Chapter Six #2
Not quite like this. I assumed he was a loving father for the way she seemed to miss him. I admitted I never had my father. It was an impulsive, very personal confession, and I don’t know why I said it, but I felt good sharing that.
I feel good sharing anything with her.
I’m so light right now, I could fly. I increase the pace of our dance and show her all I’ve got. All the steps learned in the dance classes my grandma signed me up for when I was sixteen.
I was the only boy in my school who could waltz and play violin like a pro.
Some girls were impressed, and I made sure to impress them.
Some thought I was a dork. Nonna arriving to pick me up wearing thrift-shop pearl necklaces and vintage dresses didn’t do much for my reputation, especially when she gave me bear hugs and we started talking as the unlikely best friends we were.
Just like I became friends with Luigi now that I live in Venice. I’m bound to get along with the elderly, it seems.
I made sure to buy real jewelry and luxury brand-name dresses for Nonna when I joined the symphony orchestra.
And I didn’t forget to email invitations to former classmates still in my contacts when I started performing.
A few of my old high-school acquaintances showed up.
I got the girls I failed to charm the first time. I started going out with Elena again…
I don’t want to think about her as I’m dancing with Daisy, but I realize with a hollow feeling in my stomach that I’m dancing the wedding waltz.
The one Elena and I practiced so much and never got to dance.
I end the song by dipping Daisy. Our centers go lower than when standing, and I hold her in my arms in a diagonal position, supporting her weight as she stares at me.
I was supposed to do that with Elena.
“We’ve just danced my wedding waltz.”
I wish I hadn’t said that out loud. Something about Daisy Hogan brings out all my truth.
Her eyes widen, and I lift her to an upright position. She keeps her arms on me even though we’re no longer dancing.
“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice loaded with fear. “Are you married?”
Oh no. I can’t scare her like that.
“No, no, of course not,” I hurry to clarify. “Please, don’t think that.” Oh God, I can’t let her have such thoughts about me. “There’s no other woman in my life now.”
Okay, maybe I was a bit too intense. Dammit.
“I was supposed to get married, but I didn’t,” I explain. “Her name is Elena, and we dated in high school, then again after I joined the symphony orchestra in Milano.”
Daisy presses her lips together, still not moving. Her hands are warm on my arms, sweaty even, and I concentrate on her touch. On where we can lead things next. Stop talking about your ex, Lorenzo , Casanova says to me. You don’t even miss her. He’s totally right.
“Why didn’t you get married?” Daisy asks because, with reason, now she wants to know everything.
But everything includes talking about the accident, and I don’t want to spend precious minutes of our time together dwelling on the past.
“I can tell you later in detail if you want to know,” I say to make it sound like I’m not hiding my flaws, even though I kind of am.
“But for now, I can say it was because I didn’t behave like the caring man I should have been, even though I also needed to be taken care of.
” I can’t make it sound like it was my fault exclusively because I still think Elena is to blame as much—or more—than me.
“The truth is, we weren’t meant to be, and thankfully, we both realized that in time. ”
Daisy nods, understanding this on more than a surface level.
Now stop talking about the past and make her feel desired , Casanova says to me.
He is right. That’s my role tonight, so I embrace the seducer in me.
I start by gently putting her hair behind her ear, touching her only with my fingertips, and looking straight into her eyes through her mask. She tries to hide a sigh, but it exits her parted lips. She’s getting in the mood, and I can do even more to have her where I want her.
Where she wants to be.
Something still troubles her, though. The fine line between her brows tells me that.
“What is on your mind, sweet Daisy?”
“You’d be better off asking what’s not on my mind.” She smiles—sadly, maybe—and I follow.
“You can’t stop worrying, can you?” I put my thumb on her forehead and gently brush it. “Thoughts and more thoughts all the time.”
She nods, suddenly small and fragile in front of me. I want to take her in my arms and care for her. I don’t have forever. But today should be enough.
Why should you want forever? I question myself. Stop. Thinking. About. The. Damn. Future.
“I’ve been there,” I tell her as I caress the part of her face the mask doesn’t cover. “I know what it’s like to not be able to relax, ever, no matter where you are.”
“How did you fix yourself?”
