Chapter Five #4
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” he agrees, checking himself in the mirror. Then he comes to me with a blue feathery one, also half face. “What about this one?”
He knows cerulean is my favorite color. I try it on. “Hell yeah. Now we’re ready to visit an old casino,” I conclude as I look at our reflections in the mirror. “I’ll buy them.”
“Why? We don’t wear masks with each other.”
I look at Jeremy’s half-covered face. “Do you mean this could be romantic if we didn’t know each other as well as we do? If there were mysteries, secrets, and feelings to uncover?”
He smiles halfheartedly. “Yeah. If we need to be someone else to be attractive to each other, then we’re not meant to be together.”
What he said makes so much sense it hurts.
I look at my best friend as he unties the mask, wondering if what saddens me about us not working is the idea of losing him like I lost Dad—like I will soon lose Nick, when he moves to Hawaii.
What if Jeremy gets a girlfriend who is jealous of me, and we grow apart to preserve his relationship? What if he takes a job in another city or country?
I can see now that I’ve wanted us to work for the wrong reasons.
What seemed to be the easy, most natural path is actually unnavigable.
We can’t keep pushing through. It would, of course, be wonderful if we loved each other romantically—and who knows, it might happen spontaneously someday—but it’s clear now that trying won’t get us there.
I want to talk to him and hear if he agrees the project has failed and we should call it quits, but Jeremy is already walking out of the shop, and Lorenzo is right next to him. I can’t have that conversation here.
I go to the register and pay for the masks. It doesn’t matter that we won’t wear them. I love those masks and need to keep them as a reminder of what I learned today.
You can be whoever you want, just don’t do it for the wrong reasons.
I can’t not be Daisy, and Jeremy can’t not be Jeremy. When we’re with each other, that’s who we are together. In this shop, trying on these masks, we were ourselves—the good old friends who need to keep being the best friends we always were.
I leave the shop, and we walk for about fifteen minutes. Lorenzo stops when we reach a palace with a beige facade overlooking the Grand Canal.
“I’d like to show you Ca’ Zanetti,” he says as we stand by the land entrance of what looks to be a hotel.
“This palazzo belonged to the wealthy Zanetti family in the seventeenth century. The rooms of the old gambling house have been restored and are now used for events organized by the hotel. If you give me a moment, I’ll run in and see if I can get us a private tour through the ridotto— or casino , if you prefer. ”
Lorenzo enters and returns a few minutes later with good news. The three of us walk in together, and my eyebrows rise at the sumptuous interior the outside didn’t prepare me for.
Ca’ Zanetti is bigger and more majestic than Hotel Marchesi, but I wouldn’t trade my room there for one here, and I know the main reason for that is Lorenzo.
Not only because of my attraction to him, but objectively speaking, he is great at what he does and will be an amazing manager.
I hope he gets the job. I know plenty of tourists will choose his hotel over the numerous excellent options in Venice.
We pass by the reception desk, and Lorenzo nods courteously at the staff then guides us to a staircase straight out of a fairy tale.
It’s picture-perfect, totally Instagrammable.
I pull out my phone because opportunities like this shouldn’t be wasted, even though I’m not very active on social media.
After Jeremy clicks me climbing down the stairs like a fine lady, we go up to the first floor, which reveals a magnificent central hall decorated with frescoes, mirrors, and stuccowork depicting birds, flowers, and foliage.
“This is the piano nobile , the noble floor of a historic Venetian palazzo ,” Lorenzo explains. “We are in the portego . From here, we can access all the drawing rooms of the casino.”
Six wooden doors are visible in the hall. At its end, a four-light window offers a beautiful view of the canal.
“Maybe I should tell you what the ridotti , or casini , were about,” Lorenzo says while Jeremy and I look around, fascinated. “They were exclusive private venues with a number of chambers where Venetians could gamble, socialize, maintain political contacts, and engage in sensual delights.”
I look at him when he says the last sentence, and the moment his eyes meet mine, I get goose bumps.
“Carnival lasted two months back then, and wearing masks was a tradition in the ridotti ,” Lorenzo says.
“At first, the authorities forbade gambling, but the Venetians didn’t care, so eventually, the casini became legal.
Although new bans emerged in the 1700s, at that point, there were over a hundred casini in Venice.
