What Remains of the Fair Simonetta Read Free Page A

eleven years. With the “no carb” craze of the twenty-first century, a morsel of bread hadn’t crossed my lips for eons even before that. I ate slowly to allow each taste to register on the different parts of my palate, savoring each bite. Antonella dipped her sapless bread into the goblet, so I decided to follow suit. I quickly realized it wasn’t olive oil we were plunging our bread into, but instead, wine.
    I soon became parched and wondered what I was supposed to drink. I stopped eating for a moment to follow Antonella’s cue. She eventually picked up the goblet and drank from it, crumbs and all, then handed it to me.
    I’d never been much of a drinker, particularly not at the crack of dawn, but it seemed there was little choice. It wasn’t what I would’ve considered a good wine, although I was no connoisseur. I had to prevent myself from spitting it out. But again, I decided to savor it, and as Antonella shared the goblet with me, I asked that it be refilled.
    “The hour is almost upon us. We must prepare you for the sitting.”
    I had no idea who or what I was sitting for, but I decided it would be a bad idea to ask questions if they had obvious answers. Instead I simply replied, “Of course.”
    Antonella dressed me as though I were incapable of doing it myself. It very quickly became apparent that I was, in fact, quite incapable. She removed my nightgown, which she referred to as a “shift,” and placed it neatly on the bed. She then had me step into a stiff petticoat followed by a pale red chiffon dress. It was a diabolically complicated mass of fabric featuring a stitched-in corset, which Antonella tightened with the force of the Incredible Hulk from behind me.
    I continued to nervously sip wine from the goblet, when Antonella instructed me to sit on a gold velvet chair and plucked stray hairs from my hairline.
    “Ouch!” I cried, as my sips became gulps.
    “Noblewomen must have a high forehead, Netta. Now sit still!”
    I grudgingly cooperated, and when she deemed my plucking complete, Antonella brushed my golden tresses with about the same brute strength she used to tighten my corset. If nothing else, I needed the subpar wine simply to dull the pain.
    Antonella skillfully created all sorts of complicated braids in my lengthy hair, then tied the plaits into a complex updo, after which she adorned the coiffure with strings of jewels. She brushed a white powder over my face, then added a red powder which she rubbed vigorously onto my cheeks and lips— causing me to gag from the horrendous taste. Vanity, apparently, was very much alive.
    I wasn’t sure how I was expected to behave at whatever event this painstaking process was preparing me for. There was no time to dwell on it, however, because as soon as the concern entered my sculpted head, there was a knock on the door. I started down the stairs to answer it.
    “Remember, I must answer the caller for you,” she scolded as though this wasn’t the first time she’d corrected me on the matter. “Your job is to sit. You must feign as though we follow the rules of lady and attendant.” And with that she pointed a stern finger at the gold velvet chair. I pouted my way to the plush throne as though I’d been put in timeout.
    My simple job of “sitting” was not as easy as it was cracked up to be. The corset prevented me from taking a deep breath and the petticoat had a mind of its own, forcing its way up in front when I sat on the back of it. And worse yet, the wine had gone to my head, so while I hadn’t experienced the glorious sensation of being properly tipsy in eleven years, I sensed this would prove to be a most inappropriate time.
    I properly arranged myself in the chair just in the nick of time for Antonella to return up the stairs with my gentleman caller. It was his clothing that first attracted my attention. He wore a dark green, high-collared tunic with weird panty hose and brown leather boots. It was so strange to me that a man,