CHAPTER 15 #3
She stepped down with unsteady feet, and Lorenzo made a move to approach, but Botticelli was already quick on his feet, meeting her halfway.
“Hedy—finally, you’re back,” he laughed, “You’re truly as striking and beautiful as the goddess Aglaea now.”
She smiled and embraced him, allowing him to kiss the back of her hand.
Botticelli glanced at the empty carriage but didn’t ask why Da Vinci hadn’t come back with her.
He handed her a cup of warm wine, and the lady of the house next to them greeted her with a smile. The group then slowly walked back together through the flickering lights.
The man, leaning on his cane, cast a detached glance at the crescent moon beside the cloud layers. After a long while, he let out a quiet sigh.
His eyes, like the depths of a still lake, still rippled as he watched her retreating figure.
——
Da Vinci tried to continue living as he had before during the days she was gone, but he didn't succeed.
He had actually known what the word "loss" meant at a very young age, but after such a long time, suddenly seeing her leave without a word after becoming emotionally invested, he found himself wanting to deny it.
He comforted himself by telling himself that Hedy was just going to Florence to help out, and that there was no need for him to worry too much.
However, the journey from Milan to Florence alone took twenty days round-trip, not to mention the time spent on other matters afterwards.
On the first day, he pretended to be carefree as he went to the Sforza Palace to continue working on the design of the stairs and towers, spending the entire day alone.
That night, however, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, the emptiness feeling as though a wound had suddenly appeared somewhere, making him pause for a few seconds with every breath.
By the next morning, his first thought upon waking up was—
When will Hedy return?
She still needed seven or eight days to reach Florence, right—
Once that thought entered his mind, the sense of grievance and unwillingness began to spiral upwards like a creeping vine.
Such a long journey, and yet, they could have traveled together, playing the piano and singing along the way. They could have talked all night, couldn't they?
By the fifth day, Da Vinci had started to consider writing her a letter, or perhaps riding after her to catch up.
That hidden wound of his, each day—no, each second—was becoming more and more prominent.
It was as if his heart was tied to a thin string, with the other end fastened to her wrist.
As her carriage rattled along, he could always feel that pull.
Botticelli had once talked to him about such matters, and now, they were happening so vividly.
"Love isn't something you can learn, Leonardo." There was both pity and envy in his eyes, and his tone was rather complex.
"You can only feel it and experience it, like a wind you cannot avoid."
As Da Vinci rolled around on his bed hugging his pillow, he finally realized the truth of that feeling.
It turned out that these things were entirely different from the poetic, passionate descriptions in love poems.
He had once thought that love was like a drunken stupor—two people madly and irrationally infatuated with each other, then greedily and wildly enjoying one another, just like the men and women he had seen, indistinguishable from one another.
But now, alone as if guarding an isolated island in the courtyard, he only felt more unease, anxiety, and longing.
The feeling of longing was like an inescapable net.
He began to dream of her frequently.
Sometimes, he would dream of her sitting on a bench in the garden, holding a large bouquet of roses in her arms.
Other times, he would dream of Hedy standing outside the bedroom window, teasing a white cat with a smile on her face.
Hedy...
As he fell into a deep sleep at midnight, he suddenly heard a sound.
It seemed as though the bed curtains were being lifted, and a familiar figure appeared beside him.
It was you...
He could even recognize her footsteps.
"You... you're back?" Leonardo sat up, confused, instinctively wanting to apologize.
Damn it, he had been a bit angry earlier—shouldn't he be questioning her properly?
Why did she leave so suddenly?
Didn't you say you would always stay by my side?
No letters after such a long time, you liar.
But as he looked at her, he could only surrender and apologize by lowering his head. "Hedy... I didn’t mean to deny you earlier."
"In the future, let's talk things through before making any decisions. Don’t leave for so long without coming back, okay?"
She smiled softly and slowly sat beside him.
Perhaps it was the closeness that made him feel awkward and restless, yet deep down, he felt a strange sense of joy and pleasure.
It was as if he had suddenly been soothed.
She still cared about him, didn’t she?
"Hedy..." he murmured her name, watching as the moonlight draped over her like a delicate veil.
She was so beautiful that he could stare at her motionless all night long.
