Contessina gathered the memories she had of her first few months of marriage. Collectively, most of the memories were insignificant. Had she not become close to Emilia, a friendship that began as circumstantial and quickly became confidential, she would have spent the majority of her days doing Piccarda's bidding and spent every night waiting for her husband to join her in bed.
In fact, Contessina had few memories with Cosimo from that time that did not take place in their bedroom.
The sun hung brightly in the sky. Particles of dust floated in the air where sunrays shone through the windows. A soft knock on the door of her chamber pulled Contessina from her slumber. Through half-closed eyes she watched Emilia enter.
A month ago, she would have scrambled from her position in the bed to cover herself. Her nightgown was pulled up to her thighs, the blankets of the bed had been tossed aside; her hairpins had not been properly removed the night before and would require extra attention that morning.
"Good morning, Emilia," Contessina said, bracing herself up onto her elbows.
"Morning, Madonna. Will you require clean sheets today?" It was a question that had become part of their regular morning conversation. Contessina had often declined, only requesting they be changed once when it was a particularly humid night and she had sweat through them.
"I don't think today," the woman said, slowly getting out of bed and hobbling towards the vanity.
"Are you well, Madonna?" Emilia offered her hand but Contessina declined, smiling with embarrassment.
"Just a bit sore is all," she responded. "Cosimo had a bit too much wine last night and our evening together seemed to go on longer than I'm used to." There were few secrets between the women. Emilia nodded; her mouth upturned in understanding.
"May I ask a personal question, Madonna?" Contessina turned to the woman and gave a single nod in approval.
"How are you enjoying your marital evenings?"
"They are…fine." Contessina was unsure of what else to say.
"He is not hurting you?" Emilia pressed further. A month ago she had been instructed by Piccarda to come to her with any noteworthy news from Contessina's chamber. She was not Asking for the Lady of the Medici House, though. She hated to see her mistress slowly lose the light in her eyes.
"Oh no!" Contessina said, shocked at the question but not that it had been asked. "Our first night was not pleasant, but he does not hurt me beyond what cannot be helped from time to time."
"And…" Emilia hesitated. "Are you satisfied?" Contessina contemplated the question but did not respond.
"Madonna?"
"I'm not sure." Contessina turned to look out the window. "It has become routine, now. It is no longer painful, and it is pleasant sometimes."
"But it is not pleasant every time?" Intrigue filled the maid to the brim. Contessina shook her head. Emilia reflected on her next question. It stuck in her throat as she uttered the words.
"Are you having the little death, Madonna?"
Contessina thought back to her wedding night and Piccarda mentioning the 'little deaths' required to conceive a child.
"I don't even know what that is," Contessina admitted. "Cosimo is not asking me to do anything different when he comes to my bed so I assumed…"
Emilia covered a girlish grin with her hand.
"If you'll allow it, Madonna, I will tell you some of what you need to know." Contessina let out a breath she had not known she was holding.
As Emilia began to work on her mistress's hair, she spoke of what she had been told as a child and what she'd later found out from more experienced women.
"It is an overcoming feeling," she said, brushing out the last of the tangles. "You will know when you experience it. If you do not know, then you have not experienced it." She could say no more.
Contessina's mind raced. If it was required to become with child, why had Cosimo not ensured it? Was he aware that she was not experiencing the little deaths?
"Emilia?" Contessina trusted no one more to keep a secret than her maid. "You won't tell Piccarda, will you?" The maid shook her head.
That evening, Cosimo came to her room. He'd been nursing the headache the entire day caused by the wine he'd consumed the night before.
"Lorenzo and I had the magnificent idea last night, with our wine-induced excellence, to order a new mattress for my chamber. In doing so, we also thought it an excellent idea to move my current mattress to an undisclosed location. I will be sleeping here tonight." The man plopped down on the bed, his feet slowly slipping under the blankets. Contessina debated bringing the subject of little deaths to light given her husband's irritable state. On the other hand, he had few places to go if he found the conversation unbearable. He had external reasons to stay and listen to her concerns.
"Cosimo," the woman said quietly, falsifying her courage to convince even herself that it was present. Her husband responded with a hum.
"Is it true that little deaths are necessary to conceive a child?" Cosimo blew out the candle on his bedside table. Contessina did the same.
"Yes," he responded. "But you should not worry. They are called little deaths, but they do not chip away at your life as the name would suggest."
The woman was silent. Next to her, Cosimo took shallow breaths.
"Why do you ask?" His question was sudden and nearly caused Contessina to jump.
"I fear it may be my fault that I am yet to be with child," the man's wife responded.
"Why?" Cosimo's mind filled quickly with millions of explanations. It was as if the night's moon had raised the tide of anxiety in his mind.
"I…I don't…I fear I have not been experiencing little deaths."
The pair reclined in the bed, both under the blankets but with their bodies as far apart as physically possible. The blankets were suffocating, grasping and tugging at skin in a way it never had before.
"I'm sorry," Contessina said, attempting to drive away the palpable tension.
