I had been born into a wealthy Italian family that owned a villa outside of Sicily. My father, Giovanni deCapriana, had been making wine at our estate since he was a little boy. Generations upon generations had lived at the house, creating an empire and a reputation for producing some of the finest wine in the region. My mother, Emilia Scantenelli, was somewhat of a Calbresian socialite. Spirited, vivacious, and always curious, entreating the world to offer all it could to her. Sold into marriage at the early age of 15, an arrangement put forth from her father, she came to wed Giovanni. Resilient at first, Emilia soon became accustomed to her new life and even grew to love my father. Nothing could enhance their joy when I, their first and only child was born.
"Her face! Have you ever laid eyes upon a more lovely face than hers?" my mother beamed, offering my infant body to my father. He took me in his arms, cradling me, staring at me with wonder. His eyes darkened, his smile slowly formed into a frown. "Alas, it his her curse, Emilia." He stated, laying the bundle back into my mother. "What…how can this be? Look at her Giovanni, she is perfect, the most beautiful face I have ever seen. Mi bella…" my mother cooed at me.
"Yes," my father agreed, "but, with time, you too will see this burden she carries. For no one can behold such raw, untainted beauty without evil ascending upon it." And with those words, I came into the world.
My childhood had been normal enough. The vineyards were my playground and I spent endless hours marveling at the harvest. Gorgeous flowers, so fragrant and enchanting encompassed our family's garden. Massive trees, perfect for scaling, grew over the property. It truly was paradise on Earth. I was so entranced by the beauty of nature, not even the smallest bud of a flower, nor the plainest blade of grass went unnoticed, un-worshipped in my eyes. Beauty, a word that I had heard often. My mothers friends, when they came for their weekly chat sessions with my mother, would gasp in astonishment at me. They came in hoards, pinching my rosy cheeks and remarking, "Come bello è! How beautiful she is, Emilia!"
I had been raised as the perfect Italian daughter. Polite, sociable, and fiercely loyal to my family and it's name. All that changed one summer. I was 14, and coming into my own. My fascination with beauty led me to experiment and master the art of aesthetics. I would beg my mother to help her prepare for social gatherings, applying powder and curling her hair just so. In a short period of time, I had perfected my craft and began practicing my techniques on myself. I would stand for hours, gazing at myself in the mirror, learning where to apply rouge, how to fashion my hair. For the first time in my life, I thought myself to be beautiful. As beautiful as the garden in my backyard, as beautiful as the mockingbird's song drifting through the warm summer mornings. My hair, light brown with auburn highlights hung down to my waist, a gentle wave running thorough it. My skin, lightly tanned from afternoon's spent outdoors and Mediterranean blood coursing through my veins. I was petite, 5 foot 3 inches at the most and possessed what my mother called a dancer's figure. And my face…my face was astonishing. Perfectly symmetrical in every way. Exquisitely arched eyebrows atop my large, doe brown eyes, abundant with thick, black eyelashes. A small, feminine nose, high cheek bones, and plump, sensuous lips. I truly understood what beauty meant, and knew that I retained it.
"Alessandra!" my father scowled. "What have I told you about staring at yourself in mirrors?"
" I know, it's very vain of me, papa. But I was just practicing my aesthetics!" I proclaimed.
"Tsk, such a foolish fancy you allow yourself to indulge in! Come now, there is someone I want you to meet."
I nodded and mentioned I would be downstairs in a few minutes. As he turned and left the room, I rolled my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. Yet another suitor! For the past few weeks my father had been bringing men from around the country to our doorstep to be introduced to yours truly. At 14 years old, I was nearing the acceptable age for marriage, and marriage is exactly what my father had on his mind. These men, so shallow and dull, bored me to tears with their stories of world travel. How they gained their fortune, what type of wine they preferred with their parmesan di melanzana, would it ever end? At the end of each meeting, the suitors would politely press their lips (of which I am sure were very sore from talking so much) to my hand, bow and leave the room, my father hot on their tail.
I lightly pressed my hand to my forehead, I could already feel tension swelling up in my sinuses. However, I was a good daughter and did as I was asked. I straightened my shoulders, smoothed out my hair, and proceeded downstairs where a flurry of laughter skirted through the halls. "Signore, my daughter, Alessandra, would make a fine wife."
"Oh, I have no doubt that she will. Her beauty is well known throughout this region, and in many others as well. Now its simply a matter of…funding."
I scoffed. There was no way my papa would sell me off to this man. No way I would be forced into marriage without ever meeting my future husband.
"Of course, of course! Right this way, Signore. We have much to discuss," my father motioned for the man to follow him into the dining area. I hid in shadows on the upper stairwell, staring down at my father and this suitor. I gasped in utter delight. He was incredibly handsome. His golden blond hair fell just above his shoulders, which were impeccably sculpted. Couture so fine, I could not recognize the style, foreign perhaps. He did speak with a soft, lilting accent, I recognized it as French. My attitude had changed considerably from woe to delight, the thought of becoming this man's wife was not so horrid after all.
The next few moments were a blur. I was introduced to him, and I could not help grinning from ear to ear, my cheeks flushing a deep scarlet. "Alessandra, this is Vicomte Audric de Aldridge, from France!" my father bellowed, obviously delighted towards the fact that this man was of impressive blood lines. I sat next to him while he and my father arranged my life out in front of me. I paid little attention to the seemingly minute details, I was too entranced by the sheer beauty of this man. I now longed to be his wife, to wake up every morning and see his dazzling smile hovering over me, to be enraptured in those strong arms. They were both staring at me. "Alessandra, what do you say? Will you accept Signore de Aldridge's proposal of marriage?"
"Of course," I managed to squeak.
It was settled, I was to leave my home in the morning and travel with my new fiancée to his manor, south of the village of Marseilles.