Never Expect a Vampire Like You

Chapter 12 The Exhibition

The following days in Florence remained relentlessly sunny. Fortunately, the Totti residence stood on the banks of the Arno River, its main entrance facing the street. From her window, Chiara could see vendors hawking their wares, cheerful young men, and women in brightly patterned dresses strolling past below. In the distance, dockworkers were loading crates onto cargo ships bound for other cities.

Without stepping foot outside, she could observe the kaleidoscope of human existence.

Chiara nodded in satisfaction, sipping her wine cooled with ice cubes.

To the others in the Totti household, however, this young lady from the Vatican seemed quite unlike the typical young woman of the Apennine Peninsula. Initially suspected of sharing the haughty and aloof demeanor of other Vatican lords and ladies, they later found her remarkably amiable. This led them to weave a tragic narrative: a delicate little cabbage, orphaned of her mother at a tender age, living quietly with her father amidst lively and accomplished siblings, enduring neglect. And now, this little cabbage, having braved hardships to visit her mother in Florence, was callously turned away at the door.

Bearing such misfortune, yet still facing the world with a smile.

The three servants of the Totti residence were profoundly moved by their own imagined tale of Chiara's sorrows. Consequently, they exerted every effort to ensure the young lady from the Vatican felt the warmth of family.

Chiara remained blissfully unaware of their elaborate fiction.

She spent her days within the Totti residence, watching the city through her window, reading to Marco, climbing to Martina's window in the evenings, and counting the days until summer's end. Then, she would endure the jolting carriage ride back across the Apennines to the Vatican.

The three servants, who had initially regarded her with some wariness, had somehow begun to orbit around her. Following the first invitation to the Central Market, they now showered her with increasingly peculiar propositions.

Lisa would timidly ask if she wanted to visit the public baths across the street; Silvio informed her that a very famous noble lady had recently become the president of an artists' society and suggested Chiara could become one too; even Arturo, while preparing to stake out the Palazzo della Signoria for a chance to speak to his beloved, enthusiastically invited Chiara to join him in "beauty stalking."

Chiara: "..."

She declined each offer and patted Marco's fluffy head. "I'll stay home and keep Marco company."

Marco looked up at her, blue eyes brimming with excitement.

Florence baked under the summer sun for many days. When the pasta drying on the terraces across the river had been harvested and laid out several times over, Chiara awoke one morning to find no trace of sunlight filtering through the blinds of her window.

Dressing and opening her door, she saw a light drizzle falling into the courtyard, creating ripples on the surface of the fountain.

Florence was raining again.

Silvio and Arturo were carrying down the pasta trays they had placed on the third-floor terrace the day before. Descending the stairs, they sighed. "It's drizzling today. Who knows if the exhibition at Santa Croce will still go ahead as planned."

Chiara, intending to find Marco down the other corridor, overheard their muttering. She stopped and called after their retreating backs, "Is there an exhibition at Santa Croce today?"

The Basilica of Santa Croce was Florence's largest Franciscan church. Designed and built starting in the 13th century, it was said to have been commissioned by Saint Francis himself to rival the Dominicans' Santa Maria Novella, though it wasn't completed and consecrated until a few decades prior. Flanking the main chapel were sixteen smaller family chapels funded by Florentine noble families, each adorned with exquisite frescoes by Giotto and his pupils.

Besides religious functions, Santa Croce also hosted art exhibitions. Over a decade ago, it held an exhibition of Verrocchio's works, attended by Lorenzo de' Medici and the then Gonfaloniere of Justice, Uberto Alberti. It was during this very exhibition that Ezio Auditore, the surviving second son of the Auditore family, cloaked in white, assassinated Uberto in the crowded courtyard of Santa Croce.

"This exhibition was proposed by the young Medici," Arturo said, his face lighting up at the mention of the Medici name as if all the sunlight blocked by Florence's clouds had suddenly shone upon him. "You know, Botticelli has always been sponsored by the Medici. He painted many masterpieces commissioned by the family, but they were all kept in the various Medici villas. The young Medici felt Botticelli's works should be seen by more people, so he decided to bring the family collection out for display in the Pazzi Chapel on the south side of Santa Croce for one day."

Silvio teased, "Hearing you praise Botticelli so highly, have you forgotten Monica, who swore she'd marry none other than Botticelli?"

"While that still stings a little," Arturo retorted with conviction, "in studying painting, I've come to recognize Signore Botticelli's true brilliance. As an art enthusiast, I naturally hold him in the highest esteem."

After their playful exchange, they exchanged glances and asked Chiara, "Are you interested, Signorina Chiara?"

Chiara glanced at the sky. Thick clouds hung over the courtyard. This weather suited her perfectly for going out. After so many days, the Central Market had likely forgotten the golden-haired girl who scaled walls. She nodded. "I am somewhat interested."

Partly because the exhibition featured Botticelli's work, and partly because of the venue itself.

