10
LUCA BELLANDI
I identified the architect as a threat before I knew his name.
Not to the project. He seemed competent, represented one of the Swiss funds financing the restoration, and asked sensible questions about adapting the historic suites. The threat was in the way he smiled at Gabriela. And how easily she smiled back.
“Adrien Moreau,” Lorenzo supplied, following my gaze. “Thirty. Studied in Lausanne. Single. In case you’re planning a risk report.”
I looked back at my glass.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You rarely need to.”
On the evening of Gabriela’s fourteenth day, the monthly investor dinner was being held on the glass-enclosed terrace of a neighboring hotel. Nothing at the Palazzo was ready for an event like this. There were forty of us among the candlelit tables, the dark lake beyond the glass.
Gabriela stood by the model, explaining the revised west wing schedule to Adrien. She wore a deep green dress that left her shoulders bare and seemed to turn her brown eyes gold. Her hair fell in waves down her back. I hadn’t seen her arrive. If I had, I might have been better prepared. Or not.
“Her thirty days are almost half up,” Lorenzo went on. “Have you decided if she’s staying?”
“The assessment is ongoing.”
“Of course. I imagine it requires constant observation.”
I gave him a look.
“Isn’t there a financial matter you should be attending to?”
“None as interesting as this.”
He left before my irritation stopped amusing him. I tried to concentrate on a German investor. Answered questions about occupancy, room rates, projected returns. As I spoke, Adrien touched Gabriela’s arm to point out something on the model. She didn’t move away. I missed part of the question.
“I’m sorry?”
The investor repeated himself. I answered, watching the conversation by the model out of the corner of my eye. I’d told her I wouldn’t start anything with her. Adrien didn’t have to know that to enjoy his evening. I hated him anyway.
When dinner began, I discovered Paola had seated Gabriela at the main table between Adrien and an art historian. I was at the head. Beatrice took the seat to my right, as she had at dozens of events.
“You’re distracted,” she said.
“I’m working.”
“In that case, work is wearing green.”
I set down my silverware.
“Don’t start.”
“You never do like anyone pointing out the obvious.”
“Gabriela’s in charge of the project.”
“Gabriela’s Augusto’s daughter. That’s why she’s still here.”
“She’s here because she caught the west wing damage before dismantling began and got the schedule back in order.”
“I see you keep track of all her achievements.”
Beatrice sipped her wine.
“Careful, Luca. Gratitude can take inconvenient forms.”
I wanted to answer. But Gabriela laughed across the table, and I turned before I could find anything to say that wouldn’t prove Beatrice’s point.
Adrien had leaned closer to hear her. When she finished, he gestured at the model.
“I’d like to see the garden tomorrow,” he said in English. “If Ms. Duarte has time to show me around.”
She opened the calendar on her phone.
“I’m free at ten.”
“She has a structural meeting at ten,” I cut in.
Both of them looked at me. Gabriela frowned.
“The meeting’s at eight.”
“It’s been moved.”
“No one told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Adrien smiled politely.
“We could go in the afternoon.”
“There’s a safety inspection.”
“Funny,” Gabriela said. “I hadn’t heard about that either.”
“The schedule has changed.”
“It seems to change every time Adrien suggests a time.”
Beatrice hid a smile behind her glass. I held Gabriela’s gaze.
“Paola will find a suitable time.”
“No need. Adrien can join the site visit already scheduled for tomorrow after ten. I’ll confirm with Paola.”
Adrien looked pleased. I wasn’t.
“The garden is private.”
“And a tour of the work is on the fund representatives’ program. It’s still closed to hotel guests.”
“Security needs to be told.”
She laid her napkin on the table.
“I’ll tell them. And I’ll keep the structural meeting at eight until I get a change in writing.”
The art historian urgently began talking about frescoes. I answered without taking my eyes off her.
After dessert, a quartet started playing near the terrace. A few guests got up to dance. Gabriela stayed by the windows, checking messages. Adrien approached with two glasses of sparkling wine.
