Chapter Text
The first one appeared on his desk, after a break in one of the many synods Innocent insisted on having.
For a moment, Aldo thought it was a crumpled paper. It was tiny, a bit messy, and was made with a teared piece of the striped notepads provided for them. But he usually didn’t leave any crumpled papers or trash in his space, so he (luckily) had stared at it for a little longer.
It was a flower.
A small one, akin to a rose. The four corners of a paper several times folded joined at the center in a spiral, forming the shape of petals. The edges were even folded to give them a bit of a more natural look.
Aldo took it in his hand carefully and looked around to see if he could tell who had left it on his desk, probably by mistake or accident, or so he assumed. Nobody seemed to be looking for it, however, and soon enough, the synod restarted his activities, keeping his mind away from the tiny flower resting over his own notepad.
He took it to his office at the end of the day without quite knowing why, setting it up in one of his shelves, in front of books he usually never pulled out. It was cute to look at, he supposed, and it felt like a waste to just throw it away. Whoever had made the little paper flower clearly had a good amount of skill and patience for delicate work.
He didn’t expect a second one to appear over his desk the next day.
This time, the rose was bigger. Whoever had made it had taken a white sheet of paper, not just a piece of the striped notepad, and had folded it into a very pretty rose, neater in the folds than the previous one. Aldo, yet again, looked around for the owner, without much success.
—What’s that?
Giulio sat next to him, back from smoking during the break. He nodded towards the rose.
—I don’t know. It was here when I came back.
—Looks like a flower.
—It is a paper flower, yes.
Giulio hummed and scanned the multitude of Cardinals and Bishops slowly going back to their seats.
—Any ideas on who left it there?
—None. But yesterday it was the same. A paper flower suddenly appeared when I came back.
Giulio smirked, to Aldo’s confusion.
—What?
—Got yourself a bit of a secret admirer, Aldo?
Aldo scoffed and rolled his eyes.
—And one with delicate hands, too! It is very well made.
—Please. We are priests, we took vows.
—We both know that is not exactly an impediment, for either of us.
—Right, but to think anyone else would…
Giulio made a hand gesture to shush him. The moderator was back, and started the activities of the session. At least this synod was being way more peaceful than expected. Tedesco and his faction were almost cooperative.
Aldo took the new flower to his office as well, setting it next to the one he had found the previous day. Next to each other, it was clear that the second flower had been made more carefully, with less haste. And perhaps with a bit more patience.
Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. Aldo’s breath halted when, the next day, the last of the synod, he found a third flower over his desk.
This one was a bit messier, although the same size as the second one. Perhaps what called his attention the most was the colour. It was… red. Sort of. A reddish hue was splotched all over it, some zones darker than others. When he took it in his hand to examine it, a very faint scent of wine rose to his nose.
—Another one?
Sabbadin was very curious about it, as he himself was. Who was leaving these flowers for him to find?
—It’s stained with wine. Perhaps they dropped some over the sheet.
—You got someone thinking of you while drunk. Not bad for 65, Bellini.
—Stop it, Giu.
—Who could it be, hm? Perhaps an assistant? A Monsignor? A Sister?
—Either way, even if I appreciate the effort, nothing could happen.
—Even less if it was a Sister.
—Shut it.
Next to the other two, and especially next to the second one, the wine-stained rose looked messy. It was slightly crooked and the petals were a tad crumpled over. Perhaps Giu was right, and that one was made while this person was drunk.
The following weeks he ended up forgetting about that little mystery, however. No more flowers appeared once the synod was over, and they soon became an afterthought, only remembering their existence when he searched for something on his shelves and saw them there. Whoever had sent them had either given up, or…
“Or they left once the synod was over. Which means it was either a Bishop or a Cardinal.”
He couldn’t think of anyone that could have been off the top of his head, even when he knew most of the attendees. Perhaps a colleague from the liberal faction? He couldn’t really picture any of them folding paper flowers, or trying this very subtle approach at courting him. Aldo’s preferences were one of the worst kept secrets of the Curia, anyone close to him would know it was better to talk to him about it. However, the other options were his traditionalist colleagues, and they were even less likely to do such a thing.
Perhaps a younger Bishop, then? One of the newer ones, appointed by Innocent?
He shrugged the thought off. Whoever it had been, they had stopped. It was better to not investigate further if they didn’t want to come out.
Then they started to appear again, and Aldo’s curiosity got stirred once more.
