|Our Sweet Escape
Author: moviebuffgirl PM
Anne Boleyn is the former Queen of England, while Cesare Borgia is the illegitimate son of the Pope. When these two people collide, hidden passions rise to the surface, and history will never be the same again. To be updated at least once a month.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Romance/Drama - Anne Boleyn & Cesare B. - Chapters: 26 - Words: 17,204 - Reviews: 56 - Favs: 20 - Follows: 30 - Updated: 11-26-12 - Published: 05-03-12 - id: 8081822
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Anne craned her neck to see over the crowd of people who had gathered for the wedding. She found it amusing how fast the Borgias found brides and grooms for their children; it seemed like only a few months had passed since Lucrezia's wedding, and now the youngest Borgia, Joffre, was being married to a woman older than him.
I wonder what their wedding night will be like, Anne thought, finally glimpsing the Italian bride as she made her way past the place where Anne and Ursula stood.
Anne knew it was improper to think of such thoughts during a wedding, but it seemed as if the rest of the guests had the same idea in their minds. Beside her, Ursula bowed her head and said a few silent prayers.
As usual, the Baron was not with them, but Anne had seen him last night as he bent over her and trailed several kisses down her arm. Anne had pretended to be asleep, but she was in fact steeling herself just in case the man tried to progress to something more.
"Excuse me my lady." A soldier pushed his way through the crowd and gestured to Anne. "Your presence is requested immediately."
Anne glanced at Ursula, who smiled and gave a slight nod. Anne reached over and squeezed Ursula's hand. "I'll be back in a moment," she said reassuringly.
Anne then turned and followed the soldier, and the two wended their way through the crowd until they reached the very front of the cathedral.
The Pope was sitting on the chair in the middle of the dais, with Cesare and Juan on his left and right side, respectively.
"Lady Anne," Juan greeted, taking her hand in his. "I thought you would have a much better view from here. A lovely woman such as yourself should not be left alone among the masses."
"I was with the Lady Ursula Bonadeo," Anne replied, smiling at him. "I do hope you will not let her stay there as well."
Juan tilted his head, as if considering it. Finally he nodded to the soldier, who went back among the crowd to retrieve Ursula. While waiting for her friend to arrive, Anne watched the ceremony unfold. Sancia was around eighteen, ten years older than her betrothed.
The girl was stunning, with her dark hair and tan skin. Anne knew, based on the gossip she overheard from the servants in the Bonadeo household, that Juan had refused the girl based on a horrendous portrait that had been made of her.
The painter clearly did not do Sancia justice, and Anne wondered if Juan was regretting his decision now. Anne could sense someone staring at her, and her gaze turned to the other end of the dais. Cesare was in his cardinal robes, and his eyes were fixed on her face.
The two maintained their eye contact for some time, even as the Pope begun the wedding rites. Cesare moved forward every now and then to perform a certain office, but once he resumed his place he continued looking at her, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth.
Anne felt her heart beat quicken, reminding her of her own giddiness when Henry was pursuing her. Unlike Henry, however, Cesare was no king who could order her beheading without a second thought. But he was a cardinal, a man who had sworn off the pleasures of the flesh.
Cesare wasn't like the other cardinals however, for Anne knew that he had inherited his father's appetite for women. The thought of seeing Cesare in his naked glory brought a flush to Anne's cheeks, and she was the first to break off their constant eye contact.
As the wedding ceremony went on, Anne was acutely aware of Cesare's gaze on her own, which intensified as Juan focused his attention on her.
God be good, Anne thought, feeling slightly flustered. I am but a Boleyn. How can I bear to be the focus of two men, and two Borgias at the very most?