STORMS ARE GOING TO THROW YOU TO WAVES

 




Fic: STORMS ARE GOING TO THROW YOU TO WAVES
Rating: PG-13 (Warning: incest, hurt/comfort)
Pairings: Alfonso/Lucrezia, Cesare/Lucrezia
Disclaimer: Showtime is the almighty.
Summary: It’s been six days since Alfonso died, five since Lucrezia has secluded herself in her room, three since Cesare can’t sleep.


Notes: So this is what happened during a Brazilian cold, rainy winter morning, after some thoughts about the second season's possibilities. I tried to portray a more mature and acute Lucrezia fully aware of the potential violence of her verbal abilities and of Cesare’s vulnerability when it comes to their relationship.

This story was inspired by Bravestation’s White Wolves. Its dark melody and vague – yet lucidly applicable to our beloved siblings, in my opinion – lyrics were basically what shaped this piece of fiction. www.youtube.com/watch

What else...? My apologies for any grammar mistakes. And pretty please, feedbacks = my happiness, positive or negative ones. Really. 



“She said she’d never love me anymore
She said she’d never want me anymore
She said she’d never love me
But the lion, the lake and the lover are at your door.”

(Bravestation – White Wolves)


It has been eight days since he last talked to her. Six since Alfonso died. Five since she locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to see or to speak to anybody, even her mother. Three since he couldn’t sleep.

Cesare doesn’t dare to knock on her doors, he is certain she won’t open them. So he sits in a chair in the hallway a few steps from her room and waits, fumbling with his own fingers, trying to hold the golden cross placed against his chest… The crucifix he was obliged to wear while he served as a cardinal and carelessly threw at the bottom of some forgotten drawer when he gladly resigned the function. He had never prayed again. Not until three days ago, when in a despair he would find pathetic in any other man, he knelt and asked God not for His forgiveness, but hers. He raises his bent head when he hears a maid approaching his direction, carrying the meals Lucrezia has been ordering to be taken to her. When she opens the door to grant passage to the old woman, Cesare rushes in and penetrates the space, blatantly demanding the servant to leave.

“How dare you?” Lucrezia is sitting by the window and her voice is neither low nor loud, it is rather emotionless, an insipid tone that he barely recognizes. She has her back to him, but he can notice her hair is undone and she is still wearing her nightdresses, though it is already afternoon.

“Sister, please…” He starts to walk towards her but hesitates when she gets up and stares into his eyes.

“I am no longer your sister, Cesare. My dear brother is dead, lost and engulfed by unknown surroundings that I care little to discover. Now if you could please leave me alone…” She sits again and he realizes she’s holding a shirt and her needlework crafts are scattered across the nearby table.

“You are making… His shirts…?” He asks slowly, his brows furrowing in a confused gaze.

“I remember the first time I tried to sew. Actually sew. Mother has always insisted on teaching me, but I was so clumsy and impatient and could never properly learn.” She is not talking to him, her eyes are fixed on the floor and she has a sad little smile across her pale lips. “He liked embroideries, carefully designed, detailed garments, so I thought perhaps I could make him something. It looked awful and he had this disgusted expression when he saw the doublet…”, she bursts out laughing and covers her mouth with her hands, “but he immediately smiled, thanked me and wore it right then and there…”

“Lucrezia.” He doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to listen, he doesn’t want her to remember him, he doesn’t want her lifeless cheeks to become rosy and vivid when talking about him.

But she ignores his protests and continues, “You see, he was receiving the visit of the Florentines and he had to present himself in a polished fashion, which was simply impossible with that hideous doublet, so I told him there was no need for him to wear it, not at that moment.”

Cesare sincerely asks himself if she’s merely following a scarcely conscious, somewhat automatic flux of memories or if she’s deliberately punishing him by unveiling this lovely, gentle husband that he had grown to despise over the last years.

“’My darling, it is ugly indeed’, he said smirking, and taking my hands and kissing them, he continued ‘so I shall wear it as a form of encouragement: whenever you see this disturbing thing, you shall practice more and more… And one day, you will create the most beautiful embroideries in all Naples. And Rome!’ I never got to refine them enough…” She concludes bitterly, grasping the shirt and tightly holding it against her heart.

“Will you ever forgive me?” He finally asks, firmly and yet in such a fragile tone.

“Yes, I am making his shirts, it makes me feel he’s here still.” She takes the needle and resumes the sewing, ignoring her brother as if he has never entered the room.

