Chapter 37 Loretta
L ORETTA
Loretta hurries along the streets, in the opposite direction to Piazza San Marco, where Magdalena’s standing in the tank of water. She can’t face the artist today.
Instead of staying with the family to eat lunch, she announced that she was meeting a foreign journalist at the waterfront for an interview. These requests from journalists come regularly, so nobody raised an eyebrow, not even Alberto, who had come down to join them. She was barely able to look at him, too afraid she’d change her mind if she did.
Ten minutes after leaving Il Cuore, she’s standing at the bottom of the steps, outside the open front doors of San Zaccaria. She watches the people walking in and coming out but she remains outside, the enormity of what she’s about to do hitting her with a sudden force.
She slips her gloves off, breathes warm air into her cupped hands and walks up the stairs into the church.
Tourists roam around inside. Some kneel in the pews, deep in prayer, a few light candles, others take photos of the altar and the fresco, despite the clearly marked signs forbidding it.
She spots Flavia off to the side of the pulpit, the sun rays streaming in from the stained-glass windows above shining directly on her. Even with her hair and body hidden away underneath the veil and dress, her beauty radiates from her. Loretta can’t take her eyes off that heart-shaped face, that gorgeous smile, those enormous eyes. Flavia’s deep in conversation with an elderly woman Loretta recognises as Signora Offreddo, her retired dentist’s wife.
Loretta lights a candle. ‘Nel nome del Padre, e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo,’ she whispers as she crosses herself, but then finds she’s unable to pray. How can she speak to God when she’s here in sin?
When Signora Offreddo leaves, Flavia catches Loretta’s eye, sending her heart soaring to high heaven. Flavia gestures towards the sacristy and walks in there, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Loretta waits a minute, making sure nobody’s watching, and then slowly, casually, follows her inside.
‘Close the door.’ Flavia’s voice is hushed.
Loretta does. It’s only then that she removes her sunglasses and headscarf, resting them on a vacant chair by the wall. ‘Il padre?’ she whispers.
‘He’s busy.’ Flavia takes a step towards her and holds out her hands. ‘It’s safe. Come.’
Loretta stays exactly where she is, her heart thudding.
‘Come, Loretta.’
Loretta closes the distance between them and slides her hands into Flavia’s. They’re soft and warm and, even though Flavia’s acting like she’s in control, her hands are trembling and her breath is ragged.
‘Cara mia.’ Flavia places her fingers under Loretta’s chin and gently lifts it so they’re eye to eye.
They’ve been the undoing of her, those hazel eyes.
‘Have you missed me?’ Flavia whispers.
‘Do you even need to ask?’ The tears, uncontrolled, unwanted, stream down Loretta’s cheeks.
Flavia wipes them with her thumb. ‘Are these tears of joy or sadness?’
‘I don’t know. Both.’
Flavia runs her fingers across the blister on Loretta’s wrist where the coffee burned her the other day. ‘You hurt yourself?’
‘It’s nothing.’
Flavia brings Loretta’s hand to her mouth and kisses the burn mark. The feel of Flavia’s lips against her skin makes Loretta shiver. She touches the veil that covers Flavia’s hair and drapes heavily on her shoulders. Flavia’s tan dress sits loose and long, and a chunky crucifix hangs from a thick silver chain over her chest.
‘It’s strange to see you dressed like this,’ Loretta says.
‘It’s been part of me for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when I wasn’t hiding behind the habit.’
‘I remember,’ Loretta whispers. She slides her fingers underneath the veil, gently loosening it away from Flavia’s face. It drops to the floor and Flavia’s grey hair, still with wisps of blonde in it, falls in waves.
Flavia looks at Loretta from under her long lashes. ‘Can I kiss you? Per favore?’ A smile plays on her lips and the years melt away.
‘A thousand times, yes.’
The second their mouths collide, Loretta’s body comes alive for the first time in decades. Something inside her unravels as she finds Flavia’s tongue with her own. Something primal and raw. She pushes Flavia against the wall of the sacristy, her knee between Flavia’s legs, and she lets herself fall further and further into sin as their bodies smash together.
Nothing else matters to Loretta, nothing at all, apart from this moment, right here, right now.