The Vampire and the Pope's Illegitimate Daughter

Chapter 6

After Giorgia finally managed to finish the oversized plate of pasta Riccardo had prepared, the elderly maid responsible for taking care of Martina knocked on Giorgia's door. In her old, slow voice, she informed Giorgia that the lady of the house was awake and eager to meet her long-lost daughter.

At that moment, Giorgia was reclining on a Dante chair inside her room, flipping through a copy of *The Odyssey* and narrating Odysseus's adventures to Marco. Marco, seated on a small golden stool beside Giorgia, had his hands cupped around his cheeks, eyes wide with fascination as he listened intently.

The books Giorgia had brought, including *The Decameron*, *Phaedrus*, and *Nicomachean Ethics*, did not interest Marco in the slightest. He had scampered back to his room, returning moments later clutching a copy of *The Odyssey*, and looked at Giorgia with hopeful eyes.

Under such an onslaught of eagerness, even with her stomach uncomfortably full, Giorgia patted her belly, picked up the book, and began telling stories to her little brother.

After receiving the old maid's message, she closed the book and once again suppressed a burp that was threatening to escape her throat. Maintaining her perfect, polite smile, she looked down at Marco and gently asked, "Shall we continue the story later?"

Marco obediently nodded and added, "Mama l-likes carnations."

Giorgia was taken aback, and her smile grew warmer. "Thank you, Marco."

Marco blinked and then lowered his head, saying softly, "You’re welcome."

Carnations were very popular among Italians, commonly used as courtyard and garden decorations. Giorgia had noticed several pots of carnations by the fountain when she first entered the Totti residence. It was the end of their blooming season, and they weren't as vibrant as during their prime. Still, Giorgia circled the fountain, plucking a pink carnation that seemed to be in the best condition and hid it up her loose, open sleeve.

Martina’s room was on the third floor, likely a choice Riccardo had made to ensure her peace and quiet during her convalescence. It was the only occupied room on that floor. Though today all the servants, except for the elderly maid, had gone to the Lord's Square for the festival, leaving the mansion desolate, the third floor held a different kind of quietness compared to the rest of the house.

As Giorgia approached the door, she heard Riccardo gently ask if Martina’s head was still hurting. At this moment, Riccardo’s tenderness was distinct from how he spoke to Marco—though Giorgia couldn’t see his face, she could imagine the unmistakable look of care in his drooping eyes from his cautious tone.

After he finished asking, a female voice replied, "Not with you around." The voice was somewhat weak, but lacked the lifelessness of someone long ill; there was even a hint of playfulness in her tone.

"If that's the case, then I'll stay by your side forever," Riccardo replied, laughing.

Giorgia promptly paused her steps, unwilling to intrude on this tender moment.

She had once overheard Rodrigo’s sweet nothings to Vannozza and to Julia.

With Vannozza, who was gentle and virtuous, Rodrigo presented himself as a man struggling in the treacherous currents of the church. Vannozza, upon seeing the exhaustion in his eyes, would be overwhelmed with sympathy—cooking him delicious meals, giving him massages, and becoming his place of comfort, his safe harbor.

With young, beautiful Julia, Rodrigo played the role of an elder scholar full of knowledge and humor. He provided her with the best material comforts, showered her with affection in front of the entire Vatican, satisfying her vanity. When she was confused or troubled, he was there to clear the fog and solve her issues.

An old saying goes, "Adapt your teaching to the student." Rodrigo, in a similar vein, adapted his persona to fit each woman.

In short, Rodrigo’s success with women wasn’t without reason.

Compared to Rodrigo, Riccardo—who had won his bride through his hundred ways of preparing pasta—spoke endearingly simple love words that didn’t seem very Italian. But their sincerity moved Giorgia, whose romantic experiences in both her lives were quite mundane.

She even felt guilty about picking one of his garden’s carnations.

After the conversation between the couple shifted from romance to mundane topics, Giorgia finally lifted her hand, gently knocking on the door with her middle finger. The conversation inside abruptly stopped. A few seconds later, Riccardo opened the door, smiling, "Giorgia is here."

Giorgia nodded, smiling back at Riccardo as she instinctively tucked the carnation deeper into her sleeve.

Martina's room faced away from the street, likely to ensure a quiet environment for her recovery. Though this made it more tranquil, it also meant the room missed out on the brightest afternoon sunlight, giving the room a dim quality. Despite the shadows, Martina's brilliant golden hair still shone through.

For this mother she had never met, Giorgia's attitude had always been quite nonchalant. But standing before this woman now, she found herself experiencing a sudden and inexplicable emotion.

She attributed it to her admiration for beauty—the feeling one gets when seeing a delicate, fragile beauty in need of sympathy.

Martina was indeed as Vannozza had described—very beautiful, with pale golden hair and fair skin. Though she was weakened by her long illness, making her face paler and her cheeks sunken, these features only served to evoke pity.

But when Martina looked at Giorgia, there was something in her eyes that made Giorgia reconsider her initial judgment. This fragile blonde beauty, seemingly harmless, had a look in her eyes that conveyed an untamed wildness—a paradoxical and compelling combination.

Upon seeing Giorgia, Martina immediately struggled to sit up, using her arms for support. Riccardo, while mumbling, "Martina, wait, don't rush," hurried over, sitting by the window and gently supporting her, letting her lean against him.

