“But Lord Sforza—” My thoughts whirled. “You loved him. I saw your face, in this palazzo just three years ago. I let you sneak him into your chamber to consummate your marriage, and you looked so happy—”

Lucrezia shrugged. “And he used to write me poetry, but he doesn’t bother anymore. Too busy droning on about his soldiers and his horses. Besides, Pesaro is so dull. I’d rot away if I had to live there forever.”

“All excellent reasons to cast off a husband, I’m sure,” I snapped. “The law will require something a trifle more substantial than your boredom.”

“Cesare says something can be managed. An annulment—we’ll find some pretext. Consanguinity, maybe. People are always getting marriages annulled for consanguinity, aren’t they?”

“He’s not your brother, Lucrezia, he’s not even a distant cousin! There isn’t any shared blood between you, much less enough for a legal pretext. There’s no pretext at all to annul your marriage, not one that anyone would believe!”

“You don’t understand, Giulia.” Lucrezia sounded patronizing now. “It’s not what people believe. It’s what we tell them to believe.”

I stared at her.

“Cesare says I’ll be a duchess by this time next year.” Lucrezia rose from her bath, and this time I didn’t push her back down. “Or even a princess. Then I’ll be the first woman in Rome, Giulia Farnese—not you. I’ll be the one setting the fashion and heading every parade. Sancha says—”

“Sancha says, Cesare says.” I cut her off as she reached for her robe. “What do you say?”

“Sancha—” Lucrezia stopped herself, looking annoyed.

I looked at her, my middle no longer roiling with rage but with something much colder. My lover’s daughter looked ungraceful and young, lips pushed out in a stubborn pout, hair coiling in wet strings down her neck. Without all the sophistication of paint and powder, you could see she had a red spot on her chin. Seventeen, I thought, she is seventeen. Not much younger than I had been when I went to her father’s bed.

“You didn’t use to hate me, Lucrezia,” I said finally. “In fact, I thought you loved me. I have certainly loved you, ever since I first met you.”

Lucrezia avoided my eyes, slipping into her loose wide-sleeved robe.

“I didn’t think you hated Madonna Adriana, either.” I paused. “So why were you so cruel to her? You’ve been thoughtless sometimes, but I’ve never seen you cruel.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Defensive. “Sancha just made a joke. I thought I would too.”

“A very unkind joke.”

“Oh—” Lucrezia piled her wet hair up again, jabbing pins through the mass of it. “Really, such a fuss. I’ll go apologize to her later.”

“You’ll have to do it quickly, because she’s leaving.”

“What?” Lucrezia turned, still pinning her hair.