Cesare is the one who teaches Lucrezia how to lie.

He can't bear the thought of her having to learn it on her own.

"Show me," he commands, and watches. Her chin comes up just slightly, proud, and one eyebrow raises with a hint of incredulity, as though to scoff at the legitimacy of anything not uttered by herself. The left half of her mouth tightens, so she speaks from the side, every word deliberate, seductive. He cannot help but stare at her mouth, the slow puckering of those deeply red lips.

He shakes his head, "No."

"No?" Lucrezia tilts her head, at once alert and attentive.

"You cannot make love to all your lies, Lucrezia. You may persuade your listener to believe them, but it will never be true. You must be quicker, more automatic."

"Whatever my beloved brother says," she smiles light and quick, and as he began to smile back, checks himself.

"Better."