"I know you're excited, but please take care of your own health," Riccardo chided gently.

"That's because I know you'd be there to hold me," Martina replied, smiling.

Having had little in the way of romantic experience herself, Giorgia suddenly felt overwhelmed by the affection she was witnessing.

Thankfully, the couple soon ended their tender exchange. Leaning against Riccardo, Martina looked Giorgia up and down with her lively blue eyes. Her gaze wasn't intrusive but rather seemed as if she were studying a cherished treasure she had recovered, afraid of missing anything.

Giorgia found herself somewhat embarrassed by her gaze. She stepped forward, approaching the foot of the four-poster bed, and saw Martina lift her right hand, hesitate, then shakily lower it again.

Giorgia had expected her to ask about her life all these years. Instead, after a long silence, Martina simply said, "I heard there's a festival at the Lord's Square today. All the young people will be there... You... you should go there."

Giorgia paused, puzzled, while Riccardo seemed to understand something from this brief statement. He patted Martina's shoulder and smiled at Giorgia, saying, "Martina’s right. You should go. The sun came out today. Tonight, you could even go up to the terrace on the third floor and watch the stars."

Giorgia nodded quietly and was about to turn and leave when she suddenly remembered something. She turned back and approached the bed.

On the base of Martina's bed was carved the image of the sea goddess Thetis holding her son Achilles by the ankle, dipping him into the River Styx. It was the origin of a tragic hero's tale, yet also a testament to a mother's love.

Giorgia took the pink carnation she had hidden in her sleeve and placed it beside Martina's pillow. Before Riccardo could say, "This carnation looks familiar," she had already turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

She stood stiffly outside the door for a few minutes before relaxing, leaning against the door as she watched the sun set over the roof across from her. The sunlight gently filled the courtyard.

By evening, the servants of the Totti household who had gone to the Lord's Square for the festival had returned in groups, laughing and joking among themselves. Giorgia, who had been reading in her room, suddenly heard the voices of young men and women outside her door. She unconsciously shifted half of her attention from her book, absentmindedly reading while eavesdropping on the young servants talking about their experiences at the festival. They spoke of beautiful girls and handsome boys, but ultimately their excitement culminated in one sentiment:

"This year's festival was disappointing without Mr. Volturi. Even though young Mr. Medici said Mr. Volturi couldn’t attend due to illness, it’s still a shame. Even if it’s raining, even if Mr. Volturi were just passing by the Lord's Palace, it would be enough to drive everyone mad—that’s what a true festival should be!"

Giorgia raised an eyebrow—so this Mr. Volturi was the popular idol for Florence's young men and women right now.

Every city had its young people with tremendous appeal. In Vatican and Rome, that person was Cesare, while in Florence, it seemed it was this Mr. Volturi.

But... Volturi?

She didn't recall ever hearing about a Volturi family during Adriana's lessons on Italian nobility.

As she tried to remember what she had learned, the boys and girls outside started a new topic.

"I heard that Mrs. Martina's daughter has arrived," one boy said.

Hearing that the conversation had shifted to herself, Giorgia pulled the remaining half of her attention from the book. She put the book down, resting her cheek on her hand as she gazed at the lights coming on one by one on the Ponte Vecchio, listening to the sounds outside.

"If I’m not mistaken, that young lady came from Vatican, right?" a boy said. "I wonder if she’ll be easy to get along with."

"Hopefully she’s as easygoing as the master and mistress," a girl replied.

The boy quickly retorted, "I doubt it. I heard the lords and ladies of Vatican aren’t easy to please, and it’s not uncommon for people to get sent to a brothel for making mistakes. You know, there are many brothels in Rome."

The girl seemed alarmed. "Oh no, I’m so clumsy—what if I make her unhappy and she decides to sell me off? Mrs. Martina dotes on her, so she’d definitely give her the authority to decide!"

Giorgia: "..."

The Totti servants weren’t just free-spirited in their actions—they also had vivid imaginations.

She rubbed her aching temples.

In response to the girl’s anxiety, the boy immediately took on a chivalrous tone, offering a suggestion. "Then let's make sure we get along well with her, so she won’t make things difficult for you."

"How do we make friends with her?" the girl asked eagerly.

"How about we invite her to the upcoming festival?" the boy suggested.

"Great idea!" the girl exclaimed, clapping her hands. "I’ll do her makeup to make her stand out—I bet all the young noblemen in Florence will be smitten!"

Giorgia: "..."

No, I refuse.

The boy continued with increasing enthusiasm, "Young Mr. Medici will be infatuated with her, Botticelli will want to paint her, and even Mr. Volturi might crack a rare smile!"

"Yes, yes! After all, the day she arrived, the month-long rain stopped, and the sun came out. She must be as warm and charming as the sun itself!" the girl added.

Giorgia: "..."

Stop it—your imaginations are getting out of hand! I can't take it anymore! "I’m already excited for the upcoming festival!" the boy was now practically incoherent with excitement.

"Don’t think too far ahead—let’s focus on the present," the girl said, maintaining some semblance of reason.

Giorgia silently gave the girl a thumbs-up in her heart, but after a few seconds of silence, the girl continued, "I bet our lady must be hungry by now. I’ll go make her some pasta... a big serving."

Upon hearing this, Giorgia couldn’t help but let out a burp. "..."