When Riccardo learned Chiara had finally decided to venture out, he smiled so widely his eyes crinkled. Rubbing his hands together excitedly, he said, "Martina will be so pleased to hear you're willing to go out. Shall I accompany you? Introduce you to some people?"

Chiara immediately took a step back, waving her hands dismissively with a dry laugh. "Oh, I'm just going for a casual stroll. There's no need to trouble yourself."

...She had no desire to become a spectacle in Florence again due to her identity as the Totti family's illegitimate daughter.

Rebuffed, Riccardo shifted on his feet. "Well, many nobles will likely attend this exhibition. Should you dress up a bit?... Why are your hair down? Let Lisa style it for you?"

Chiara took another step back. "No need. It's cold with the rain. Leaving it down is fine."

This time, her hairstyle and attire were completely different from her Central Market escapade. She usually tied her hair back with a beaded chain, but now, like Lucrezia, she let it flow freely, securing it only with a satin ribbon.

She absolutely had to distance herself from the wall-scaling image from the market.

Riccardo's hopes of dressing her up dashed, he sighed regretfully. "Alright then. Be careful."

By the time Chiara set off with the three servants, it was nearly noon. The morning drizzle had ceased, leaving only layers of heavy, threatening clouds. Florence's uneven cobblestones were pockmarked with puddles of varying depths, reflecting the figures of passersby.

Santa Croce lay in the San Marco district. Getting there from the Totti residence required crossing the Ponte Vecchio, then walking southeast along the Arno for a considerable distance.

Riccardo had intended to go to the bank and offered Chiara a ride. The suggestion made her temple twitch; she had no desire to arrive at the crowded Piazza Santa Croce in the Totti family's crested carriage. She politely declined, citing her wish to walk and see the sights of Florence now that she was finally out. She stood at the door, bidding farewell to a slightly dejected Riccardo (rejected thrice) and a reluctant Marco, who was being taken along to learn about banking.

Only when Chiara truly began traversing Florence on foot did she realize the distance was significant. Fortunately, the three young Totti servants kept her company, chatting animatedly around her. Their banter constantly made her laugh, making the long walk far from boring.

By the time the four ambled into the Piazza Santa Croce, despite the cool weather, fine beads of sweat glistened on everyone's foreheads.

Santa Croce was one of Florence's rare Gothic structures. Its white facade faced a vast rectangular piazza bearing the same name.

The Piazza Santa Croce teemed with people. Franciscan friars in their robes preached from various corners amidst the throng. Groups of elegantly dressed nobles made their way towards the church on the eastern side. Even in the alleyway leading to the Pazzi Chapel, three or four brightly dressed courtesans solicited clients.

While Chiara focused on the architecture and the human tapestry, the three Totti youngsters scanned the crowd for local celebrities, frequently tugging at Chiara's sleeve to whisper, "That's from the Baroncelli family," "That's the former Gonfaloniere of Justice," "That's the Peruzzi family's daughter."

By the time they reached the entrance of the Pazzi Chapel, Chiara had seen a parade of Florence's nobility. Unlike her photographic memory for books, her recall for faces was notoriously vague. Consequently, not a single one of these distinguished Florentine nobles stuck in her mind.

As she stepped beneath the colonnade surrounding the Pazzi Chapel courtyard, she heard Lisa's hushed, then rapidly escalating exclamation: "M-miss! Look! It's the young Medici... Oh my heavens! Signor Volturi! That's Signor Volturi!" By the end, she'd forgotten to whisper, drawing the attention of several people nearby discussing contemporary artists.

Chiara had heard the surname Volturi mentioned by Lisa and Silvio on her very first day in Florence; it seemed to be the object of every Florentine maiden's current infatuation. Hearing Lisa's barely contained excitement piqued Chiara's curiosity about this universal heartthrob. She followed Lisa's pointing finger.

Across the courtyard of the Pazzi Chapel, rows of imposing Romanesque columns stood like a stern screen, partially obscuring the slow-moving figures within the loggia. People came and went, faces unfamiliar. Yet, beside one column stood two young men who, amidst the bustle, seemed to emit their own light, making them stand out distinctly.

One was slightly shorter, with black hair and eyes, dressed opulently. He was leaning in, conversing with a somewhat portly middle-aged man. Beside him stood a tall, golden-haired youth. Unlike other nobles who seemed intent on draping themselves in the rarest fabrics and most precious gems, he wore simple attire that somehow managed to exude both aristocratic grace and an air of casual elegance.

He had been listening to the conversation between the dark-haired youth and the older man, his brow slightly furrowed with impatience. Then, as if sensing eyes upon him, he turned his head slightly. His deep brown eyes, glimmering like rubies and holding a trace of sharpness, locked directly with Chiara's gaze.

Being caught staring was universally ranked among life's most awkward moments. Yet Chiara didn't immediately look away. In truth, she was too stunned to remember to dissemble.

Despite the change in attire, she recognized him instantly.

It was the vampire hunter who had saved her life that night.