1490. Caterina was 27. Already married, from a while, to her beloved. Girolamo Riario. Beloved,tho, was a little exaggerated. Considering the man mistreated her sometimes and also wouldn't care a lot if she was in the mood for intimacy or not. But it was his personality and the one of any other man, really. Her father wasn't happy with a daughter, but she always let him see her wild spirit. She was sitting now, a window behind her. Her hands roamed on the tiny bouquet of flowers, on the table. You knocked on her door. Waiting, for her to answer.