“My love...?” He has never felt this impotent and powerless in all his life, and he surprises himself with a pained sigh when he hurts his fingers after clutching the end of his crucifix too hardly.

“I was happy. Did you know that?” Her voice is now loud and harsh, the words rapid and severe.

“I—“ He chokes and doesn’t have the time to recompose his speech, which is trampled by her.

“Funny how when I so was miserable with Sforza you did nothing and let me suffer in solitude. And when I was finally content, when I experienced deep tenderness, you ripped it away from me.” She raises her head and looks at him, her eyes cold and angry and her contracted lips stopping to punctuate each syllable with condemnation, “Carnage. That is all you know about.”

“You’re being unfair, sister, I… I asked you so many times how Sforza treated you, if you were satisfied with your marriage, I asked you so many…” Cesare suddenly falls silent, his breath out of rhythm, his weak legs seeking some support, which he finds in a bench opposite to where she is. He sits tiredly, sighting and running his hands through his hair. “You would not tell me, Lucrezia. You refused to give me the details, remember?”

Of course she remembers: she wanted to be strong for her family’s sake and most of all didn’t wish to worry him. But the only desire in her mind right now is to torment him in any way possible and she knows he will believe in anything she says, “And you accepted my position so easily! If you knew me so much, as much as you always say you do, you would have noticed how anguished I was and would have insisted, you would have visited me in Pesaro to be certain I was being properly taken care of… Yet you did nothing, Cesare! You have no idea of my unhappiness at that time, Sforza was the cruelest husband. His words hurt my spirit daily and his hands bruised my body nightly.”

And yes, he believes her. He was battling to remove the filthy stain between them left by his recent misconduct, but now he finds yet another blemish, too old to be remedied. He feels so foolish for having prayed for forgiveness and redemption and imagines God bitterly mocking him by ripping away any kindness from Lucrezia’s heart.

“Alfonso... He was such a charming gentleman, a pleasant company who’d always keep me amused, we would go to the baths and we would ride for hours. We loved to dance together and curiously our taste in music was identical.” Her oneiric expression unexpectedly assumes somber shades, and in a mix of caution and insolence, she bites her bottom lip and starts “His words cheered me daily, and his skilled sensuous hands explored my body—“

He doesn’t allow her to continue. Rising noisily, he murmurs a simple “No...” while clenching his fists. He will gladly take her reprimands, he will listen to all her accusations, he will let her strip him bare and deliver him to nothingness, but he will not permit her to scornfully remind him of all the ways she was no longer his.

His whisper sounds both like a warning and a menace. For a second she fears him and senses that she went too far. His tall and broad figure has gotten stronger since he joined the military career and his black dense clothes wrap him in a dangerous aura.

“He reminded me of Djem, you see. He was my best friend.” These were no longer her torture lines, they are merely a confession, an alleviation. The sentences are not meant to hurt him, they are devoid of violence and are filled with sweetness. And after some minutes sewing one of the sleeves of the shirt in silence, she mumbles an incredulous inquiry almost inaudibly: “And you slaughtered him…”

Cesare reaches for the door, but when he touches the heavy metal holders, he rests his head against the wood and lastly succumbs to perdition, desolated by the fear that if he leaves, he’ll never see her again, will never listen to her voice, will never smell her scent. “I thought I was your best friend...” He delivers faintly, his trembling tone fighting against the lump in his throat.

Lucrezia interrupts the sewing and sets the needle aside, reclining against the back of her chair, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. “You are my brother, Cesare.” She says calmly, almost as if she was addressing a child.

“You said—“ He doesn’t finish. He only wipes the tear that is running through his cheek and returns to the bench, his shoulders small and arched, his troubled heartbeat erratic. And at that moment his vigorous intimidating figure seems to Lucrezia to have instantly vanished, for his frame is hunched, frail and crooked.

“I have spent these last days fiercely thinking about how I ought to hate you for the rest of our existences. How I should never pardon you…” She leaves the chair and lies on her bed underneath the furry covers.

He shakes his head slowly and rests his arms on his knees, inhaling arduously. When he hears her calling his name, he looks at her direction and she lifts the covers, gently tapping the mattress.

“Come.” She smiles discretely and adjusts her position so she’s sitting.

Cesare opens his mouth but no sound is produced, his pupils rapidly wander through the bed and his steps are confused and loose. He sits by her side and her hands soon find his cloak, undoing each one of its laces and finally removing it. Lucrezia rests her hand against his chest and her touch feels warm against his cold tense skin. He feels another tear forming in his eyes and cursing himself mentally, he lowers his head embarrassed.

