quarantacinque
A week of stolen moments of introspection had passed since Lucia’s exchange with Alex over the school. While she had been present in body, she was far from mindful in action.
Lucia was thankful that Alex had given her space, as she hadn’t yet found the courage to approach him about the situation. A mix of embarrassment and a new self-awareness prevented her from stepping across the calle . And with each passing day, ironically, doing so felt more and more awkward.
Mariella and Francesco had been supportive sounding-boards, but Lucia knew one reliable source of wisdom who would help her come to terms with Alex’s purchase of the school.
That Friday morning, in search of both lunch and answers for the troubles of her soul, Lucia headed to the Mercato del Pesce di Rialto. She arrived a little later than usual, knowing Miro, Pietro and Giorgio would have set up for the day. She hoped to steal Miro for a moment’s grace.
His eyebrows rose considerably as she told him her story, almost disappearing under his berretto as her recount came to a close. ‘ For you?’
Lucia nodded and her eyes traced the glistening waters of the Grand Canal over Miro’s shoulder. ‘ Sì . In my name.’
Miro leaned pensively against one of the marble columns of the market’s external facade, hiding them both from prying eyes and curious ears. He gave Lucia an all-knowing, fatherly smile which met the corner creases of his eyes.
While Lucia had expected shock and confusion about the book deal, Alex’s backstory and Alex’s purchase of the school for her, what she hadn’t expected was the joy that filled Miro’s humble, ageing face. ‘What do you think?’ She reached across and caught his free hand with hers. ‘What should I do? I really need to go and talk to Alex about it. But I’m just . . .’
It was at that moment that a dinghy passed by on the canal to Lucia’s left, with two young fishermen in it, one at either end. From the water the pair had a clear view of Miro and Lucia hidden by the column. One brought his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply, splitting the calm of the early-morning lagoon. From within the mercato came an answering whistle, and a series of heads craned towards them along the aisles, each eager for a glimpse of her .
It was second nature for Lucia to ignore such behaviour. She had endured it as long as she could remember. But this morning, riddled with tension, she turned and looked back at them with her troubled, wide-eyed stare.
Miro, protective and caring, said, ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, eh . You don’t need to add to this.’ He gestured back into the mercato with a flick of his bristly bearded chin. ‘You know what you need to do. You’re just too proud to let it happen.’
‘You think I should—’
‘By gifting you Alex, I think l’universo has decided for you.’ He sighed. ‘And it’s finally keeping you safe.’
La Scuola Rosa’s second floor was full to the brim with drink-wielding students that rainy evening at the aperitivo gathering.
Mariella darted between them as best she could, carrying trays of cicchetti and antipasti , while Francesco stood by the usual makeshift drinks station, topping up glasses with his trademark good humour.
Lucia smiled, motioning for the small group of Japanese students, who had just given their farewell speech, to rejoin the rest of the gathered pupils. She encouraged a round of applause from the supportive crowd. ‘And so, if that’s the final arrivederci of the evening—’
‘Stop,’ came a voice from the landing.
The entire congregation turned to find Alex, slick with rain, at the top of the first flight of stairs.
Lucia felt her legs petrify the instant she set eyes on him. Her mind flooded with worry. Why was he here? What would he say? She was acutely aware of the audience, and self-conscious of the fact. Foscari scrambled to meet her feet from across the floor, propping himself defensively beside Lucia for moral support. ‘A-Alex?’
‘I have something to say.’
‘Can we please do this another time? Someplace more private?’ Her eyes widened as she blinked towards their audience.
‘No.’
Francesco and Mariella moved closer to Lucia, but Alex stepped forward and the room fell silent. ‘There is something I need to say.’
Lucia’s eyes narrowed, and she fought to control the sting that burned behind them. ‘Alex, not here, please.’
Drawing a deep breath, he took another step forward and began, ‘ You .’ There was power and force behind the word. He shook his head at Lucia, not for a moment breaking eye contact. ‘Everything you represent. All the history we share. That ,’ he gestured between them, ‘I wouldn’t wish on anyone. No one should have to be connected in the way we are. It’s the most torturous life – one I wish I could escape, but cannot. I am tethered to Venice, Lucia. Just as you are.’
Lucia seemed to crumple, dropping to the chair by her side. ‘Alex, please stop.’
‘You are opinionated and often very stubborn. You speak before you think, and your persistence is sometimes exasperating.’
Francesco looked tempted to interject, but Mariella shot him an indignant glare that stayed his hand.
‘You shut people out because you fear support and relinquishing control, when what you actually need, Lucia, is help.’
Lucia looked up and straightened her spine. ‘Is this what you’ve come here for? To berate me? To embarrass me in front of my colleagues and students? In my own home?’
