Chapter Two
Two
Il Successore
Lorenzo
T here’s no way he’ll let me do this. He might even fire me.
I have to try, though. Besides, the damage is done.
I knock on the door. It’s early, but he’s normally awake and ready for work at seven thirty. I wait a few seconds. Then, a few more.
The door opens.
“Lorenzo.” He says my name like it’s no surprise I’m the first person he sees this morning.
“I’ll be at the office in half an hour, you know,” he says in Italian, our mother tongue.
There’s an edge in his tone, but it’s not annoyance.
I’ve bothered him in his private quarters many times.
As he’s done the same to me, I consider us even.
Luigi Marchesi runs a hand over his balding silver hair, quickly putting in place what I didn’t give him time to comb, and yawns as he holds the door open for me.
I enter his small living room and unceremoniously accommodate myself on the sofa.
My mouth mirrors his, and I yawn. I slept four hours last night, if not less.
“What now?” Luigi drops his weight in the vintage armchair that belonged to his great-grandfather, and the coffee in his mug almost splashes out onto his perfectly ironed button-up.
Luigi might forget to sleep and eat, but his clothes are always impeccable.
I often picture him standing in this baroque room, listening to opera and ironing piles of white shirts late at night.
He could send them all to the laundry personnel, but he’s not the type.
He would do every single task in the hotel and spare everyone else the work, if he could.
“I’ve had an idea, and I hope you’ll say yes.” I put forward my best charming smile. It works wonders on everyone else, but on Luigi it works only half the time.
He makes a go-ahead hand gesture as if he knows he can’t stop me from blurting it out, whatever it is.
I lean forward, closer to the edge of the seat.
“I want to offer an exclusive, personalized, VIP concierge service for one of the couples staying at the hotel.” Luigi’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“And by that, I mean both pampering them in the hotel and bringing them out on guided tours.”
Luigi’s eyebrows lower again and meet in the middle. “Why? Is the youngest couple in the British Royal family staying with us? The scandalous ones, whatever they’re called.”
“No,” I say, amused because Luigi is pretending he doesn’t follow celebrity news. I know he does it to avoid embarrassing himself by not recognizing a famous guest at the hotel.
“Then why? Did someone ask for VIP treatment?” Luigi’s fingers run down his mustache.
I shake my head. “No. But that’s the thing.” I use my best salesman tone. “We’ll be one step ahead. We’ll give them what they didn’t ask for but greatly desire.”
Luigi dismisses my suggestion with a wave. I’m losing him. He’s getting up. I get up too.
“It’s too much, Lorenzo. If they won’t pay for it or aren’t famous, we won’t do it. We can’t do the same for every guest, so why them?”
“There’s a good reason, okay? Let me explain. Please sit.”
Luigi looks at me for a second, then sighs and sits again, glancing at his watch. “You have twenty minutes before I’m out solving a billion things.”
I nod and lean forward again to get all his attention, then I tell him what I heard last night at the bar—the story of two friends who want to become lovers in the week they’ll spend here.
“Do you want anything more romantic, more Venice , than that?” I smile, remembering how Daisy’s pretty face lit up when she came up with “the project.”
Daisy. I couldn’t help noticing a restlessness in her light brown eyes that suggested she wasn’t sad or angry but deeply dissatisfied…
Eager to feel good and valued because her ex—and probably other men before him—had made her feel less .
Less beautiful than she is. Less excited about life and love than she deserves to be.
I can’t for the love of me understand why. She’s a gorgeous woman. Her delicate features look like they were drawn by a talented artist. Her voice and her smell… The short time I spent in her presence was enough to spark…sensations in my body.
My own interest in her makes me believe the project can work.
If chemistry is what is missing for them, I trust I can help steer things in the right direction.
I’ll just have to avoid thinking that she’s attractive to me .
I can always ignore my pull toward gorgeous women when it’s not appropriate—and now it definitely isn’t.
Luigi’s mouth reluctantly curves up. “It’s sweet, yes. But why does that have anything to do with us? I know you want to help but—”
“I know you’ll tell me to not overstep, but hear me out, Luigi.” I rest my elbows on my knees, intertwine my fingers, and look directly at him. “This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. That I have been waiting for.” I look at him for a few seconds, waiting for his conclusion.