The first one appeared in one of the pockets of his cassock. He was searching for his phone (which he had placed in the other pocket) when he felt something in there, and pulled it out. It was slightly crushed, but he quickly fixed it to its original form.
It was bigger than the other three, nearly and carefully folded, even better than the second flower.
And it was red.
Not wine-stained, it was made with thicker, firmer red paper, probably why it didn’t crumple that much.
Aldo set it next to the other three and stared at it, mentally trying to remember if he had felt anyone slip it into his pocket. Curse his ever-packed schedule, it could have been at any moment during that day. He met with staff, Bishops, diplomats, Monsignors and Cardinals, even with the Holy Father trying to mediate a discussion with Tedesco. He had brushed past many people, so many that anyone could have given him the flower, undetected.
He sat down, confused. Detective novels and mysteries were more up Thomas’ alley, but the situation was intriguing. Who had he seen that day that was also present in the synod? Or had access to the room where it was being held? Aldo quickly pulled out a notepad and started scribbling everyone he could remember. Some of the staff. Some Sisters. Monsignor O’Malley. Archbishop Mandorff. Father Haas. Thomas. Tedesco. The Holy Father…
Well, he could scratch those last three.
He wrote and wrote until a list of about fifteen people was left. If his “secret admirer” dared to give him yet another flower, he could perhaps rule some out.
The next flower came with his tea.
He was starting to drink more tea thanks to Innocent. Apparently, he was very against Aldo drinking caffeine late in the evening, and had suggested a relaxing lavender tea instead. An assistant, recently hired, brought it up at his usual time, alongside a covered dish with some pastries. When he uncovered the dish, however…
—Hm… mi dispiace Eminenza Bellini. That… that is not supposed to be there.
Sitting on top of the pastries there was another paper rose, this time a pale lavender in colour, just as well made as the red one.
Bellini looked at the assistant. No, it couldn’t be him. He hadn’t yet been hired when the synod happened, and even if he was, usually the staff for such events was composed of more senior staff, more used to the protocol.
—It’s ok, Flavio. Could you please do me a favour and ask who put it there, per favore? I’m curious.
Sadly, there was no new information for him. Flavio had asked the other assistants and Sisters assigned to the building, and nobody seemed to know. As he told Aldo later, the only moment when the pastries went unattended was the couple of seconds between a Sister placing and covering the dish over a table and him taking them up. Sister that, according to Flavio, denied placing the flower, having several witnesses confirming this.
Aldo thanked the assistant and, as he left, turned to stare at the new flower, already in its place of display with the others.
“White roses can mean purity, innocence. Burgundy roses, like the wine stained one, devotion. Red ones are for passion and love. Now… lavender ones…”
He had no idea. Perhaps it was just because of the tea?
>Enchantment, wonder, love at first sight or nascent feelings.
Aldo sighed and kept thinking about the situation while staring at the results of his search. The fact that the flower had apparently been placed while the pastries were still in the kitchen meant it was probably a Sister, right?
“—Even less if it was a Sister.”
The annoying, teasy voice of Giulio repeated itself in his brain. It was better like that. It would be less of a hassle to turn down a Sister than it would be to discover a brother Cardinal or Bishop was infatuated with him. His own attraction and self control would be tested if it was the latter.
The sixth flower threw all of Aldo’s conjectures to the trash.
He had been working late at the Biblioteca Apostolica, revising some old theology treatises he wanted to use to justify one of Innocent’s reforms. The Director of the Biblioteca knew him, and allowed him to stay after closing hours.
By 10pm, his eyes started to itch, tired of reading the old manuscripts with low light, so he went to turn them back and register them in the computer. Even if it was improper, he had taken off his cassock at some point. Nights had been getting warmer, and he had his shirt and slacks under it either way, so he chose comfort over supposed modesty.
However, when he went back to the desk where he had been working to pick it back up, he found another flower waiting for him.
Aldo turned and searched through the rows of bookshelves. He thought himself alone, but whoever had been leaving him flowers couldn’t be far. He was gone for just a moment, for Heaven’s sake! How could this person disappear like that?
“Delicate hands, and can very easily escape without being seen or heard.”
Aldo’s breath hitched when he finally saw the colour of the new flower under the light of his apartment. He had read the meaning of that colour in the passing while searching for the meaning of a lavender rose.
The flower was light orange. Desire.