Work Text:
The Better Man
"We can't afford one another Maffio. We are both courtiers, singing for our supper," I say and as I stand up, Maffio snorts, "of course."
That snort stops me. He's looking at me with unreadable eyes and though his lips are still upturned in a smirk, he seems anything but happy. Far from it, I can see traces of anger in those pretty eyes. Maffio has always been a handsome man, not as handsome as Marco but more charming.
He is probably waiting for me to sit down but I don't do that. So he continues, "spoken like a true whore. Did I say anything about sleeping with me? I want to take you out to dinner. I want to court you."
I stare at him. I stare at him, open-mouthed. No man has ever wanted to court me, fuck me yes but not court me. Why would they? I don't have dowry or good standing. I am a daughter of a whore and I am condemned to the same fate as my mother.
I am not the only one who's staring though. He was not exactly quiet. Everyone in the ballroom heard him. So, everyone is staring. I wonder why he's mocking me like this. The one thing I'll never have is someone whom I can call my husband. No one will ever want to court me. I am far too damaged for that because what he said was true, wasn't it?
I have seen most of the men in this room with their pants down.
Maffio continues mockingly, that infuriating smirk still there on his face, "I want to make you my wife and I want to do it properly. Or maybe - maybe you would rather be my dear cousin's private slut. That could be arranged, Veronica. You don't have to fuck this entire city to prove a point to my cousin, to a man who doesn't care about you or your point, who doesn't care about anything except what's under your expensive dress. Or maybe you care more about these riches."
I keep on staring at him. It's like the time has stopped.
"Sit down, Veronica," he says in a much softer tone. The way he says my name is way different from others. There's desire there, yes but there's something else too, something that I don't want to understand right now. I don't want to get my hopes up. Men are cruel and he's a man. This could all be an elaborate way of mocking me, of showing my place.
I do not sit down. Instead, I snap at him, "Marco loves me. He just couldn't-"
Maffio's bark of laughter stops me from continuing, "couldn't what, Veronica."
Everyone is very still. Even the dancer on the Dias has stopped to stare at us.
"Couldn't go against the will of his parents? Couldn't marry out of his station?" Maffio says, his arms crossed, his bright eyes fixed on me, not caring what others might think of the declaration he has just made. Or maybe, everyone is included in this joke. Very slowly, I gaze around the room. All the men seem surprised and the whores seem jealous, their eyes hard and lips set in a straight line.
My eyes travel back to Maffio. I try to search for some kind of anger or deceit in them. All I see is a gentleness that I have never seen in the eyes of any other man before.
"My poor Veronica," he begins and I cut him off, "I'm not yours."
But he continues as if I hadn't even spoken, "did you think that he loved you. He loves the sex."
The silence of the room breaks. No one, absolutely no one speaks this word in public and Maffio places a finger on his lips mockingly before muttering, "hawww, I said the word," his mocking eyes travelling around the room before they fix on me again. Everyone is whispering and by tomorrow morning, the word will spread.
"What if I prove that he doesn't love you, what then. Don't you think that he would have gone against the family if he loved you? Do you think my parents want me to court you, much less declare it in this ballroom?"
"You cannot prove that. He loves me," I say sharply and even to my ears, the words sound hollow.
"I have to go," I murmur. The fight has left me. The false promise of a husband, a family, a child is too much for me.
"Au revoir, mon chéri," he calls loudly as I stalk out of the ballroom, my gown on my hands and my eyes suspiciously wet.
XXXX
She is in the garden, giving a reading of her poems when Maffio decides to intrude. He seems wasted but Veronica knows better. He's just acting.
He insults his uncle by saying that he didn't believe his uncle was still capable of getting it up and Veronica senses hatred in his tone. He insults Veronica too but that's probably the part of the act because next, she knows is that she's rising to his bait and duelling with him and of course, he's better at duelling than her.
In the end, when he gets punched by Marco, he looks at her for just a moment, a tiny moment when his lips upturn in a smile and then the smile is gone as if it was never there.
He is supposedly sent off to lick his wounds elsewhere. Veronica can see through the act though. He probably enjoyed duelling more than the exchange of verses.
As for Marco, he follows her home.
He kisses me passionately, and then scoops me up and carries me to the bed.
Only after we are done, does Maffio come up.
"You are not thinking about Maffio's proposal still, are
you?" He asks quietly. I stare at the ceiling. I love Marco so much that it hurts sometimes.
"Well, you are never going to marry me. Maybe I should say yes to him," I mutter.
There's a pause, a loaded pause after which Marco speaks up, "tonight is too many hours away?"
