what will happen to Anna? What people will call her? She’s a decent woman, a good woman. Do you really want to ruin her? You’ll take her to Rome and grow tired of her. You’ll want to come home to Florence. And what will she have left?’

Angry words scalded Giuliano’s tongue. He wanted to say that though Lorenzo had married a harridan, he, Giuliano, would rather die than live in such loveless misery, that he would never stoop to fathering children upon a woman he despised. But he remained silent; he was unhappy enough. There was no point in making Lorenzo suffer the truth, too.

Lorenzo emitted a growl of disgust. ‘You’ll never do it. You’ll come to your senses.’

Giuliano looked at him a long moment. ‘I love you, Lorenzo,’ he said quietly. ‘But I am going.’ He turned and moved to the door.

‘Leave with her,’ his brother threatened, ‘and you can forget that I am your brother. Don’t imagine I am joking, Giuliano. I’ll have nothing more to do with you. Leave with her, and you’ll never see me again.’

Giuliano looked back over his shoulder at Lorenzo, and was suddenly afraid. He and his older brother did not joke with each other when they discussed important matters – and neither could be swayed once he had made up his mind. ‘Please don’t make me choose.’

Lorenzo’s jaw was set, his gaze cold. ‘You’ll have to.’

The following evening, Giuliano had waited in Lorenzo’s ground floor apartment until it was time to meet Anna. He had spent the entire day thinking about Lorenzo’s comment about how she would be ruined if she went to Rome. For the first time, he considered what Anna’s life would be like if the Pope refused to grant an annulment.

She would know disgrace, and censure; she would be forced to give up her family, her friends, her native city. Her children would be called bastards, and be denied their inheritance as Medici heirs.

He had been selfish. He had been thinking only of himself when he made the offer to Anna. He had spoken too easily of the annulment, in hopes that it would sway her to go with him. And he had not, until that moment, considered that she might reject his offer; the possibility had seemed too painful to contemplate.

Now he realized that it would save him from making an agonizing choice.

But when he went to meet her at the door and saw her face in the dying light, he saw that his choice had been made long ago, at the moment when he gave his heart to Anna. Her eyes, her skin, her face and limbs exuded joy; even in the shadowy dusk, she shone. Her movements, which had once been slow, weighed down by unhappy consequence, were now agile and light. The exuberant tilt of her head as she looked up at him, the faint smile that bloomed on her lips, the swift grace with which she lifted her skirts and rushed to him relayed her answer more clearly than words.