I watched him offer her one and say something that made her smile. Then he held out his hand. She hesitated only a moment before taking it.
“Don’t,” Beatrice murmured.
I was already crossing the room. I reached them before Adrien could lead Gabriela onto the dance floor.
“Moreau. Mr. Keller needs to speak to you about the Swiss projections.”
Adrien glanced over his shoulder.
“Now?”
“Now.”
He heard the order beneath the courtesy and handed his glass to a waiter.
“Excuse me, Gabriela. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
His eyebrows rose, but he walked away. Gabriela handed her glass to a passing waiter and folded her arms.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Making sure a representative doesn’t miss an important conversation.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Isn’t he here to work?”
“People who work can dance.”
“Then dance with me.”
I was as surprised as she was. She looked at my outstretched hand.
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Probably.”
“There are investors in this room. Employees. Photographers.”
“I’m aware.”
“And Beatrice is watching us.”
I didn’t need to look.
“I noticed.”
“Then you know this is a bad idea.”
“Gabriela.”
“Luca.”
The music changed to a slow waltz. I kept my hand out.
“One dance.”
I watched her reach the sensible decision.
Then watched something less sensible win.
She put her hand in mine. The moment we moved, people noticed.
Conversations quieted. A photographer hired by the Swiss fund raised his camera, caught my eye, and hesitated before lowering it.
It wasn’t enough. Three phones were already pointed at us. Gabriela saw them.
“This will be on some website tomorrow,” she murmured.
“I can stop the official photographs from being published.”
“You can’t erase what forty people saw.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I loosened my grip. She looked at the phones, then at me, and stayed beside me.
“I want you to stop pretending.”
I led her to the middle of the floor. My free hand settled at her waist. No staircase to excuse it this time, no slippery ground. She rested a hand on my shoulder.
“I didn’t know you could dance.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Because you work so hard to keep it that way.”
I guided her through a slow turn. The dress moved around her legs. I was still aware of the phones. I drew her a little closer anyway.
“Moreau seems very comfortable with you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“We spent dinner talking. It helps.”
My hand tightened slightly at her waist. I eased it at once.
“I didn’t like watching him ask you to dance.”
She studied me for a few steps.
“You could have asked first.”
“I could have.”
“Instead, you made up a meeting for him.”
I missed a step. She came closer to find the rhythm again, her body brushing mine.
“Keller wanted to talk to the fund representatives.”
“All of them? Or just the one holding my hand?”
I didn’t answer. She lifted her face and waited, her eyes on mine.
I glanced at Beatrice, talking to an investor. Gabriela followed my gaze and began to pull away.
“Forget it.”
I kept my hand open at her waist, not holding her in place. “Wait.”
I rarely needed a second attempt. With Gabriela, I could barely manage the first. “I’m jealous. I wanted to be in his place before you even took his hand.”
Her smile faded.
“Then ask me for another dance. Don’t invent work for him.”
The music was ending. My hand was still at her waist.
“Will you stay for the next one?”
She looked at the quartet. She took long enough to answer that I thought she might leave.
“Yes.”
Before the next song began, I saw Beatrice by the table, typing on her phone. An investor raised his glass to me. I thought of Gabriela’s assessment, still waiting for my signature.
I stepped away.
“I shouldn’t have asked for another.”
Her hand fell. “Why?”
I looked back at the table. By the time I faced her again, she’d followed my gaze.
“Now you remember who’s watching.
“The dance was your idea. Remember that tomorrow, when you decide to pretend it never happened.”
She walked away before I could answer. I lowered the hand I still had out. The quartet began another piece.
Adrien came back a few minutes later and found her talking to Paola. He spoke to her, and they checked the time of the visit on her phone. Then he said goodbye. I could have gone over and corrected what I’d said at dinner. I stayed by the dance floor.
Gabriela picked up her bag and left with Paola. I stayed for one more song, watching the door they’d gone through.