Chapter Nine #2
I like this area. The streets are less busy and somewhat rawer.
The Grand Canal is always around the corner, and a fresh breeze seeps through the alleys.
There are posters on the walls for events—some long done—deteriorating with the weather, and bell-shaped chimneys poking out of time-worn buildings.
I smile whenever I see tables on the walkway occupied by people having brunch or an early wine. Residential buildings are all around us, and when I look up at an open window with a silky white curtain and laundry hanging outside, I can see myself living there.
Lorenzo stops when we reach a place called Mercato del Pesce al Minuto. “This is the Rialto Fish Market. I thought you would like it.”
I look at him, feeling radiant, and he returns my joyful grin. Anyone else would find it uninteresting to see a place that sells fresh and smelly fish. But I’m a chef, and Lorenzo is a master at guessing what would make people happy. Especially me.
There are fewer tourists here. I can see it’s where locals and restaurant owners buy supplies.
“This is awesome,” I say like a kid who found an enormous toy store. Then we cross the arch to enter the authentic, lively market.
It’s a feast for the eyes, with seafood of all types and colors filling the stalls under the roofed structure supported by old beige pillars.
Even at a glance, I can see that here I’d find the best scallops, octopuses, sardines, squids, oysters, and mussels in the region.
The variety of fish makes me grin and salivate—because I can envision all the dishes I could prepare with these precious ingredients.
Enthusiastic vendors present their products, and there’s loud back-and-forth in Italian.
“Lots of chefs come here, and I wanted you to have a glimpse of Venetian daily life,” Lorenzo says as we walk around. “Boats full of freshly caught fish arrive every morning directly from the lagoon. Isn’t it wonderful?”
I nod, smiling from ear to ear. “Yeah, it is.”
He’s selling Venice to me. And I can’t deny I’m almost buying it…
“Look at these octopuses,” I say when we pass by one of the stalls.
“Trust me, signorina , you’ll never want anything else once you try them,” the vendor says. “I can tell you exactly how to prepare them so you get all the taste.”
I glance at Lorenzo, smiling, and he tells the man, “She’s a chef…”
“And I’d love to hear your advice.” I grin at the seller, who proceeds to enthusiastically share a traditional recipe with us.
It sounds good, and I’m interested in learning the ways of the locals, so I buy his octopus and promise I’ll try preparing it like he said after Lorenzo tells me I can borrow the hotel kitchen this afternoon.
The prospect of cooking for Lorenzo—for us —an authentic polpo alla veneziana fills me with excitement.
We move to the next stall, and I stop to get a bag full of mussels for almost no money.
“Getting inspired for your restaurant?” Lorenzo asks.
If only he knew how much I’m seduced…not only by him, but also by life in Venice.
Tell him , an unfamiliar, impulsive side of me urges.
I obey.
“Yesterday was wonderful, and I can’t stop thinking about you.” My pulse throbs in my throat as I anxiously wait for his reply.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
My heart soars, uncontained. I want to tell him I’m questioning the plans I shared with him last night. But when I’m still so unsure…
He’d influence my decision too much. If he’s in love with me the way I’m in love with him, he will push me to move to Venice, and I can’t let that affect my judgment. As much as I wish that what we have would last, I need to figure out what I want first.
So I change the subject. “How are things between you and Mr. Marchesi?”
“We’re fine,” Lorenzo answers calmly, and I smile, relieved. “He is still considering me to replace him as general manager, but…” He pauses, and my heart races. But what? “I’ve been thinking about resuming my violin career.”
Oh. That’s unexpected.
I’m happy he’s thinking about it, though.
I’ve been pushing him to question his decision to leave the violin behind, and I wanted to bring that up again during dinner last night.
Instead, I went on about my plan to stay in Los Angeles and run my dad’s old restaurant.
Something I’m no longer sure I should keep pursuing.
I made Lorenzo believe I couldn’t possibly discard that dream.
I don’t know why I did that. I think I held back because I was afraid he would poke my fiery side, and I’ve always believed passion blinds a person.
Maybe I can hint at my uncertainty…talk honestly with him like I did with Nick this morning—and like he’s doing now by telling me he’s questioning his career path.
“It’s great that you’re thinking about it, Lorenzo,” I say in response to his revelation.
His face is serious. Unreadable. But the bobbing of his Adam’s apple makes clear he’s swallowing with difficulty.
“What the chef said yesterday made me think about the challenges of running a luxury hotel and keeping its stars,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “I wondered if I could commit to this for the rest of my life when that means I’ll never work with music again.”
I nod, my forehead creasing as I look for the implication of his words.
“That has been Luigi’s biggest concern… And I see he is right. I realized I’m not one hundred percent sure I can take on the manager job and not regret leaving music behind. Even though I really want to run Hotel Marchesi.”
He’s divided.
I nod again. “You love both careers, and that’s fair. But Mr. Marchesi needs full commitment from you.”
“Yes.” He looks down. “So I figured it’s fair for me and him that I give the violin one more try.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “What does Mr. Marchesi think?”
One of the corners of Lorenzo’s mouth stretches up. “He doesn’t know I’ve come to this conclusion, and I don’t want to tell him until there’s an actual decision to make.”
I stare at Lorenzo, confused. His hairline is damp with sweat. He’s fully suited today—jacket, tie, and all. So handsome… My misbehaving mind instantly pictures my hands opening his buttons, taking off his hot clothes and exposing his hot body…
“I applied for a violinist position at an orchestra in Milano last night. They answered this morning, inviting me for an audition on Thursday.”