I get another frown. “Are you talking about proving your worth?”
I nod, biting my lower lip. Sometimes he makes me feel like a child waiting for a parent’s approval. Maybe because he is the closest thing to a father figure I have.
“Lorenzo…” His tone is almost affectionate now. “You’re my favorite, you know that, right?”
“But you don’t trust I can run the hotel.” I state what we both know but often dance around.
“And how would helping a random couple fall in love prove you can be in charge when I retire?” He crosses his arms over his chest, then undoes the move as soon as he realizes he might be wrinkling his tie—today, a vibrant tangerine piece with blue flowers—and smoothens it instead.
“I can see how that would show you’re a good concierge or maybe a good tour guide , but—”
“You know I can handle the tasks, Luigi.” My leg shakes out of nervousness, but I quickly stop since the habit irritates him. “The problem— your problem with me—is that you think I don’t want to stay in Venice.”
There is a brief, uncomfortable silence. I keep staring at Luigi, daring him to say I’m wrong.
He sighs. “You’re right. I think you’re not ready to give up all the possibilities of your life to stay in this city that is lovely but limited in options.”
It’s not a lie. It’s all about tourism in Venice.
Most people you meet here, especially when you work in hospitality, are foreigners.
You live to help them enjoy the city for a couple of days before they go back to their normal lives in normal cities.
For them, Venice is a fantasy. A dream. A European Disneyland.
But for us locals, it’s real.
Luigi is afraid I’ll realize it’s not at some point and go back to Milano.
He took me in three years ago. I was a lost violinist—or what was left of one—busking in the streets of Venice. Music was comfort and pain, and I was trying to figure out what I could do with my life, as I was no longer skilled enough to work for an orchestra.
Luigi found me, heard me , and saw other raw talents in me that could be polished and used in a different career. I needed a job, any job, and so I took what he offered.
He gave me new purpose. He helped me build a brand-new Lorenzo. Since then, there’s not a day I don’t fear he’ll fire me to “allow me to do something better with my life.”
Something involving music.
I need to show him he’s wrong.
“I’ve made my decision, Luigi,” I say with intensity so he can feel all my passion and truth. “I want to stay. I love Venice. I want to settle down and run this business. I’m ready. I can do it, and I need you to believe I can.”
He nods, looking down, very quiet. I wait.
“And the music?” he says so low I almost can’t hear it. But I could easily guess he would ask that.
“I’m done with it.” After three years of not even touching my violin, I’d expect that he’d know it’s over for good.
And even if it wasn’t… “People can have hobbies, you know. I don’t assume you’re preparing to compete in the Sanremo Music Festival just because you love singing ‘Tarantella Napoletana.’”
That gets a smile out of him, but it’s short-lived. He’s well-aware that playing violin was never just a hobby for me.
“So, by helping the couple, you show me you’re ready to embrace Venice?” He still looks skeptical, but I feel more motivated than ever.
“It’s not just about helping a random couple,” I say. “It’s about showing them—and you —that I deeply know Venice and its magic. I know what it can do for you. What it did for me . And what it can do for them, our prized guests.”
Luigi purses his lips, concentrating, his small dark eyes fixed on mine.
“I’m not the lost boy you believe I am, Luigi,” I say, more serious than usual. “I’ll masterfully tackle this task. And look.” I raise a finger. “It won’t be an easy one. They’ve been close friends for twenty years and have never felt anything for each other. Some would call that a lost cause.”
Luigi tilts his head, considering. “I would.”
“But I won’t.” I shake my index finger. “If they want to fall in love in Venice, they will . Nothing is impossible in this place. And I’ll show them that.
It’s the attitude you want from your successor, isn’t it?
You want someone passionate about the city and about making people’s dreams come true when they’re staying with us. ”
Luigi looks down, then nods. When his gaze finds mine again, he’s also more serious than normal.
“I like seeing you commit, ragazzo .” He only calls me that— boy— when he talks to me like a son.
“I’ve yet to see you dedicate to something—or someone—like I believe you can.
And I know that’s because of the life you had before joining us.
The accident and everything that followed… ”
I divert my gaze, hoping he won’t start talking about my past. I try to think about it as little as possible. I live in the present, and that’s more than enough.