“Don’t. Let me see…” She holds his chin and analyses his face, waiting for the tear to descend all the way and meet her fingers, which she takes to her lips and licks, the salty taste of the drop strangely satisfying her. Cesare stares at her and blinks, sighting in a mixture of melancholy and vacillating hope. She proceeds to chastely kiss the wet traces on his flushed cheeks, and finishes by caressing his eyelids in a feather-like touch.

He takes her in his arms and buries his head in the crook of her neck, exhaling and murmuring muffled, incoherent sounds from which he can only distinguish “Why…?”

When she doesn’t answer, he relaxes their tight embrace and seeks her expression. Suddenly he sees that Alfonso’s shirt is still on her lap and swallowing uncomfortably, he scratches his forehead.

Lucrezia places a kiss on his lips, her tongue gently brushing against his soft pink flesh, making Cesare moan smoothly and search for her waist, rubbing it idly. And so she throws the shirt on the floor and lies down on the bed, taking him with her, “I keep having this dream… Alfonso’s gone and everything around me seems distant and foreign, and I forget all the words and forms that I know. But then you arrive and it all returns so alive, safe and true. And so I am able to speak and see again. Will you ever stop being the rules that delineate my universe, I wonder…” She smirks, playing with his chin.

He smiles modestly and lies on top of her, caressing her collarbone and kissing it tenderly. He finishes by speaking huskily, “Where do you think I get my thoughts and names from?”
 

WIND AND SORROW BEAR A SPARK

Rating: PG-13 
(Warning: Incest) 
Disclaimer: Barely own my own dignity, fellas.
Summary: Gap-filler S01E07 - Death on a Pale Horse. Scene in which Cesare and Lucrezia are discussing about her marriage.  
 
(my apologies in advance for possible mistakes, English's not my first language, just so you guys know...) 



WIND AND SORROW BEAR A SPARK

   “What are… his pleasures?”, Cesare asks in a firm, yet hesitant voice. This time he doesn’t wish brief, hidden, disperse, incomplete answers, he desires details. Details he is sure, though, frighten him more than anything ever had since that morning when he was obliged to watch helplessly the depart of his sister to Pesaro.

   “Hunting”, Lucrezia stops suddenly, wondering if she should continue not really fearing that the information could feed her brother’s imminent wrath toward her husband, but that he would be hurt. Her voice tones down, and cursing silence for being so feeble and letting her defeat it, she continues “The marital bed”, and when her ears are bruised by Cesare’s angry sigh, she prays for God to take her away, somewhere else, somewhere unknown, some deep dark space where she would neither see nor listen. A place made of nothing. Nothing seemed safe.

   “I dislike him already.” Giovanni was her husband, bedding her was merely his right, Cesare tries to remind himself. For some reason he finds no solace, though. For some reason this situation seems unfair. For some reason he even dares to admit feeling the faintest anger towards Lucrezia, for her answer, for her acceptance.

   “But he had an accident, brother, and now he can indulge in neither.” She smiles, the pleasure of that night when she saw the man returning home so broken, his leg wounded, his screams of pain, resurging almost as alive as when she held his hand pretending to comfort him.

   “A happy accident...” He looks at the fountain, trying to calm himself by regulating his breath after the calm noise of its waters running.

   “Yes. God is good.” She blasphemes proudly.

   “But he will recover…” His hands are hot under the gloves, even though the afternoon's air is so chilly. He could remove them and find some relief if only he would remember he is actually wearing them.

   “Unfortunately… Yes.” Her smirk vanishes.

   At last he has the courage to look at her again, to be near her again. His eyes linger upon her face for some time, and sadly he laments “You’re no longer a child, sis. I won’t forgive him for that!”

   The grass is badly kept, she notices just now, but in a very discrete way, one could barely tell… Specially her mother, who after the Papacy has been so distracted and devoting so little dedication to the house. “There was a reason for my marriage, brother, remind me of it”, the phrase comes unexpectedly from her lips and she recognizes some resentment in it, almost as if she secretly blamed Cesare for allowing her to leave, for not stopping her right when she crossed those gates guided by her husband and his emissaries, for not visiting her as he had promised he would. She faces him and instantly perceives her words were too cruel. One who listened to the conversation perhaps would not think so, but she knew. And also does him, who rises and walks away.