In her light blue eyes, a tender expression appeared, and her cool hand suddenly rested on his cheek.
He froze for a moment, and his heart began to yearn for more.
Hug me, won't you?
It was as if she could hear his desire, like a siren drawn to his longing.
But she didn’t hug him. Instead, she slowly leaned down, bringing her face closer to his.
Hedy...
He was stunned, not daring to move, quietly waiting for everything to unfold.
The kiss was cold yet pure, so beautiful it made him want to sigh.
Instinctively, Da Vinci reached out to hold her waist, lowering his eyes and exchanging that kiss again.
He had never had such contact with her before, yet this kiss was deep and lingering.
The agitation in his heart flared up again, like a beast that could not be calmed.
He wanted more. He wanted to hold her tighter, kiss her long lashes, her cheek, everything about her...
The feeling of holding her soft body in his arms was like holding a cloud.
He felt her shallow breath, the softness of her lips, and his breath began to quicken, filled with pleasure.
He wanted to hold her hand, but he couldn’t find it.
Just then, an untimely knock on the door sounded from afar.
"Mr. Da Vinci," the servant asked, "What would you like to have for breakfast this morning?"
He snapped back to reality, suddenly realizing that the sun had risen.
There was nothing beside his bed. That kiss had never happened.
She still hadn’t come back.
"Mr. Da Vinci?" The servant seemed a little concerned and knocked again. "You didn’t eat anything yesterday afternoon or evening. Surely you’d like some oatmeal today?"
The man buried his face in the pillow and let out a long, mournful groan.
When Atalante finally finished his business in the West and reunited with his pregnant wife before coming back to find Hedy, he discovered Da Vinci in his absent-minded state.
The boy had already started to be referred to as Sarai by the servants—probably because Da Vinci hadn’t been paying much attention to him lately. The boy had broken several bowls and wine bottles, which made the doorman show clear signs of irritation whenever he mentioned him.
Atalante didn’t care why the boy was acting so pitiful; he simply called Da Vinci into the studio.
"What's wrong with you, Leonardo?" he asked.
The artist tried to act like everything was fine. "I’m healthy. There’s nothing wrong."
"Really?" The boy scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You’re just one step away from standing in the theater, hugging a pillar, and singing an aria. How long has it been since you last cleaned out your paint boxes? You just use them up and never clean them."
Da Vinci wanted to deny it, but he was also a little annoyed.
Because she had left, he had no one to be angry with, and so he had bottled everything up silently for days.
"Hedy had to leave for something. She’ll be back," he muttered.
"Will she?" the boy shot back. "What happened between you two?"
"When I got back to Milan, I found she left without even finishing the handover at the ranch and the workshop. It was almost like she ran away," Da Vinci explained. Atalante emphasized, "Did you force her? Or did you do something worse?"
Da Vinci hadn’t expected him to think along those lines. He rubbed his brow and explained everything that had happened.
"She'll be back soon," he repeated. "I'll just wait a few more days."
The boy listened to all this, covering his face and staying silent for a long time.
"Leonardo, my dear Leonardo," he said, almost amused. "Have you really never had contact with a woman before?"
Da Vinci looked offended and retorted, "After all this time with us, don’t you think you should know by now?"
That was it.
The boy gave him a look of pity, shaking his head. "She’s mad at you."
"She’s mad at me?" Da Vinci was surprised. "Why?"
Atalante, considering how long he had known Da Vinci and the fact that he had once been his teacher, chose not to walk away in frustration.
"Leonardo," he said, pressing his hand on his shoulder to look him directly in the eye, "you need to understand, not many women like to take care of such a troublesome child, especially when they have no connection to them."
He gave him a serious look. "And if you're the one indulging in all this trouble, it will only make her subconsciously want to distance herself from you."
Da Vinci’s thoughts lingered on the previous statement: She’s mad at me?
"Of course, she's angry!" Atalante replied.
"But she never showed any signs of being upset or scolded me." Da Vinci anxiously tried to explain. "She didn't even furrow her brow once. Atalante, are you overthinking this?"
"That's because she's always been very composed, and she’s lost her expectations of you," Atalante said with a deep breath, almost wanting to shake the sense out of his teacher’s head.
"Leonardo, you can be a big boy in front of her, but what women really need is a mature man."