I laugh. “I went from one extreme to the other, and that’s not what I’d call being fixed .”
“That’s not true,” she says, serious. “You’re not totally carefree now. That’s only what you make others think. But it’s not the truth.”
Her remarks take me off guard.
“You care deeply about your job and the hotel, and you need your boss to see that.”
My heart races upon hearing her assessment.
She should consider me a reckless person for being here.
For having offered her “lessons” that were, above all, an excuse for us to exercise our repressed lust. Maybe she and Jeremy weren’t meant to be, but I’ve certainly affected her judgment.
And now I’m the one dancing with her in a ballroom while I should be at the hotel catching up with work I’ve neglected.
“Besides,” she continues, “you make women think you don’t need long-lasting love. But you do.”
That is a serious accusation. The Casanova in me shakes his head with a reproving smirk. At the same time, my heart hammers. Because deep down, I know she’s right. My rogue thoughts today are evidence.
I’m always trying to look like losing someone wouldn’t hurt.
Like I can easily replace people. Like I can live a few good moments and be happy with that.
But I know I don’t commit only to spare myself the pain that would inevitably come with saying goodbye.
Because I chose Venice. But choosing Venice means I must let everything else go.
I must let Daisy go.
Venice is my safe haven, like Jeremy is hers. We need them to cope with life. No matter how intensely we live this one week in which she’s here as a tourist, it will never be enough to change our futures.
We have no option but to live the magic right now, so we can move on with reality and carry these days with us when life feels dark and lonely.
Daisy is still waiting for my reply. She stripped my soul naked, and now I need to divert our attention to a different kind of nudity…
“Enjoy the present, bid defiance to the future, laugh at all those reasonable beings who exercise their reason to avoid the misfortunes which they fear, destroying at the same time the pleasure that they might enjoy,” I quote and, under her questioning expression, add, “Casanova.”
One might say he was a mentor on my journey to becoming what Daisy calls carefree . But that’s misinterpreting the way he lived life.
“Enjoying the moment and all its possibilities is simply a way to stop your overthinking mind and listen to your heart, your skin, your ears, your body,” I tell her.
It’s what I’ve lived by the last three years.
“It’s caring, but in a different way.” I lean closer to capture her gaze.
I don’t want her to look away. I want to persuade her.
“It’s listening to what you truly want. The thoughts in the back of your head.
Those you constantly shove aside, and which aren’t wrong—you just tell yourself they are. ”
It’s like I’m hypnotizing her with my words. She’s no longer confrontational, trying to get me to admit the things I avoid. Now I’m the one pulling her free side to the surface, unchaining it from her rationality.
My thumb runs over her soft, rosy lips, then her chin and sharp jawline. The mask can’t hide that she’s beautiful. I want to tell her that. But I’d prefer she focus on the sensations. I want to say only what will make her shudder with pleasure.
There’s something divine about silence. I take the earbud out of my ear so it can be just the two of us, no orchestra. She copies me and puts the earbuds in my pocket without taking her eyes off me. She’s pretty and still, like a Renaissance sculpture, waiting for me to make all the moves.
“Seduction is a two-player game,” I say as if this is another lesson.
She leans closer to whisper something in my ear. I love that she likes to do that. The back of my neck tingles pleasurably as she leans forward, one of her hands on the side of my face, the other on my shoulder.
“I’m ready to play.”
Shivering from head to toe, I look at her and, oh, Dio mio , I’m tempted. She’s gripping my nape now, also overtaken by desire, and I want her to squeeze me even harder as I kiss her ardently.
I’m not making it easy for her, though. I plan to tease her until she gives in, and I sense it won’t be much longer now…
“Show me your moves,” I prompt her, now the one standing still. It’s her turn, and no matter how much I want her, I’m not surrendering first.
“I like a slow start…” she says as she caresses my face, slowly, as I did with her.
Instead of using her thumb, she runs two fingers over my lips, and I don’t waste the opportunity to kiss them.
Her fingers then gently brush against my beard until they reach the borders of the mask, and she goes down, bringing her caresses to my neck.
Her fingertips running over the sensitive skin of my throat trigger a blend of sensations in my chest that almost takes my breath away. I remain a statue, waiting for more, and I’m not disappointed.