I close my eyes because it does hurt. It seems that he cares about nothing else.
"My affections aren't mine to give you tonight. I have mouths to feed like you."
"I'll support you," he says.
"There'll be no money between us," I reply.
"So, you will continue this life. I love you. I do, no matter what Maffio says."
"I have no choice," I murmur.
"You do have a choice."
I fall silent. Yes, I do have a choice. Choice has presented itself in the form of Maffio.
"Don't ask of me what you can't give yourself. Your wife is waiting," I reply quietly.
"Please, just let me support you," he says.
My heart breaks at this. It hurts so much.
"So, you would have me as your private whore but you couldn't marry me," I mumble in a low voice. He sighs, gets up and leaves the room.
I don't go out of my room that night. Mother knocks on the door and so does my brother but I don't open it. It all seems unfair to me, Maffio's offer, Marco's betrayal and mother's intent of making me a whore.
I don't leave my room the next day. The next night, however, I am invited to a banquet so I get ready to go there. I tell myself that I am not going to see Maffio. I am going to see Marco.
The moment I walk into the hall, I am approached by Marco's father. He's a senator. Marco is sitting with his wife on a couch and other noblemen are scattered throughout the room with their wives. All of their eyes are on me. Their wives stand silent and jealous and while his father approaches me to buy my affections for tonight, Marco does nothing.
It's Maffio who appears out of nowhere and reaches me before Pietro does.
"There's no need to make a scene, Maffio. I am here to enjoy the evening. Please, don't ruin it for me," I say sharply.
The man smiles before he offers his arm to me. I eye him for a moment before putting my arm around his elbow. He leads me to a couch. He dressed in red and white as usual. He looks nice.
"Have I proven myself yet or do you still believe that he loves you," he asks me, thankfully quietly.
I don't reply. A girl is singing and I look at her, my mind too busy to pay attention to the song she's singing.
Maffio doesn't stop speaking though, "I suppose it wasn't enough. I'm sure he twisted his words to confuse you. You'll have your proof today."
"Even if I say yes, who's to say that you'll marry after you have spent the night with me. Who's to say that you are any different from other men?"
"I don't remember myself asking you to spend the night with me. Don't you think that you are a tad obsessed with sex. Maybe, you enjoy being a slut," he says.
I flinch.
"To clarify, I won't be spending a night with you before I marry you. It's not sex that I need," he says and I'm glad that he's not loud, "it's your companionship that I want and I need you to stop sleeping with everyone in Venice, to stop destroying yourself so thoroughly for your family. I love you."
He says it as if it's just an unimportant fact. But, I know that it's an important step for him. Maffio doesn't lie. He's blunt, practical, witty and painfully honest.
Of course, this is the moment that Marco chooses to interject or maybe Maffio said these words deliberately because he wanted Marco to hear them.
"Go away, Maffio. She's not yours," he snaps, his hands clenched into fists. Maffio, though, keeps on smirking and settles down even more comfortably.
"She'll not marry you," Marco says. Maffio doesn't reply. I stare at Marco. He didn't bother to ask me about what I wanted.
"I can support her. She'll never want for money," Marco continues. Again, the entire room is staring at us. Maffio doesn't speak a word. He just lets Marco dig his own grave.
"Leave," Marco insists, his eyes burning with fury.
"She can leave if she wants that. She did ignore your dear father to come to sit w toith me so you might want to ask her about what she wants," Maffio finally says.
However, when Marco scowls. He's so angry. I suppose Maffio's silent disobedience is more irritating and humiliating for him. He screams angrily before taking out his sword, "I want her to stay away from you and so that's what she'll do. She's mine, my property to do what I want with her. If she must be a slut, then she'll be my slut. She'll never marry anyone else."
That's the last straw. The banquet becomes very silent. The moment Marco realises what he has said, his face becomes very white. His sword falls from his hand. Tears flow down my eyes and on my dress. I look at Maffio but he's staring at the floor so I don't know what he's thinking. I stand up and look silently at Marco.
"I didn't mean it," he says. I don't reply. There's nothing to say.
"I need some time to think about it," I reply to Maffio whose head snaps towards me now. He's surprised for once and if I wasn't so heartbroken, I would have enjoyed surprising him.
"We can talk about it over dinner tomorrow. There's this new Italian restaurant I wanted to take you to. I heard you liked Italian food," he says quickly as if he knows that I have reached my breaking point.
While still looking into Marco's eyes, I answer, "okay."
It seems like the end of an era when I walk away from Marco. Maffio follows me outside and although I feel Marco's eyes on my back, I don't look around.