   He steps heavily, crashing the small leaves on the ground on purpose. Then he turns: “Whatever you are still hiding from me… Are you sealing it by fear that I take my, our, revenge… And fail in the process?” That was what Ursula thought: that him, being a man of the Church, would be easily defeated and killed, so if Lucrezia nurtures the same belief, it was his duty to warn her that—

   His racing ideas were interrupted by her low laugh, and she fixed her gaze directly in his: “I remember once, seven, six years ago I suppose, a group of artists from Venice came to Rome. Everybody wanted to attend their presentation… Music, theatre, dancing! And so did you, of course. But father would not allow it, claiming that you were still too young. However, you would not accept it and had the longest and most stubborn discussion with papa, who as a consequence locked you in your room to prevent you from going out on the evening they offered their show”, his head is down, his hair covering his face, and she gets up to meet him, taking his hand into her smaller ones, “my memory does not falter… At night mother went to you bedroom to bless you and kiss you goodnight, only to find your empty bed and your open windows. Naughty Cesare, you came back the next morning, limping, a swollen and sore ankle, twisted when you jumped and hit the outside’s harsh pavement. And papa would ask you how could you possibly, being so hurt, have walked miles and miles to where the presentation took place—“, he interrupted her words with gloved fingers touching her lips, only to be ignored, “and you simply, coldly said: ‘I wanted to see them!’ My memory does not falter, Cesare… It was then that I concluded that no one, nothing, could stop you. Your desires are untamable”. She caresses his cheeks, lifts her feet to reach his ears and murmurs smiling, “Poor Giovanni if he ever provokes you, dear brother.”

   Cesare holds her body against his for a while, breathing into her scent. She knew him, she knew him so well. When he perceives a guard observing them, he takes his sister by the arm with a simple “Come.”

   They pass through the corridors in silence, content in just listening to the velvet rufflings of each other’s clothes, moving with hushed their steps. When they enter the poorly illuminated space, wrapped in curtains only half open, he takes his coat off and sits at the corner of his bed, while she goes to the mirror and adjusts her hair.

   “You are beautiful in every single way, but…” She turns her head to stare at him, frowning her eyebrows, and he smirks, referring to the net that shelters her blond curls, a typical style of married women “I must say I cannot fully appreciate your hair like this.”

   Lucrezia returns her attention to the mirror and complains “Neither can I, brother.” Abruptly, she rips the net and lets her hair fall around her face in a rebel cascade, and going towards Cesare, she grabs a lock and gently rubs it against his nose playfully. He laughs soundly and tries to dodge from her arms, but all he can see is this yellow cover surrounding him as Lucrezia carries on with her tickling, now on his cheeks.

   “Sisteeer!”, he grumbles and with no warning catches her by the waist and pulls her into his arms, laying her merry figure next to him on the mattress. And while he observes her chest rise and fall as she regains her breath, he surprises himself imagining her gasping under Giovanni’s body: her hair also loose and messed around her, her breasts fighting for her lung’s battle for air, her lips perhaps redder and fuller, her forehead sweated, her pale skin accommodated in between wrinkled sheets. Now he understands what had bothered him so much when he heard her reference to her marital duties, now he, with discomfort and shame, acquiesces that it was not exactly the fact she was no longer a child that stung his heart, children grow up and it is only natural. The great, monstrous, spiky demon that has just awakened inside him, scornfully mockes him: It was not you who put an end to her childhood, Cesare, it was not you.

   “Brother, what is the matter…?”, her eyes are troubled and she seems disappointed at the abrupt end of such a gracious and welcomed moment after their bitter discussion at the garden. And when his face turns to her, he is somber and quiet, serious and intimidating. He says nothing, only his fingers move to find her heart and rest there lightly. “Cesare…?”

   His lips cover hers and she is taken aback and freezes. His other hand reaches for the base of her neck and caresses it, hushing her, “Sweet Lucrezia…” he murmurs against her mouth and immediately feels her relaxing under his touch, while her arms rest on his shoulders. Soon the kiss which started long and calm turns into a mutual longing sigh and Cesare opens his mouth to allow his tongue to brush almost imperceptibly against her bottom lip. He lingers there, going back and forth languidly until she opens her mouth to permit him entrance. He lost the track of many times he has wondered what her taste would be like, and now he finally enters that prohibited pink realm. It is better than anything he had imagined and mentally he thanks her for being able to surpass delirium and imagination.

