Page 25 of A Dangerous Bargain

I tug Leonardo’s arm before he keeps going, and he finally starts walking with me. I make a rude gesture at Bartolomeo with my other hand. “Vaffanculo, Rucellai! Seeing your tears when we win will be the greatest prize of them all.”

I speed across the piazza. Leonardo follows, docile as a lamb, until we disappear down Via Vacchereccia.

Then he spins and cages me between his arms against a wall.

“No more lies!” His eyebrows are narrowed slashes over a serious gaze. They’re dark brown, a contrast to his rust-gold hair. “Tell me what’s truly going on.”

My pulse stutters, then spikes.

Our art supplies scatter across the ground—he’s dropped them to play prison guard—and I glance at the mess with a protesting sound, but he only draws closer to me, his nose inches from mine. God, there are even more freckles on his face than I thought. A truly hopeless amount. I couldn’t count them if I tried. I shut my eyes so I don’t give in to the urge to start.

“Virgil.” My name is a command, an admonishment, and a plea all at once. “I won’t be upset, but I need you to be honest with me. I know that’s hard for you.” It sounds sarcastic, except there’s no mocking edge in his voice, no cajoling mirth.

I crack one eye open, and he’s just looking at me, his warm breath gusting across my face. He smells like cake.

I stare back at him, the rush in my veins slowly falling, steadying out into something manageable, something safe. Someone catcalls and makes kissing noises from across the street, but for once I don’t care what anyone else thinks about us.

I’ve done nothing but push him away, and he’s still here.

My back goes soft against the wall. “I… may not have been entirely truthful about why I wanted to work with you.”

He twists sideways, leaning against the wall with an elbow. “You? Being bootstrappy and secretive? I simply cannot believe it!”

Well, that hardly seems fair! There’s nothing wrong with keeping my business to myself. I bravely resist the urge to snipe back, knowing I’ll only prove him right if I do. “When we were inside the Palazzo della Signoria the first day, I found a portrait of my brother.”

The teasing vanishes from his face. “You think he’s alive and working for the government?”

“I don’t know—but he might be. The wedding commission was the only way I could get back inside and see what else I could find.”

“So you’re using me, then.” Leonardo’s voice keeps its calm tone, and yet I wince and flush bright red like he’s yelled at me.

“You don’t have to help me anymore now that you know the truth. You could tell Verrocchio, get the commission fully for yourself, since it’s not like I could help you paint anyway.” My hands fist, and the black marks on my arms follow the movement. They cost me everything, and they’re all useless now, a reminder of how I’ve already failed Mamma and my sisters and how I’ll probably fail Niccolo, too. I wish I could scour them off.

“I don’t need you to paint, remember?” Leonardo says. “In case you forgot, I also asked for your help with the wedding commission. I don’t love that you lied to me, but I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and I imagine you still want the fifty florins. I’ll stay in this if you do, but you can’t lie anymore. All right?”

Leonardo had a sibling? I try to remember if he’s talked about his family before: Nothing comes to mind. I nearly ask about it, but a warning glint in his eyes stops me. I run my tongue along my teeth and nod. “All right.”

He opens his mouth and hesitates. “What was all that with the search today, then?”

I have a feeling this isn’t want he wanted to ask me. “Oh, that?”

“Yes, that.”

“I… might’ve stolen something from Piero de’ Medici’s office?”

Leonardo smiles, a slow, melting expression he tries to hold back but can’t. “Virgil Pitti broke a rule? His Highness is no better than a common thief?” He glances toward the slice of sky above us and cups a hand around his ear. “Do you hear that? Rushing wings! I think every angel just fled Florence because of your sinful, snatchy hands.”

I wriggle out from under his arm, suddenly feeling very hot. “It was an accident!”

“I believe you, but your lies to Lorenzo were… how to describe them? Woefully inept, perhaps?”

“Yours weren’t much better!”

His smile bursts out fully, the brightest thing in the street. “Give him a few days to forget your face. I’ll say you ate moldy bread if anyone asks why you’re gone.”

“Oh right, thanks for that.” Bartolomeo will bring it up every time I see him.

He lifts his hands placatingly. “Or I’ll give whatever reason you want me to give. I’m not trying to humiliate you. You know that, don’t you?”