"It's not…This is…I'm not sure—" Cosimo struggled to respond. In the chaos of banking and exhaustion of marriage, Cosimo had allowed a few responsibilities to slip his mind. The pair sat in the thick silence, allowing it to consume them.
"I should not have brought it up when you are not well, I'm sorry." Contessina turned to her side, facing away from her husband.
"When I come to you at night," Cosimo started. His question was muddled and verging on nonsensical in his mind as he attempted to express his thoughts. "Is there not some bit of enjoyment for you?"
"There is some, yes," Contessina told herself she was not lying though deep down she knew there was no truth in the statement.
"But there is still some pain?" Cosimo continued. Contessina did not respond but Cosimo knew, from the way his wife reacted to his nightly visits, that there was something his wife hid from him.
"It is not pain in the way it used to be," Contessina corrected him.
"Perhaps it is just too much," Cosimo responded. He knew this was not the reason, but he did not know how else to respond. "I will visit less often for a while. Starting with tonight."
Before he could remove himself from her bed, Cosimo felt a small hand touch his chest.
"Sleep here tonight. Please," his wife said.
A week passed and Cosimo did not visit his wife's bed.
"Do you think I've angered him?" Contessina asked Emilia late in the afternoon as she changed for dinner.
"What makes you think that, Madonna?"
"He's not come to my bed. He's barely spoken to me or even looked at me." The thought of her husband being through with her after only a few months of marriage scared Contessina to her core. The weight of her family's reputation hung around her shoulders.
"Perhaps he is simply taking a break," Emilia said, tightening the laces of her mistress's dress. "Maybe you can pay him a visit after dinner."
Contessina blushed as she made eye contact with her maid in the mirror.
"You are his wife, Madonna." Emilia squeezed the woman's shoulder. "It is well within your right."
The evening was unbearably quiet. Giovanni and Piccarda had traveled to Assisi to visit the holy site and Lorenzo was in one of his moods. Cosimo had brought his pencils to the table, something he only did when his parents were away, and had drawn through the entirety of the meal.
When the table had been cleared, Contessina continued sitting as her husband sketched, unnoticing of his company. Catching the eye of her maid, the woman said rather loudly, "I'll have a bath tonight, Emilia."
They'd planned it out. The water had already been prepared and the tub moved to the room before dinner had started.
Their efforts did not get the attention they had hoped, though. The Medici men were masters of political advances and subtle signals. Romantically, Contessina had a better chance of getting the flirty attention of a fish.
Nonetheless, the water could not be wasted. She bathed, sitting in the tub filled with herbs and flowers until the water became cold. Emilia had washed her hair and braided it loosely for it to dry.
"Do you really think I should go to him?" Contessina asked again, her voice slightly muffled by the freshly laundered nightgown going over her head. Emilia nodded.
"What do I say? What do I do?" Contessina's anxiety made her light-headed. Emilia gave a small smile.
"Perhaps, if you are to truly become his lover you need to convince him you are his lover." Emilia's response was puzzling. Was she not already his lover? She was his wife after all. Before Contessina could quiz her maid more regarding her advice, the woman had rung for the tub to be removed and bid her mistress goodnight. Unsure of what to do, Contessina put on her robe and ventured across the hall to her husband's chamber.
Her soft knocks were quickly answered by the door swinging open.
"Contessina?" Cosimo looked surprised to see her. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," the woman responded. "I just—I wanted to see that you were well. We hardly spoke at dinner."
Cosimo turned to allow his wife into his chamber. The room was cluttered with papers. The bed had been returned to its place by the wall with the new mattress installed.
"Yes, I do apologize," the man uttered. "I've been…consumed of late." He pointed to a pile of drawings, all of the same building but with slightly different perspectives.
"I just can't seem to get it right."
Contessina nodded. She did not understand her husband's specific obsession with the building in his drawing, but she was pleased that he was passionate about something beyond banking.
"Have I angered you, Cosimo?" She could not wait. Cosimo's confusion was painted plainly on his face.
"What do you—"
"The other night when…when I'd asked you about the little deaths. Did I anger you?" Contessina rung the rope of her robe in her fists.
"What led you to believe this?" Cosimo stacked up his drawings, neatly placing them on a pile in the corner of the room.
"It's just you've not visited my bed and I just—"
Cosimo shook his head.
"I meant nothing by it," he began. "I must confess, I spoke to Emilia."
Contessina looked to her feet, preparing for the embarrassment of what her husband had drawn out of her maid.
"She did not tell me much of what I did not already know." Cosimo walked towards his wife, stopping an arm's distance from her. "I did not want you to feel as if I expected it of you always."
"It is my duty to—"
"It is good to take breaks from duties, Contessina." Cosimo's tone left a sharp prick on her cheek.
"It would be easier if we had been in love," Contessina responded, keeping her tone cool despite a bright fire burning inside her. "If we were in love…If we knew each other."
"I agree." Cosimo made his way toward the chamber door. Contessina followed, having been raised to know when best to leave a room and when to stay.
"Goodnight, Cosimo," she said as he opened the door for her.
"Goodnight, Contessina."