Chapter Eleven #2
It feels like I’ve known him all my life. Like I’ve been waiting for him to come and find me. Or, well, for me to come to Venice and find him. And now, finally, I feel like I know myself.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” Lorenzo says, his voice reverberating in his chest. I lift my head. “Do you want to join?”
“You can go first. I need a few more minutes to recover my ability to walk.”
He laughs and disappears into the bathroom. Lying in the same lazy position I stayed in when he rose, I hear the soothing sound of the shower and smile. Then I turn on the TV to wait for his return. Maybe we can have a cozy night together, cuddling under the blankets.
We do just that after I take my own shower. We watch a black-and-white movie, and my whole being pumps with joy at the realization that we can sit in bed together without becoming hopelessly lustful. We share M&M’s, drink soda from the same can, and laugh at silly jokes like a normal, happy couple.
It’s past one when I turn off the TV, unable to keep my eyes open anymore.
“You’re sleeping here, right?” I ask him, closing my eyes as I rest my head on his chest.
He rubs my arm and speaks close to my hair. “I’m off work tomorrow, and I’m not catching a train at eight in the morning anymore, so I could if we’re discreet…”
I raise my head to look at him. “Were you going to Milan tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I thought I should be there one day before the audition. An old friend was going to lend me his couch, and I figured I could practice a little while there.”
“Are you sure you won’t regret not going?” I ask him.
Lorenzo looks at me. “There will be other opportunities. I’d probably not pass this audition anyway. You saw me today…”
I sit up to look at him better. “I watched a very skilled musician play in that auditorium,” I say.
“I was deeply touched.” The world deserves to hear what I heard tonight—the heart that pours out of his instrument.
He can’t run away from that again. “You were just nervous and a little rusty. But please don’t be discouraged. ”
“I won’t.”
Something about his stance and the tone of his voice doesn’t convince me. I fear that if he misses this audition in Milan, he won’t apply for another position in the future. Mr. Marchesi will promote him to manager, and Lorenzo will stay in his comfort zone at the hotel.
And maybe that would be fine. He loves it here, after all.
But one day, perhaps not even so far in the future, he might regret his decision.
He might realize it’s too late—he’s too committed to the hotel and irreparably rusty with the violin—and will see he missed his chance to pursue a music career.
“Are there no other violinist positions you can apply for?” I ask. “Here in Venice, maybe?”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “Not at the moment. But that’s okay. Something will come up eventually, and I’ll keep busy in the meantime.”
The opportunities probably don’t come very often. And I know it’s a competitive field. He shouldn’t pass up this chance…
“Do it, Lorenzo,” I find myself saying, even though it hurts me. “Go to the audition.”
He frowns. “But I’d rather be with you.”
I need my violin, Daisy. That’s the truth , he’d said in the fish market when I argued he needed Venice.
He defined his priorities. He concluded he would be okay leaving Venice and Hotel Marchesi behind if that meant he could have another shot at a career with an orchestra.
He was traumatically pushed off that path due to an accident.
It wasn’t his choice. He said he regretted not enjoying the job as he should have due to stress, so it makes sense he wants to try again now that he’s developed a different mindset.
This is his unresolved issue. The thing that he’s long denied to his boss and to himself.
After finally admitting he must deal with it, he’s putting the matter aside yet again because he wants to spend two more days with me.
It would be selfish of me to agree to this.
I’d be helping Lorenzo hide from his unfinished business once again…
“I know it’s tempting not to go,” I say. “But you need to think about your future.”
“Future…” He snorts. “What future? All I’m certain about is that I want to be with you.” He swallows, looking down. “In the present and the future.” Very serious, he raises his head, looks at me, and pleads, “Stay in Venice, Daisy. Please.”
Oh God. Okay. He’s actually asking me this. I’m not prepared…
From the moment I met him, I’ve been telling myself he is not a man I should be with.
I called him a lady-killer, a player, a womanizer, a heartbreaker…
I thought he couldn’t be trusted. Then I got to know him better…
and it became clear that behind the carefree facade was a beautiful, sensitive man who longed for love, but didn’t admit it to himself because he didn’t want to have his heart broken.