“What?” I react, eyes opening wider. “In two days?”
“Yes,” he replies solemnly. “I’m not sure I should go, though…” His eyes lower in a rare display of shyness. “Thursday is your last day here.”
That’s correct. I leave Friday morning. His eyes find mine again, and we stare at each other silently as my heart attempts to break out of my rib cage.
If I was disoriented before, now I’ve totally lost my bearings.
In the labyrinthine Venetian streets. In complete darkness.
I try to reason my way out of the mental maze.
So, Lorenzo wants to resume his violin career.
Okay. That’s great. But he applied for a full-time position in Milan.
If he gets the job, he must leave Venice and Hotel Marchesi. He will get his old life back…
Fuck. I wasn’t counting on that.
My breath becomes labored. This only proves I can’t make big life decisions moved by passion. Nick is right. I can’t take a leap of faith because of a guy I just met.
I can be whoever I want, but not for the wrong reasons , I remind myself of what I’ve learned in Venice.
Lorenzo has his own plans and dreams, and I need to figure out what mine should be— who I should be . Because self-realization is the only thing that can guarantee my happiness.
“I thought you were done being a stressed orchestra musician.” I wonder if Lorenzo’s decision makes sense based on all he’s told me. He needed to confront the past and stop avoiding the violin to discover that playing doesn’t have to be painful—if he accepts he doesn’t need to be the best.
But now he’s putting himself under pressure again. He won’t be playing just for pleasure. He will push himself to perfection and suffer if he can’t get there.
“It’ll be different this time,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve changed.”
I can only hope that’s true. I don’t want his love for music to hurt him again.
“But I thought you needed Venice.” He said this city was his one true lover.
Lorenzo smirks, but it’s such a faint curve it’s barely there. “I need my violin , Daisy. That’s the truth.”
I swallow. And swallow again. I realize I expected Lorenzo to say he needed me .
Why should I expect that? I ask myself, almost angrily. I acted indifferently yesterday. I babbled about my need to buy La Veneziana and root myself in Los Angeles. I barely kissed him. Didn’t invite him into my room after dinner. He got the message…
He’s taking care of himself. He’s doing what he must do. He’s admitting he needs his violin, and I should encourage him. It’s a big decision, one he certainly didn’t take lightly because he loves Venice and the hotel.
If you grow as a person, why shouldn’t your dreams change too? Chef Gravano’s voice echoes in my head.
Lorenzo and I changed each other over these last few days. Ironically, though, our new dreams drive us apart, not together.
He doesn’t know you’ve been thinking about moving to Venice , I remind myself. If you tell him how you feel…
Well, he clearly doesn’t feel the same way.
He’s showing me the best of Venice to convince me to move here, I’ve assumed.
But he doesn’t even plan on being here. If he thinks I should move to Venice, it’s not because he wants to be in a serious relationship with me.
He’s not ready to commit to a woman—or the hotel.
He needs to figure out where he belongs.
Because apparently, despite his passionate speeches, he hasn’t yet.
I went from one extreme to the other, and that’s not what I’d call being fixed , he’d said in the palace.
We can’t change our life plans just to follow the unstable, incomprehensible feelings we have for each other. We can’t live in the extremes; we need balance—passion and rationality working together.
It’s time to use my brain to figure out what my soul calls for. I need to stop following what works for others and in fiction and become the protagonist of my own life.
“You should go to the audition,” I say firmly. “And you need to practice.”
Lorenzo cups my face, the gentle heat of his hands on my cheeks causing my legs to turn into butter.
“Daisy.” His eyes are intense. I hold my gaze on his, choked with the feelings I don’t let out. “We can enjoy the last moments, can’t we?”
Passion and rationality must work hand in hand , I repeat to myself. I know we can’t—shouldn’t, won’t —discuss a future together. So all we have is the present. Choosing not to live it would be a punishment we don’t deserve.
“Yes,” I say under my breath.
His thumb moves on my cheek, and I feel all creamy inside.
“Last night, I took my violin out of its case for the first time in three years,” he tells me. “I didn’t play, though…”
“Why?” I ask, our breaths mingling in the small space between our noses.
“Because when I play again, I want it to be with you. For you.”
His words make me gasp. I want to kiss him so badly , but we’re in the middle of a fish market, so I limit myself to grasping the lapels of his suit jacket.
“I would love to hear you play, Lorenzo,” I say with an intensity that is almost a caress.
He lowers his gaze to where my fists clench the fabric of his suit, and his hands close around my waist. God, it’s hard not to pull him toward my lips right now…
“Don’t make plans tonight then.” His smirk is devious . I shiver, so full of desire I need to remind myself I’m surrounded by dead fish and merchants who are probably eyeing us and busy shoppers whose path we’re probably blocking.
It’s hard to tell myself this is not romantic, though.
Because literally anywhere is romantic when I’m with Lorenzo.
And this place is just…me being me. This place is me being admired by a man who deeply knows me despite having just met me.
Someone who doesn’t care that I’m holding a bag of octopus between our bodies and making his elegant clothes stink of seafood.
“My planner is blank,” I assure him.
He comes a few inches closer, and I look at his delicious lips with yearning.
“I could kiss you now…” he whispers, reflecting my thoughts, and I hold my breath, waiting. “But there’s an octopus between us.” He peers down at the plastic bag, and I burst into laughter.
“Sorry… I guess the only way to compensate you is letting you cut its head off yourself.
He makes a face. “Brutal woman. I should go. Something here smells fishy.”
I laugh again, and we go back to the hotel, holding hands.