Kenzie Anne - Florentine Part 2 -11.11.21- -

“Because every few centuries, a woman with that face is born in a city by a river,” he said. “And every time, she is given a choice. To be the painter. Or to be the paint.”

“Lead the way,” she said. “But Matteo?” Kenzie Anne - Florentine Part 2 -11.11.21-

He opened the book. Inside were not words, but sketches. Charcoal and sanguine. A woman’s face, repeated over and over. The same face. High cheekbones, a defiant mouth, eyes that seemed to follow you even in two-dimensional form. Kenzie felt the floor drop away. “Because every few centuries, a woman with that

“I found it.” He pulled a small object from his jacket pocket. A leather-bound book, no bigger than her palm, the cover tooled with a faded fleur-de-lis. Florentine. Late 16th century. Or to be the paint

“You’re looking for something,” she said.

Part one had ended in fire. A gallery opening, a stolen kiss behind a column of Carrara marble, a whisper of “Tornami a trovare” —come find me again. She had. She had sold her return ticket to New York and stayed.