Today, only a few remain, sadly, as many of these venues were destroyed and never restored. ”
Sadly, indeed , I think, trying to picture myself here in the seventeenth century, wearing a mask and a ball gown. I love the idea of freedom and escapism the image gives me.
I stop under a fancy Murano glass chandelier and study it with interest. The art on the walls attracts Jeremy, and for a moment, we both appreciate the history of the palace.
When I look around again, I can’t see Lorenzo.
He’s making himself invisible.
I cross the room to stand next to Jeremy, my heart racing. It’s time to end the project officially.
“Cool place, huh?” I say to break the ice. Jeremy vaguely mutters in agreement, still fascinated by his surroundings. “Jere?” He looks at me this time. “We didn’t finish our conversation in the shop…”
He nods slowly, knowing what I mean. “I hope you’re not upset.” His eyes lower to the paper bag I’m carrying. “I’m sorry I can’t…play the role you want me to play.”
I swallow dryly. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to do something that doesn’t feel right. I’m grateful that you’re here, as my friend , and if you agree that we should end the project, I promise there won’t be more awkwardness on this trip.”
He smiles a little, looking relieved. “Ending the project is a good idea.”
I reach out my hand to seal the deal, feeling quite relieved myself. “Friends?”
He shakes on it. “BFFs.” Then he pulls me in for a hug.
A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. “Should we check out the other rooms?” I suggest after the hug, and he nods.
All the drawing rooms are furnished the way they would be back in time. We walk around like we are in a museum, admiring the meticulous wall decorations that one or more artists spent an unbelievable amount of time crafting. Each room is unique and special.
“Can you imagine yourself gambling here?” I ask Jeremy when we are in a small chamber with a round wooden table surrounded by velvet chairs.
“Oh yeah. I would be the merchant who comes here all the time and loses his earnings because he can’t resist the free drinks.”
I laugh. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you suck at card games?”
“Well, how can you read people’s poker faces when everyone is wearing masks?”
“I doubt they played poker.”
“That makes sense.”
We keep moving and run into Lorenzo in a small salon next to the stairs. “Hey,” he says, casually ungluing his back off the wall he’d been resting on. “Let me show you the ballroom.”
We follow him, and I gasp at the beauty before my eyes. It’s unlike any place I’ve seen before in real life. It’s simply… “Wow, wow, wow,” I keep saying, looking around in wonder.
There is so much art, so many ornaments and details, it’s overwhelming. Frescoes cover the high walls and ceiling with allegorical figures, silky curtains cascade over tall windows, and the empty central space is lit by candles in sconces. It all invites us to get lost in the past.
When we’re looking up at the angels and cloud-people—or whatever the heavenly art on the ceiling is depicting—Lorenzo vanishes again.
“We should probably tell him,” Jeremy says, glancing in the direction where Lorenzo discreetly disappeared.
“Yeah,” I say, my stomach plummeting at the idea of telling Lorenzo that the project is over.
That I’m willing to let go and enjoy myself in Venice.
The room suddenly feels too hot, and I turn around to hide the flushing of my face. I consider telling Jeremy about my feelings for Lorenzo, but I can’t do that now when there’s a chance Lorenzo might overhear us.
Jeremy’s phone rings, and he glances at the screen. Alice is calling.
He dismisses it, and I pretend I didn’t see who it was.
“Sorry,” he says and resumes his observation of the ceiling. “Do you think parties are still hosted in this ballroom?”
“I think so,” I reply, remembering that Lorenzo said the hotel uses the old casino rooms for events. It would be one hell of a venue for a wedding. I’m sure others have thought the same.
Jeremy’s phone rings a second time. He checks the name on the screen—Alice again—and says, “Sorry, let me take this. I’ll be right back.” He then walks toward the stairs and disappears.
I seek the nearest chair and sit down to wait. Minutes pass in complete silence.
I didn’t answer Ryan’s text, and he didn’t try contacting me again. Is it the first time Alice has tried to reach Jeremy since the text messages? Or have they been in touch? Why does he not talk about her if the breakup is still an issue for him?
The project , that’s why. I hope now that we’ve dropped it, we will start sharing our feelings and concerns with each other, like we’ve always done.
Footsteps echo in the ballroom. I look up, expecting to see Jeremy returning.
But it’s Lorenzo. And my heart rate rises to the heavens painted on the ceiling.
“Where is Jeremy?” he asks once he makes his way to me. I look at his elegant figure towering over me and stand up to be more at his eye level.