‘No matter how strong or high you think you’ve built your wall, Lucia, I can still see over it.’ He paused for a moment, and his eyes found the floorboards. ‘Because, truth be told, you , Lucia, are my undoing. Your passion. Your resolve. Your protective hold over everything you hold dear.’ Shaking his head, Alex rubbed his chin. ‘I admire it all. And despite it all, Lucia, I need you.’ He took another step forward. ‘If you’ll have me.’ The rain which had soaked through Alex’s coat had made its way to the ends of his clothing and now dripped quietly at his feet. ‘That night twenty years ago forged us together. As I said goodbye to my brother and my parents I made a promise . . . I wasn’t able to save them. I couldn’t stop the photographer. But I did vow that if I ever crossed paths with you again that I would do everything in my power to help you.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘So that’s what I’ve done, Lucia. That’s why you have your school. And you can keep your story safe. I kept my promise.’ His hands, open and vulnerable by his sides, called to her. ‘Please, Lucia. Let me in.’
In unison, the congregation turned to Lucia, and the sea of curious eyes made her feel self-conscious.
It was all too much. The attention. The faces.
Lucia closed her eyes as tightly as she could, dropping her head to the tops of her knees. Her heart found a nervous, tense rhythm. Feeling her breath warm her thighs, she continued to fight it all. She wished she could make everyone evaporate. Disappear.
Why did he have to do this now?
Lucia wanted to talk to Alex. She needed to. Somehow, her resolve re-established itself. If the conversation had to happen now, in front of everyone, then it would.
Eventually unfurling herself in the chair, she looked up, blotchy eyed and sweaty faced. But where was Alex?
Lucia frantically scanned the people in front of her. Finding Francesco, her eyes begged for clarity. ‘Checco?’
‘He’s gone, Lucia.’
Suddenly, Lucia’s feet found purpose and she bolted through the crowd. Tearing down the stairs she jumped from the landing to the ground floor, collecting her coat from behind the welcome desk on her way through.
The rain was pelting down on Calle del Leone, so Lucia threaded her arms through her coat and pulled the hood over her head. Water splashed up her legs from the pavers underfoot, and within seconds her tights were soaked through.
She darted across to La Commedia, noting how the lights were all on. Banging on the front door, she waited for Alex to open it. But there was nothing. No face to greet her. No bright cinnamon eyes. She pounded again, twice as hard. ‘Alex, open up. I need to talk to you!’
But, between the dull thud of the pulse in her ears and the white noise of the torrential rain, she couldn’t hear anything.
Desperate, she took a few steps back, looking up at the top windows. No moving shadows. No Alex. She turned around to find her students pressed up against the left-hand window of the second floor, with Mariella, Francesco and Foscari hanging out of the other.
Turning on her heel, Lucia ran as fast as her legs would carry her. In her wake, a raucous applause poured out of La Scuola Rosa, and Mariella and Francesco, holding each other tightly, exhaled the breath they had held for Lucia for more than two decades.
The back calli were shadowed and menacing, with the night sky reflected in the gathering puddles. The sound of Lucia’s feet slapping the pavers was the only sign of life, other than the cacophony of Mother Nature’s tempest.
Where has he gone? Just look . . . You have to try . . .
Lucia bounded down the few stairs which led to the covered portico opening onto Piazza San Marco, and suddenly the thought of finding and confronting Alex terrified her. She stopped momentarily to catch her breath and wipe her hair from her face. Steeling herself, she flicked her hood back over her head, ready to dive into the rain again.
But when she reached the portico’s edge she saw that the piazza was empty. She made her way to the very centre – with the basilica as her witness – and she dropped to her knees.
Where is he?
The palazzi lining the piazza were mostly illuminated, and granted a glowing reprieve from the dark and brooding sky in the storm. The reflection of the lights twinkled in the puddles as each was tickled by the rain, like a city-wide baptism of Venice.
Lucia turned to face the basilica, and still, no one came into view. And why would anyone be out in the rain in the middle of a storm? It was foolish – dangerous, in fact. But perhaps that was what fuelled her; her stubborn desire to control and fight, to constantly save face when confronted with the impossible. And now, here, under the torrents which came in rippling waves from overhead, Alex was the impossible.
Closing her eyes, Lucia felt defeated.
Her final shreds of rational thought begged her to return home. No good could come of waiting in the rain in the hope that he might appear. In spite of this, she turned again to face the opposite end of the piazza.
But Alex wasn’t there.
