Signora Da Vinci (57 page)

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Authors: Robin Maxwell

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The Age of the Renaissance
, edited by Denys Hay
Barron’s Renaissance Painting
, text by Stefano Zuffi
 
Rome and the Papacy
Will Durant,
The Story of Civilization V, The Renaissance
William Manchester,
A World Lit Only by Fire
R. A. Scotti,
Basilica, The Splendor and the Scandal
 
Jesus in India
Elizabeth Clare Prophet,
The Lost Years of Jesus
Look for the next original novel from talented author Robin Maxell, who has the storytelling ability to bring famous characters to life. Read on for a short excerpt where she imagines Juliet and Romeo’s balcony scene through Juliet’s love-struck eyes . . . .
 
 
 
 
 
 
Romeo moved closer to me. Without invitation he threaded his fingers through my hair. “Is that what you wish for yourself ?”
Something melted inside me. “I have no wish to be a man,” I said. “Honorary or otherwise. I only wish to write.”
“Do you wish to love?” he whispered.
He was so audacious. Yet I nodded.
“Close your eyes, Juliet.”
Without thought or fear I did as he asked. I believed I would soon feel his lips on mine. But instead he lifted my hand and, with infinite delicacy, pushed back the sleeve of my gown. Then I felt warm breath on the tenderest inside of my forearm.
“I believe in the senses,” he murmured, sending tiny waves of air across my skin.
I shivered with delight. “Give me another,” I demanded.
“This is mine,” he said, releasing my hand and moving away, but in the next moment his face was buried in my hair. He inhaled deeply. “Aaahh,” he sighed. “The natural perfume of Juliet.”
I tilted back my head to lean upon his and there we remained, still and breathing. Did he know that I wished his hands to circle my waist, slide across the naked skin of my breasts?
“Listen,” he said softly in the shell of my ear.
This I did, allowing Romeo to teach me. “It is the nightingale,” I said. Its trilling notes in the darkness had never sounded so sweet to me. How was it that suddenly I heard magic in that song?
I felt his arms on my shoulders, turning me a half turn. Then, with both hands enclosing my head, tilted it skyward. “Open your eyes.”
They fluttered open. There before me at what seemed as close as arm’s length was the full moon, a dark brace of clouds skittering across its bright and shadowed surface.
“Touch. Smell. Sound. Sight,” he uttered. “All so easily gratified.”
“What of taste?” I said, pressing him.
“Ah, now you become greedy.”
I turned to face him. “It
is
one of the senses.”
“True.”
Again, I thought that he would kiss me, to this way prove the fifth sensation. Instead he turned, and searching the fruit-heavy branch snapped from it a fat ripe fig. When he faced me again he held in his hands its two halves.
“Were there more light,” he said, “we would see the luscious . . . pink . . . flesh.” His voice caressed the words. Then holding my eyes with his, he took a half in his palm and brought it to his mouth. I grew suddenly alarmed as he buried his lips in the soft fig’s center and closed his eyes, ecstatic.
“My lord!” I cried, breaking the spell.
His eyes sprang open and he gazed without apology into mine. “I think I should go. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“No, no . . .”
But he had leapt to the balcony wall and swung his body up into the tree. Hanging loose from the branch by one arm he leaned down and held out his hand to me. The fig’s other half was cupped in his palm.
“For you, my lady—the final sense.”
I took it, words failing me once again.
“When you taste it,” he said, “think of me.”
Then he was gone, all rustling leaves and shadows.
I stood stupidly, staring at the half fruit and, smiling, brought it to my lips.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Maxwell
lives in the high desert of California with her husband, Max, and her avian muses, Mr. Grey and Cookie.
BOOKS BY ROBIN MAXWELL
The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn
The Queen’s Bastard: A Novel
Virgin: Prelude to the Throne
The Wild Irish: A Novel of Elizabeth I and the Pirate O’Malley
To the Tower Born: A Novel of the Lost Princes
Mademoiselle Boleyn: A Novel

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