“His ex called him, and he left the room to answer,” I say.
Lorenzo’s brows furrow. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, trying to look less tense than I feel. “It’s okay. We ended the project.”
Now his dark eyebrows climb his forehead. “What? Do you mean—”
“That we’re no longer trying to fall for each other in Venice? Yes, that’s right. As you know, it wasn’t working, and I realized it’s okay that we’re just friends—we’re meant to be just friends—and doing this to keep him in my life would only make me lose him.”
Lorenzo is wide-eyed, not really shocked, just…confused? Not daring to believe what he’s hearing?
“What made you change your mind so quickly? Did the two of you…” He trails off, and my cheeks heat up even more when I remember what we talked about in the bar last night.
“We didn’t have sex.” I’m quick to reassure him, even though it’s none of his business if I was intimate with Jeremy.
I just…want him to know. “We didn’t kiss, and I didn’t bring him anywhere to seduce him.
” Thinking practically, I quit too early—before I could properly test our potential for chemistry.
It’s just that… “It didn’t feel right,” I say.
My brain has finally accepted this. I want to stop being stubborn and pushing an agenda on myself when that’s not what my body—my soul —is asking for.
I don’t tell that last part to Lorenzo because… I don’t know. I just don’t. All I can do is stare at his green eyes, which glimmer with something that looks too much like hope.
He takes a tiny step closer, bringing his face close to mine. I stay still like a marble statue, shivering, sweating, wishing he would come even closer…
He lifts a hand, and the tips of his fingers slide along my hairline, putting a strand behind my ear. The chills get more intense, and I close my eyes to enjoy the gentle touch.
“I want to tell you that you did the right thing, but you know I’m biased.” His soft voice gives me shivers. I embrace the feeling. I’m allowed to feel this . There’s no reason to suppress myself.
“I’m sorry the project you were so invested in didn’t have a happy ending,” I say, because even though Lorenzo is part of the reason why our plans failed, he did try.
He had good intentions, and our happiness would have meant an achievement for him.
“I’m so grateful for all you did, Lorenzo.
You were great. You showed us the magic of Venice, and I hope you get the job anyway.
I’ll vouch for you if you need.” I gaze straight at him, wanting to make sure he knows he is valued. “Really, you’re so good.” So good…
He lifts my chin with his thumb and his index finger, and my heartbeat gets so violent that my breath comes out shaky.
Our mouths are inches away. His gaze lowers to my lips, and the level of excitement running through my veins reaches alarming levels.
He is going to kiss me. Right here. Right now. I hold my breath, waiting…
Footsteps approach the ballroom.
Lorenzo jumps back, adding a safe distance between us. Jeremy then enters the room, holding his phone. Lorenzo steps away, hands behind his back like a guard patrolling the halls.
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” Jeremy says, and I can tell by his wrinkled forehead that he is not in the mood for a palace tour. “I should head back.”
“Why? What happened?” I ask despite knowing the answer. Talking to Alice shook him in some way.
“It’s just—” He takes a lengthy pause.
“It was Alice, wasn’t it?” I hope he will be honest with me. I want to be honest with him too. I’ll tell him about my feelings for Lorenzo as soon as we’re alone.
“Yeah, it was Alice,” Jeremy confesses, running a hand over his forehead. He looks exhausted. Hurt. “Is it okay if I go back to the hotel?”
“Of course,” I say, rubbing his arm and giving him a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks, Daisy. See you later.” He holds the sides of my face and kisses my forehead. It’s an affectionate, brotherly gesture, as it should be.
As Jeremy walks away, I look at my golden, luxurious surroundings and think of the grandeur of Venice at its peak. Before the hordes of tourists. Before the new social norms replaced the old ones.
I think of how the people back then handled their demons.
How they lived in the present.
You can be whoever you want, but not for the wrong reasons .
I learned that and so much more on this vacation, so I tell my brain that feeling good about myself, feeling alive when I have the chance, is simply right.
I look at Lorenzo standing by the door like he wasn’t there when Jeremy walked away, and I make a decision.
I take the cerulean Carnival mask from the paper bag I’ve been carrying, walk over to Lorenzo, and offer him the black mask.
“I want another escapade,” I say, looking at his inquiring eyes. “But not with you.”
He looks at the mask in his hand, eyebrows up. “Not with me?”
“No.” I borrow his sly smirk. “With Casanova.”