ventitré
‘You made that look so easy,’ Lucia said, bundled up next to Francesco on her bed later that night. ‘You just clipped and cropped and look at it now.’
‘Just takes some practise.’ Francesco saved the third version of the file. The first was the full ten-minute video for Venezia, Ovunque! The second was a ninety-second Reel to share to the school’s Instagram profile, and the third a fifteen-second teaser for their Stories. ‘ Finito .’
‘ Incredibile .’
‘No, you were. Look.’ He opened the teaser, and Lucia’s bright smiling face, animated in the middle of her recount, filled the computer screen. ‘ Eccoti . You are a natural.’
‘ Grazie , Checco.’ She dropped her head to his shoulder while he uploaded the files to Instagram. What surrounded them across Lucia’s bedspread were all the project planning notes and printouts of various icons and logos Francesco had designed.
‘We are live!’ He opened the app on his phone and showed Lucia. ‘Now open for business, and with our first content up for grabs.’
‘And ten euros per—’
‘Is enough to start with until we build demand and a solid base from our existing followers.’
‘Ok, I understand.’
‘You did great today, Lucia. I know being out there for the world to see is a big step for you. But this is the Lucia Trevisan everyone should see. Not the long-lensed pap shots of your past. Sei stupenda .’
Lucia’s cheeks warmed under his compliment. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’ She gave his dark mop of curls a playful tousle, completely destroying their glossy definition. ‘Would you like to stay the night? It’s almost midnight.’
As if on cue he yawned and said, ‘Just as long as you don’t hog the covers.’
‘I am promising nothing!’ Lucia gathered the mishmash of papers and Francesco’s laptop into one pile and levered herself from the bed, dumping the lot on her desk. Foscari was quick to nip at her ankles, eager for some attention. ‘Ok, sì, sì ,’ she said, acknowledging him and leading him to the bathroom. ‘Just going to freshen up. Can you close the shutters, Checco?’
Francesco was already halfway through pulling off his shirt, so he arrived at the window looking unkempt, his hair – now messy on account of Lucia’s playfulness – suggesting that more had taken place than her innocent gesture of affection.
Leaning onto the cushioned bench, Francesco opened the window wide and reached out to pull the external shutters closed. What he hadn’t expected was to find Alex looking out his window directly across from him. And clearly, given the deer-in-the-headlights shock plastered across Alex’s face, neither had Alex expected to see Francesco.
Francesco froze momentarily to watch as Alex ducked from view, closing his curtains as swiftly as possible. He wasn’t quick enough, however, to prevent Francesco noting a defeated grimace on Alex’s face. Francesco closed the shutters, then the window, catching a glimpse of himself reflected in the glass pane, illuminated by the low backlight of the apartment.
Then Alex’s facial expression returned to his mind. The way his cheeks had deflated upon seeing Francesco, and likely spotting Lucia in her black lace bra and matching underwear at the opposite end of the apartment, poised by the basin in the bathroom. And the way she bent over the basin to wash her face, revealing the entire length of her naked spine . . .
Perhaps . . . just maybe?
His mind toyed with the idea for a moment, and the most delicious, almost vindicating, all-knowing smile spread across his face.
Friday started as it always did for Lucia, Francesco and Mariella – with an early lunch of fresh fish, care of Miro and his sons and their catch of the day. What followed was the usual half-day of lessons, the shared community aperitivo of drinks and nibbles, and tonight it was all to be washed down with a magical sprinkling of Roberto Benigni dressed as Pinocchio.
Nothing seemed amiss as they set up the chairs, blankets and cushions, nor as the students poured from the school, jovial, lively, drinks in hand. No one was rowdy or disruptive. It was simply a mix of laughter and fun, and La Scuola Rosa was the source of the happiness.
Lucia and Francesco appeared at the two second-floor windows, and with many years of practise behind them, suspended a white cotton bedsheet from the sills, forming a makeshift screen. Both were thankful for the calm weather that night, which meant the sheet hung relatively still.
Lucia dusted off her hands at the window, delighted to see the calle lively with excitement and joy. She looked across to La Commedia, noting how its second-floor windows were illuminated.
Alex was most certainly home.
It took no time for Francesco to get the laptop and projector going, and Benigni made his grand entrance, there under the stars, cast across the sheet-covered facade of La Scuola Rosa.
At about nine o’clock, however, Lucia noticed that the calle seemed busier than it ought to be. Much busier, in fact. She pulled her attention from the film just in time to watch a few strangers slip in behind her students and make themselves comfortable, perching against the crumbling render of La Commedia’s ground floor.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed for a moment, assessing the scene. Then, a few others joined from the opposite end of the calle , followed by another small group. Before long, it was plainly evident that word had got out about the school’s little private screening.
Noticing Lucia’s distraction, Francesco asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, but there are non-students here.’ She flicked her head in the direction of the little footbridge to their right, and on cue, a couple carrying two takeaway pizzas and beers appeared.
‘Some extra love for La Scuola Rosa.’ Francesco beamed.
Lucia tried to reassure herself. There was nothing dangerous about this gathering. The only trouble was, the film was funny, and the constant trill and hum of laughter from the audience was growing louder and more raucous by the minute.
Finally the credits began to roll, and Lucia checked her watch, amazed that Alex hadn’t kicked up a fuss, let alone appeared to protest the event. She encouraged Mariella to return home before it got too late, and helped Francesco pack up the AV gear, which he took inside to its storage unit. This left Lucia to farewell their students and the extra company, waving them off into the night’s darkness.
Just as the last students slipped from view, Lucia suddenly sensed she was being watched. She turned on her heel to find Alex standing a metre behind her.
Just breathe, Lucia. Calm. Centred . . .
Alex took a step forward, narrowing the space between them.
