The Dark Heart of Florence Tasha Alexander (novels for beginners .TXT) 📖

enhancing my natural color, while the hat protected my face from getting burned. “Not just the ancients, mind you, but anything popular as well. No more Boccaccio. The Decameron is sinful.”

“Delightfully sinful, I’d say.”

“There’s nothing amusing in any of this, Mina. What are we to do? Sit back and let this deranged man destroy the culture of learning and the open exchange of ideas that has so long defined our city?”

“No, we can’t do that. I’m doing my bit. You know I’ve had copies of books printed and I’m now tutoring Bia’s friends, teaching them Latin and Greek, exposing them to humanist ideas. They will be armed with knowledge that, when they are adults, will help them prevent more men like Savonarola from gaining power.”

“He must be exposed as a charlatan.”

“I don’t like him any more than you, but I do think he’s sincere.”

“Which makes him all the more dangerous,” Cristofano said. “He appeals to the masses, those who felt excluded by the elite, but what is he actually doing for them? The city is on the verge of bankruptcy. He cares about nothing beyond his quest to reform the church. We were wise to have banned the clergy from our government and will regret having allowed him in.”

“What can be done to stop him?” I asked.

“I wish I knew.”

“I have my grandfather’s books, and I shall never give them up, no matter how many times his Bands of Hope come to my door.”

“You can hide away as many copies as you like, Mina, but what good will that do in the end? If they can’t be read and discussed, they are as lost to us as they were before men like your grandfather rescued them from dusty monastic libraries.”

“It’s better than losing them altogether.”

He dropped onto the chair next to mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. Preserving them is essential. It complements what you’re doing with Bia and her friends.”

“Savonarola is one man. He cannot hold power forever, and whoever comes next won’t be such a zealot. So long as we can outlast him, we will see Florence once again blossom as a cradle of ideas.” I watched him as he stood and started to pace back and forth along the roof. “You’re very agitated today. Is it more than politics?”

He sighed. “It is. My father wants me to marry. I suppose I can’t avoid it forever. He’s identified a potential bride and is negotiating with her family.”

This was unexpected. “Who is she?”

“Maddalena Bandini. Do you know her?”

I shook my head. “You know how little I socialize with ladies.”

“She’s beautiful. Wealthy. Cultured. Intelligent. It could be worse.”

“So you will agree to the marriage?”

“I can’t fight it forever.”

My stomach clenched. I did not like the idea of a married Cristofano.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked, frustrated.

“How would you have me respond?” I struggled to keep my voice from shaking. “It’s not for me to tell you what to do.”

“You’re closer to me than anyone,” he said. “I trust you absolutely and value your companionship above all. I know your aversion to marrying again, but can you honestly tell me you have never considered a life with me? I’m confident we could find much pleasure in each other.”

My skin prickled. I knew all too well the dangers of that sort of pleasure. I looked out across the city, not wanting to see his face. I thought about how the intimacy Giacomo and I had shared changed everything between us in an instant. “I’ve never sought that from you.”

“Which doesn’t preclude you from considering it now.”

“Is this a roundabout way of asking me to marry you? If so, I must beg you to stop.”

“Am I so repulsive?”

“Nothing about you is repulsive,” I said. “The problem is me. I have secrets that I can never share. Secrets that you could never accept, that would destroy everything between us. They stem from things that happened in my past, things about which I will never be able to speak. They would change forever how you see me and make it impossible for you to hold me in any esteem.” Since Agnolo’s death, I had taken to wearing my half of the St. Anthony medal around my neck, tucked behind my bodice. Right now it felt as if it were searing my skin.

“Nothing could ever do that, Mina.”

“If you can’t respect my judgment on the matter, how could you ever trust me as your wife?”

“Will you at least consider my offer before rejecting me? Surely I deserve at least that.”

He was deserving of that much and more, but I saw no kindness in pretending I might change my mind. False hope did not offer solace. I said nothing.

“I must marry,” he said, rising from his chair. “Your refusal means I might as well accept my father’s decision and ally myself to Maddalena. Doing so will change our friendship forever. Wouldn’t you rather—”

“I would rather that nothing change.”

“The world does not work that way.” He stood in front of me, blocking the sun, and pulled me to my feet. I did not look up at him until he took me by the chin and forced me to do so. “I would make you a good husband and Bia a good stepfather. Mina, please, you’re making this far more complicated than it needs to be. We can—”

“There’s nothing more to be said. I’m very sorry, but I will never marry again.”

He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and held it before releasing the air. I thought he was going to speak again, but he did not. Instead, he opened his eyes and met mine, standing immobile, staring at me. He shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked away.

My heart broke a thousand times as I watched him go, but not for a moment was I tempted to call him back. I would never have another friend so dear, but I’d survived before without him, and I would do so again. He would