Page 68 of A Dangerous Bargain

The bordello owner ogles his companion’s low-cut bodice, as if appraising a jewel. “I’ve always wondered what would inspire a man to paint instead of possess.”

Bartolomeo smirks at the insult. “If you’re smart, you can have both.”

Gritting my teeth, I pluck a glass of wine off the lion’s-paw table beside us and clink it against Bartolomeo’s. It would be unforgivably rude to snub him, no matter how much I want to. Pitti isn’t the name on my invitation here, so I need to stay forgettable. Pleasant. “It’s very bracing to see you.”

“Bracing?” He frowns like he’s never heard that word before.

“Yes, just like running face-first into a wall.”

He throws back his head and laughs. ’Tis a mean, grating sound, one that makes other people turn and look. I shoot a furtive glance at Niccolo and Lorenzo, but they’re too far away to hear.

“Insult me all you want. I’ve won, and you and da Vinci have lost!”

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s saying. “The wedding commission?”

Bartolomeo won? God, that’s annoying. He’ll be insufferable about it for the rest of our lives. For once, the fact that mine will be so short doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

His smirk turns oily. “You didn’t know? I thought you and da Vinci worked on it together.”

“Verrocchio only let one of us attend today. I’m not here as an artist.” I smile in a way that I hope reads as arrogant and not nervous. I can’t reveal that I don’t know the details about the wedding commission: Bartolomeo might figure out I’m not supposed to be here.

Bartolomeo’s lip curls again. “No. You’re here as a failure.”

I run my tongue along the back of my clenched teeth, holding in the hot words that threaten to spill out. To this crowd, I’ll always be Nico Pitti’s second son, the spare heir who embarrassed him, the artist who fizzled like a wet log and went out before he was nineteen.

The bronze toes of the lion’s-paw table wriggle at me, awfully close to Bartolomeo. Florence’s wealthy love commissioning a magicked walking table for parties. Unfortunately, lion’s feet develop a mind of their own and become more likely to trip people than listen to them.

Bartolomeo doesn’t notice. He’s already turning away with a horrible, gloating smirk. Fighting with him would be foolish, but ruining his night just a little bit… I give the table a nod and leave.

There’s a hollow thunk of someone tripping, followed by a satisfying crash and scandalized gasps. I bite the pad of my thumb to keep from smiling, not daring to turn around.

You know someone’s being a stronzo if even the art begs you to bully them.

“I shouldn’t encourage you,” a familiar voice says. “But I love it when you put Bartolomeo Rucellai in his place.”

Leonardo’s grin stops my heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Leonardo is here.

He’s wearing his favorite pink tunic, except someone has found him a jewel-crusted doublet to wear over it. I have a horrible, certain feeling I’ve seen the doublet hanging in Verrocchio’s workshop. My voice drops to a scandalized whisper. “Did you steal that?”

He loops his arm through mine. “All in good time, Virgil, all in good time.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

He leads me around a fountain and into a loggia, its ceiling clustered with fragrant jasmine. Flower petals rain on his hair and shoulders like little stars. “And yet, here I am.” The smile he gives me is sly, and it makes my chest squeeze so tight, I could burst.

“Why?” I was dreadful to protect him, and I don’t have it in me to do it again. Seeing the hurt on his face and knowing I caused it was gutting enough the first time.

“Dance with me and I’ll explain.”

“No one else is dancing.” And I don’t deserve this.

“No. But the guards stationed here are kissing behind the fountain, so I doubt they’ll notice.”

I startle, glancing at the fountain, and… sure enough, there are two shadows tangled on the ground. Good for them.