Lucia’s mind began taunting her with memories of their previous encounters – their masked kiss, his torturous reveal, Dorsoduro, their apartments. They had all been catalysts for change for both of them. Reference points. Landmarks. She looked down at her cropped boots beyond the hem of her coat, noting how the water was quickly swelling and filling the piazza. She had to get to higher ground.
With sorrow seeping through her, Lucia made to walk away. But as she did so, the deafening moan of the acqua alta siren howled through the piazza.
Lucia’s blood ran cold, seeming to freeze in her veins.
The water. The sirens.
Then it hit her like a torrent of cascading water: this wasn’t their place. It had never begun for them here.
She knew where Alex would be, and as the sirens whirred again, she remembered what he had told her, and knew he needed help.
Casting her eyes to the sky, she was suddenly thankful for the rain. And so, she ran. Her legs found a powerful stride and she tore through the piazza, turning right to face down Piazzetta San Marco. Framed by the Colonna di San Marco on the left and the Colonna di San Todaro on the right, a dark figure stood by the water’s edge at the fondamenta .
‘Alex?’ she cried, her voice muffled by the wailing sirens and the rain. But the echo was enough to make the figure turn.
It was him.
She ran to his side and shrugged off her hood.
‘If you’ve come here to reject me in private, please don’t.’ He moved to face the waters once more, but her fingers found his hands and pulled him to face her.
‘I didn’t reject you, Alex. You left before I had the chance to respond.’
Alex’s eyes seemed almost black under the storm’s canopy. ‘What are you doing here, Lucia?’
‘I need to offer my rebuttal—’
‘Of course you do.’
‘And to tell you that you are just as stubborn as I am. You have shown me two very different sides of your character: that early state of melancholy, the prickly, tiresome, defensive front-Alex, versus the Alex who is desperate to share, who wants everything out in the open. I can’t keep up. And I know why – because you scare me.’
‘What?’
‘You scare me with your ability to welcome cathartic release. I haven’t been able to do that. I’m not as strong as you, Alex. I can’t just let it all out like you do. It’s intimidating. And I feel compelled to meet you more than halfway.’
‘Are you done?’
‘No.’ Lucia’s eyes rolled over their interlaced fingers and she sighed in exasperation. ‘Thank you for my school. I tore up the publishing contract. You have saved me from reopening the most devastating Pandora’s Box from my past. Our past.’ Then, she reached up and caressed his wet cheek with her palm. ‘And . . . I need you , too.’
Alex’s eyes brightened considerably. ‘Really?’
‘Despite it all, you have me.’
The deeper rise and fall of Alex’s chest marked a spike of adrenaline. He closed his eyes and gave a gentle nod of relief.
Lucia let her hand dip into her coat pocket, hoping to find a tissue, but instead, her fingers found something she had forgotten about. The feel of it against her skin drew a smile to her lips, and she realised the greater plan of the universe. She withdrew the object and opened her palm, allowing the white paper flower head to catch the rain. Alex’s eyes fixed on it with disbelief. ‘I think the universe wants this to happen for us,’ she said. ‘I’ve kept it safe for you.’
A similar expression blooming on his face, Alex reached into his inner coat pocket, withdrew a folded slip of paper, and passed it to Lucia.
Trevisan, Lucia. Calle del Leone , it read. She recognised it immediately, and turned to look in the direction of the Boca under the portico of the Palazzo Ducale.
‘Perhaps we were the master plan all along,’ he said, casting his eyes across the dark waters to Lido and pulling Lucia closer.
The acqua alta sirens continued to whir and, as their conversation fell silent, seemed to grow louder. Lucia noted how Alex tensed. ‘I’m here. You don’t need to hide from them. It will be ok.’
Alex bit down on his lower lip and gave a wry smile. Lucia saw how his focus returned to her. ‘Before we say anything else, can we please do something?’
‘What’s that?’
He released his hold on Lucia and flicked the water from his fingers. Standing a little straighter, he cleared his throat. ‘Alex Scarpa,’ he said, proffering his right hand.
Lucia smiled, wiped her own fingers on her coat, then accepted his hand. It was tantalisingly rough, despite the rain, and this comforted her greatly. ‘Lucia Trevisan. Piacere .’
They both leaned in and exchanged two cheek kisses. As they went to pull away from each other, their faces lingered a few beats longer. Warm and close under the deluge.
And there were her green eyes.
Alex brought his nose to nuzzle the tip of Lucia’s. ‘Shall we start over?’
‘Please. No more masks.’
Alex stifled a laugh. ‘Promise.’
There, by the fondamenta , the sirens continued to menace, and the rain continued to fall.
Lucia’s lips grazed Alex’s. ‘So, here we are, right where it all began.’
‘No,’ he replied, giving her a tender kiss. ‘Our story begins now .’