   It is not the first time he is laying on top of her, his warm weight pressing against her breasts, her ribs, her hips, her thighs, her knees. It is not the first time she enjoys being so small. Yet, it is the first time the hugging, chin and cheek touching and close talking ventures further. She feels his tongue caressing hers like a shy feather and she asks herself if that is how he used to kiss all those ladies she had watched from the windows spending the night with him. In a mysterious way, she enjoyed spying on him and once when one of the maids caught her, she was reprimanded and ordered to ask for God’s forgiveness, although not comprehending the reason. After Paolo, at last she could, and she remembers blushing when this story came to her mind after all this time. Right at this moment, with his lips tracing firmer lines and eager kisses down her neck, she thinks: a life-time of penance would be just. She moans unconsciously. 

   Cesare continues with his ministrations and if at first he was so careful, fearful even, now he finds a confidence yet too awkward and starts embracing a passion long kept muffled. His kisses descend from her neck and when they approach her chest, she moans again, her grasping hands leaving his shoulders and searching for his hair. He places his tongue near her left breast and sucks coyly. He always admitted not being the gentlest man with the women he bedded, on the contrary, he was voracious, eager, almost practical. It takes Lucrezia to make him feel inexperienced and silly like a teenager again. It takes Lucrezia to make him damn his soul, forever succumbing to this forbidden love.

   She feels like drowning, she’s hot and flustered. Her coat only partly removed, all those fabrics from her sleeves and skirts involving her in a claustrophobic wave and she rises hastily to get rid of that heavy cloak. The sight causes Cesare to sigh and he grabs her wrist and pulls her towards him, laying and putting her on top of him. She then notices his eyes are sparkling, his breath is short and quick, his heart is racing, his belly is warmer, his hips are harder. She feels his erection and reaches for his vest, undoing the buttons with trembling hands. Suddenly they listen to short knocks on the door and he thinks he’s being prevented by God Himself from sinning irreparably. “Let me…”, he smiles and chastely kisses her forehead.

   Lucrezia sits clumsily and starts to adjust her dress and to fix her hair, breathing heavily. She feels like escaping again to the deep dark space where she is surrounded by infinite nothing when her brother’s voice announces in a mix of gloom and wrath “Father wishes to see you before you leave, the servants will take you to the Vatican.”

   Cesare refuses to look at her, frowning his lips and biting his tongue in order to control his anger. Soothingly, she kisses his cheeks and detains herself there, her face against his, silently asking him for mercy and patience. “You do not need to go, you know—“, he starts, pleading, and she silences him with a tender and low “Cesare, don’t.” And after embracing him tightly, she tries to sound content “I will wait for your visit, brother. Pesaro is a beautiful place.”

   “You will never be free of me, my love”, he says huskily, smiling. Taking her hand, he walks her to the terrace.

Fic: BREATHE LIKE OUR LULLABY

Rating: PG-13. 
(Warning: Incest)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Sadly. 
Summary: Extracted from Borgias Kink Meme: "After the conversation about there's-time-enough-for-pleasure between Cesare and Sforza, Cesare goes back to check on Lucrezia. When he enters the room, she wakes up." Sweet!
 
 
 

 
BREATHE LIKE OUR LULLABY
 
“If my passion has been put under a restraint my thoughts yet run free.” 
(Letter III – Abelard to Heloise)
 
   For the longest time, he would have nightmares in which the deformed figures of generals, bishops, kings and wicked servants haunted the corridors of their home. If he paid enough attention, he could even hear their nails scratching the walls while they walked and whispered of deaths and blood and plots. “Listen, my son, you must be vigilant, Rome has never been a safe place for our family. You must learn this, Cesare”, his Father would warn in a solemn voice almost as hard as the stomps of the cardinals who paced quickly through the arches and doors of the Vatican buildings, way too busy sending messages and making arrangements. Yes, he would listen. Yes, he would learn. But he would also feel so little and lost there in the middle of that grotesque ballroom of cloths and crosses. He would, finally, wake up suddenly at dawn, sweated and believing he should be capable of holding his desperate heart right between his bare hands to keep it quiet and calm.

   “Brother, shhhh…”, her voice was as low as a muffled murmur, just like her palms were impossibly light on his forehead. With a smile, she added “It’s just a bad dream, you silly.”

   “Lucrezia?”, the name came out of his lips in the form of a blessing. Sometimes he would dare to believe he actually enjoyed having those nightmares, so when he would wake up, he would feel a somber, but delightful relief. Not even nowadays, though, he ever dares to finally admit his favorite part was opening his eyes and seeing her.

   “Help me…”, she ordered shortly, lifting her arms high so he could grab her from the side of the bed and bring her to his lap. He knew she could already climb it by herself, he knew she wanted him to help her, he knew good brothers desired their siblings to be strong and independent. But not him, not her.