‘ Buonasera , Alex. You missed the screening,’ she said casually. ‘There’s some popcorn left if you’re hungry.’
Alex’s chiselled features were accentuated by the warm golden light emanating from the second-floor windows of the school. His cinnamon eyes settled, just as they always did, on hers. He was not dressed appropriately for the cool night air in his dark jeans and navy tee. Lucia found herself once again distracted by the shape and definition of his forearms. Plump with just the right degree of delicious tone, they were mapped with lines of hidden sinew and raised veins.
She swallowed.
‘ No, grazie ,’ he said calmly. ‘I let you have your screening. But now I am asking for some peace.’ Alex was softer today. An unexpected brand of sombre. The frustrated, abrasive front she had met at the window just two days earlier had receded. ‘Please, Lucia. If we are going to co-exist in this space, all I ask is for some quiet. It’s only decent.’
What could she possibly offer by way of retort? He was being perfectly reasonable. And his subdued demeanour and melancholic energy drew the tiniest thread of guilt from Lucia’s resolve. The tiniest .
While she should have left it there, apologised, cleaned up then returned inside, Lucia suddenly wondered if this show was planned and calculated. Was Alex trying to lull her into a false sense of security? Or, victory? She couldn’t help but question it, as her experiences of being in the spotlight had taught her that trust had to be earned.
‘I need to run my school, Alex. These events happen. We gather. We learn. That requires noise at times. Scusami .’
He sighed, somewhat exasperated. ‘I work at night and sleep through the day. And next week being Carnevale . . .’ He trailed off, rubbing his hands over his face. ‘Next week is very important for me. I have a lot of work to get through.’
‘While I understand that, I also have work to do, Alex.’
Oooft. Stand your ground. Be firm but professional.
Alex’s broad shoulders seemed to drop a little. ‘I’m sorry, Lucia. I really don’t want to make an enemy of you. But we need to find some way of living side by side without these tensions.’
‘Enemies?’ Her eyes widened. ‘It doesn’t need to be like this, Alex.’ She pointed to the other businesses and apartments on the calle . ‘No one else seems to have a problem with what we do here.’
He chose his words wisely. ‘Perhaps they aren’t willing to confront you, Lucia. But I am . All I’m asking is for a little respe—’
It was at that precise moment that Francesco emerged from the school, looking surprised to find the two engaged in conversation. ‘ Buonasera ,’ he said, joining them, immediately tucking himself tightly beside Lucia for support. That same cautious, disappointed look Francesco had seen at the window the night before returned to Alex’s eyes.
‘ Buonasera ,’ Alex replied, noting their intimate proximity and the way Lucia’s arm instinctively wrapped itself around Francesco’s shoulder. His gaze settled there a moment too long to go unnoticed by Francesco.
With a nod of the head, Francesco said, ‘ Piacere , Francesco.’
‘Alex, piacere .’ Alex could see the almost tangible energy which bound the pair, and he stifled a defeated sigh.
‘Is there a problem out here?’ Francesco said into the awkward silence that followed.
‘ No . Not at all. We were just talking about the extremely successful screening,’ Lucia answered with a smile.
Turning his attention solely to Lucia, Alex said, ‘Please, just think about what I’ve asked for.’ His gaze flicked to Francesco and he gave him a nod, then he turned and headed back into La Commedia.
Francesco took Lucia by the hand and led her back inside the school’s lobby. ‘What did he say?’ He brought her hands together in a reassuring steeple and held them tightly between his.
‘He asked for quiet.’
Francesco pondered his next move. Should he ask Lucia for some kind of justification for her actions? The Verdi concerto in the calle . The Pinocchio screening, right across from Alex’s window. He recognised that theirs was a relationship in which they could challenge each other, so he knew he could encourage her to see reason. ‘Lucia. Ciccia.’
She smiled. ‘You haven’t called me that since we were sixteen.’
‘Leave Alex alone. Ti prego . You and I both know that tonight wasn’t about the students. Or Benigni. It was about you taking back some kind of power or control. Because I know you feel quite powerless at the moment. Many things are out of your control.’
The defiance in Lucia’s green eyes flickered. ‘I don’t know what y—’
‘You know exactly what .’ He shook his head, and the image of Alex’s disappointed face swam back into his mind. ‘What you actually have here is a perfect situation.’
She let out a strained guffaw and her hands dropped by her sides. ‘How is any of this perfect?’
‘Lucia, the man is gorgeous.’ He let the comment linger between them, noting Lucia’s raised brow. ‘And he lives right across the calle .’
‘Too close.’
Francesco pinched his fingers together and brought them to his temples. ‘You’re not hearing me.’ He sighed. ‘He. Lives. Right. Over. There. And he is clearly just as unique a character as you!’
‘ Eh ! I resent that.’
‘That doesn’t make it any less true. You’re one of a kind, and often stubborn and difficult to deal with. You don’t take no for an answer, unless no is what you are looking for. And Lucia, you have kept men at bay for . . .’ His eyes grazed the vaulted wooden ceiling, searching for dates. ‘At least four or five years.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘I’m begging you,’ he took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself, ‘either respect his wishes and give him the peace and quiet he is asking for, or get to know him. Open yourself up to him. Let him in. You might be surprised by what you find.’
Francesco watched as she took a deep breath.
‘I have spent the better part of my life trying to stand up for myself, Checco. I am hard-wired for self-defence.’
‘I know. But do me a favour, please think about Alex’s request. Another ally on the calle could work in your favour.’
Francesco turned and stepped back outside. He looked up at La Commedia, and saw Alex by the window. Francesco gave him a meek smile, then turned back to Lucia.
She hadn’t moved from where he had left her. Her head hung low, her eyes were closed; something had clearly struck a nerve.