Part 1: She Would Be A Spider
He wasn't there… again. Was she never to wake up next to the man she loved? When they had finally fallen asleep, she had hoped and dreamed that tomorrow, she'd wake up and she would nestle herself onto his shoulder, inhale a breath of his scent and sleep a little longer. And he would hold her and kiss her forehead and he would tell her what he told her last night; that she was his. But now, she rolled over in the large bed and she was all alone in it. Where had he gone to now? Probably to take care of that Sforza bitch again. God she hated her and she hated knowing that her love had a past with that bitch. Think that her brother had a past with a woman who would happily dispose of their entire family! On top of that, she naturally hated knowing that he could desire someone that was not her. But what could she do? She loved him. She couldn't change it and now she knew that she didn't want to either. She'd never marry again.
Lucrezia picked up her shift and slid it over her head. Then she picked a gown and stepped into a pair of convenient slippers and left the room. The first person she encountered was a maid, now on her way to make the bed that Lucrezia and her love tore apart last night. She smiled by the thought, but the smile faded easily by the memory of his silent disappearance. She was about to yell at the next maid she saw, but when she moved around the corner, she saw him standing there, by the window, looking out. And in the same moment her breath caught in her throat and she stopped, he turned to look at her. He looked troublesome, as always. Her brother, the troubled soul… who loved her and made her his although he knew he should not. It would never not trouble him, she knew that.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he approached her, took her into his arms and held her in a tight embrace. He kissed her hair, as a good brother should. She closed her eyes and buried her face against his chest, "You have to leave, don't you? Will you never stay?" She asked, finally looking up at those eyes she adored so much… but only when they looked at her. Or when they fought for her. Or when they promised to please her… she sighed again. Being close to him did nothing good to her desire for him.
"You know I can't. Besides, sis… you are a widow now and supposed to mourn. Remember… the blood?" He had cleansed her, he had undressed her, he had made her feel like she was reborn in his arms and against his body. She had forgotten it all, but of course he had to make her remember. He was the conscience she apparently did not have.
"How can I forget? How can I forget anything that happened last night?" She reached to pull him down towards her, but he pulled back as a maid walked by. Lucrezia forced him to look at her, "Don't mind them. Don't you think they know? Don't you think all of Rome knows, now… after what we did… together?" But he did not bend down to kiss her. Instead he pulled back, although not far enough to stop touching her. It was as if touching her made all the difference.
"Rome knows, but Rome is not supposed to know. Our father…" Cesare trailed off for a moment, before he seemed to make up his mind, "I need to return." Her brother pulled entirely away from her, without as much as a proper kiss. Lucrezia sighed and looked down, fighting the urge to cry. Not because she was sad, but because she hated that it had to be like this. But she would fight! And she would make it so he'd never want to leave again. She needed him!
"You will return to me. You will." Lucrezia said then, "If our love must be kept at night in the darkness, so be it. But we will keep it. I will not let you go again." She took a step back, but this time, he didn't allow it. A moment later, she felt his arm behind her back and a hard and heated kiss pressed to her lips. And when she opened her eyes again after that moment of bliss, he was on his way down the stairs. Towards Rome, towards their father… towards something that was not her. Lucrezia turned to order a proper warm bath and mourning clothes presented to her. Perhaps she'd have a new gown made. She would be a black widow. But not the one mourning her husband – he was gone now, after all. Instead, she would be a spider.