   “And how come you are awake, little sis? If mom finds out… ”, he smirked, playfully poking her nose and causing her to laugh loud, not that any of them cared about their nightly talks.

   “You’re the big boy, but I’m the one afraid of nooothing, you know!” She rested her head on his chest and dangled her small feet fast, softly hitting his legs.

   Cesare could bet.

_________


   ‘There’s time enough for... pleasure.’ He doesn’t trust Sforza. He still doesn’t feel ready to let her go. He’s certain he’ll miss the sound of her breath.

   When Cesare comes back to Lucrezia’s room, he tries not to wake her. His steps are tiny and so desperate to hide the clumsiness of his heavy boots; his hands are closely attached to his body, so he’s sure they won’t bump into the curtains, the flowers, the vases, the veils, the wood, the glasses, the wine, the irritating decoration the maids put together for his sister’s first night with her new husband.

   He smiles imperceptibly when he glances at her chest rising and falling as he remembers her breathing as his perfect lullaby during those nights in which she would wake him from his troubles and deliver him back to peace and profound sleep. He shakes his head when he finds himself thinking of how her breasts must look under the intricate fabric of the wedding dress.

   “Thank you for bringing me here.” Lucrezia startles him, yet her voice is still husky and very low.

   “It’s been a long day. I did not mean to disturb you, forgive me, my love.” He feels almost guilty of spoiling her precious rest and turns to leave.

   “Stay. Come and lay here with me, brother.” And then she’s the happy girl again, grinning and stretching her hands inviting him to sit next to her. When he does sit, she spreads herself against his whole body, forcing him to lie down completely.

   “You are leaving tomorrow morning…” He tries not to sound sad. He fails.
  
   “Yes.” She mumbles briefly, her fingers lazily promenading on top of his vest, picking and pinching the details of the velvet buttons, while his hands tenderly and softly caress her long curls, paying special attention to the hair at the base of her neck.

   “I can’t even explain how much I’ll miss you, Lucrezia.” He’s serious now, dark and angry; his voice rough and dangerous and almost unrecognizable.

   “You lied to me, brother”, she says abruptly, and receiving his confused and startled look as a response, continues, biting her lips nervously and sincerely asking herself if she should go on “… about Abelard and Heloise.”

   “Oh...?” He’s relieved, though. He feared she might have found out about Djem.

   “I asked Giulia and she told me their story. Their love was not pure, was it, Cesare? They even had a child together…”, it was not a cruel question. She was teasing him just like she always did. Her legs, already tangled in his, find a way to get even closer. Cesare could swear he felt her hands now rested at a small unclothed part of his belly, where the vest might have come out of place when he opened his arms to accommodate her figure next to him, and could swear they were a bit hotter than usual.

   “Donna Giulia told you that?” Only once he had felt this embarrassed: his mother caught him hiding the dozen broken red pieces of one of her favorite earrings that he dropped by accident when going through her things trying to find his little wooden soldier that she had hidden as a punishment for a previous misbehavior. She asked what he was holding and he quickly walked away, hastily saying those were berries. But they clearly glistered as only stones could and he felt so ridiculous and trapped.

   “She did.” He was blushing and he knew she could notice it. Her soothing breath was now discretely faster and louder.

   “Well, you should not—“, abruptly she silences him with a ‘shh’, laughing coyly. She reaches for his chin and caresses it for some time, eventually replacing her fingers with her lips. A light and chaste, but defiant kiss.

   He remembers the shame right after seeing his mother’s disappointed look, but also remembers standing still for a minute, then heading to a table directly in front of her, stopping by it and slowly dropping the shattered pieces of ruby, one by one, swallowing hard and staring directly into her eyes. Yes, he had destroyed her earrings by accident, no, he would not try to deny it anymore.

   Cesare soon took her face into his hands and placed a kiss on her lips. He spread his legs wider, taking her small figure in between his thighs. But he didn’t dare to open his mouth, it was a long, heavy, but sealed kiss wrapped by their breathless lungs and audible heart pulses and by her warm hips resting by his waist.

   “Promise me… You will visit me.” She pleaded, her brows furrowed and her lips touching his as she pronounced each word.

   “I will, my love.” He smiled and caressed her hair, while she laid down on his chest again, sighting.
 
   “I wonder how my new bedroom will be like, brother… I must say I am scared…”, she admitted, looking shyly at her fingernails.
 
   Cesare could bet.