Like me.
I kept struggling with my feelings because I didn’t want to get hurt. We were both very aware that I was a tourist and he wouldn’t leave Italy. The odds of this working were close to zero…or so I’d thought.
Now he’s saying he wants me to stay. To move here. To be with him.
It’s no small thing. I changed the modern Casanova. He fell for me. For real …
My eyes fill with tears, and I hold my breath to keep them in.
My heart won tonight. We loved each other like there was no tomorrow, and now he doesn’t want to let go.
I don’t want to let go.
I fidget with the blanket, struggling not to cry. I want to say yes. I want to be with Lorenzo in Venice for the rest of my days.
But I’m not ready to make this decision now.
I need to go home first and figure out if I indeed won’t buy La Veneziana.
I need time to find out what I want for my career, and Lorenzo’s future can’t wait for me.
Mr. Marchesi needs his decision so he can name his replacement, and there is a violinist position now he can audition for.
I don’t fit into his plans, and he doesn’t fit into mine.
For now , at least.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I feel pressured to say something. Lorenzo is looking at me, waiting. And so I give him the only answer I can give him right now.
“I love Venice…” And I love you , I don’t say. “But I can’t stay, Lorenzo. I need to go home.”
An uncomfortable silence fills the room, making the AC sound extremely noisy. I cross my arms and rub them, feeling cold.
Lorenzo’s nod is painfully slow, loaded with sorrow.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I suggest.
He smiles with no humor. “You might belong in Los Angeles, Daisy, but I don’t.”
I bite my thumb, uneasy. “What if you could join an orchestra in LA?”
He snorts as if I’m telling him he’ll become a Hollywood star the moment he lands on American soil.
I don’t know much about his field, it’s true. But can it be that much harder than getting an orchestra job in Milan or Venice? Not to mention that Lorenzo has experience in hospitality. He could work at a hotel there. Would it be so horrible?
“You want to live here in Venice, Daisy. You just don’t admit it,” Lorenzo says, frowning.
I’m about to argue, but he continues before I can.
“I would be a struggling musician in Los Angeles. Here at least I’m surrounded by friends, with my grandma a train ride away.
If I get the orchestra job, I can even live with her at the start and commute to Milano until I’m sure I want to stay there.
And Hotel Marchesi…that’s my safe haven.
If the job in Milano doesn’t work out, I can keep working at the hotel until something else comes up. ”
“So Hotel Marchesi is a backup suddenly?” I ask skeptically. “It’s what you’ll do until you get what you actually want?”
“It’s home , Daisy. You don’t know how hard it is when you’re pursuing a job in an orchestra. What it can do to your confidence, your economy, your health…”
He’d have me . I would support him. I want to say that. But I understand, of course. I’m not even sure I want to be in LA for the rest of my life. He could take vacations and visit me, but moving there? He’s right. It doesn’t make sense.
I groan. Nothing makes sense. Fuck. I hate it. He is the right person, but this is definitely not the right time.
“I thought Mr. Marchesi needed you to fully dedicate yourself to the hotel,” I say because I want to at least understand what he’s planning to do. “It really seems you don’t know what you want.”
He chuckles, distressed. “I do, actually. I want the violin, Hotel Marchesi, and you . I want it all!” He throws his arms up.
“And that’s not possible. So this is fucking hard, ” he mutters between his teeth, containing his frustration.
Then he sighs and looks at me. “What I want, then, given the circumstances, is to fight for all of it, so that maybe one day the stars align.”
I want to laugh at his idealistic aspirations, but there’s nothing funny about them. My heart aches as if it’s being squeezed by a massive hand.
“How do you want to fight for me?” I ask, looking straight into his eyes.
He stares back, serious. “I want to keep in touch. I want to follow your plans and help you in any way I can. I want us to share our progress with each other. So that maybe, one day, our paths can converge in a way that makes sense.”
The thought brings tears to my eyes. I wipe them with the back of my hand and stare down at the inches of mattress between us. There is an energy surrounding us that makes me sure he wants to touch me as much as I want to touch him, but neither of us dares.