Chapter Two #2
“Your laid-back ways have been stopping you from reaching your full potential,” Luigi continues. “I thought there was something else besides a nonchalant attitude… Maybe fear to create roots in this place because your heart will always be elsewhere.”
I adjust my posture, smiling. “My heart is here, Luigi,” I say with calm and conviction. “It’s in the city that welcomed me after I lost all confidence in myself. It’s with you .” I point at him. “The person who fished me out of the muddy waters. It’s in this hotel, which is home now.”
I look at the old Venetian ceiling with its exposed timber beams, and my chest warms up when I think of all the people who have inhabited this place throughout history—and when I think of Luigi leaving it in my hands. His life’s work. His prized family business and the only home he has ever known.
“I’m ready to show you that nothing makes me happier than doing my job well and making other people happy,” I tell him, and when the thought playing music was the same pops up in my head, I add before he says anything, “Music is in my soul and will always be. But I’m a new person now, and I don’t need the violin to define who I am. ”
Working with music served me—until not being able to play made me feel like I didn’t have an identity.
I have a new one now—as a proud resident of Venice, Luigi’s “adopted” son and loyal employee, and possibly the future manager of his hotel—and I’m not letting it vanish to pursue the old version of me who spent more time obsessing over a passion than enjoying the beauty of the world.
“The ragazzo is gone, Luigi,” I say without smiling. “I’m ready to be the man you need me to be.”
He sniffs, and I know it’s just his allergies, but I can’t help looking at his eyes in search of tears.
Back when I was busking in Venice three years ago, after the accident that brought me here to find myself, I made Luigi cry while playing Tartini’s “Devil’s Trill Sonata.
” The fact that I could awaken his emotions like that was why he stopped by day after day to watch me—and probably why we developed a connection that led him to offer me a concierge job in his hotel.
Now, I want to make him so proud he will weep for an entirely different reason.
He sits straighter, and the corners of his mouth rise. “Well, then, commit, Lorenzo. Go all in. Show that couple the magic of Venice and make them get out of here loving each other and Hotel Marchesi and leave us the best public review an establishment can get.”
I give a wide smile. “Thanks, Luigi. I won’t fail.”
“Should we make that a bet?” He drinks his forgotten coffee and winces at the now cold liquid. “You succeed, and I leave you in charge. I might be leaving sooner than you think… And if Venice fails you—or you fail Venice—”
“You fire me?” I cut him off, eyes widening, the humor in my features bordering on real distress.
He smiles. “No, but I’ll consider selling the hotel to that chain, and then you might leave one way or another.”
I grimace—my reaction whenever the stupid hotel chain is mentioned. I hate the greedy bastards. And I hate that Luigi hasn’t burned their contact info in the fireplace that has been in his family for three centuries.
“It’s suddenly all or nothing, eh?”
“It’s suddenly you or them, you mean?” He arches a gray eyebrow.
“Yes, it is. If Hotel Marchesi is to remain mine, I’m not hiring a random stranger to manage it, no matter how qualified they might be.
I’d rather sell it, if that’s my only option.
As you know, this has been a family business for generations.
I don’t have children or other trustworthy relatives.
The fact that you’re currently the most senior employee shows how working at Hotel Marchesi is a temporary endeavor for most.” Luigi plays with his mustache, his eyes distant.
“I’m tired, I’m old, and I don’t want to wait more.
Especially when my staff keeps knocking on my door at seven in the morning. ”
“Seven thirty ,” I correct him, and he reluctantly smiles. “So, you’re getting ready for your many-years-long trip around Italy?”
Luigi has been talking about his plans to get to know every corner of the country and write about it since I met him, but I didn’t know he planned on making it happen so soon.
“Yes, yes,” he replies, his face illuminated by so much excitement that I grin. “The book will happen, and I’ll sign a copy for you the day I return to tell you about my adventures.”
“Hold on, Bilbo Baggins,” I say mockingly. “I’ll only open the door for you if my name is in the acknowledgments.”
“Of course it’ll be.” He waves a hand.
“And you’ll prepare at least one of the dishes for us,” I add.
Luigi plans to write a recipe book compiling typical dishes of the different regions of Italy, particularly the lesser-known ones that pass down from one generation to the next.
He wants to meet people in his travels and talk to as many mammas and nonne , professional and amateur chefs, as possible and show how the same dish can be prepared differently—and taste amazing each way.
He’s already interviewed a bunch of people in Venice and gathered an admirable compilation of traditional recipes, which he sometimes uses to inspire the kitchen staff when we need to update the menu.
Luigi glances at his watch. “Your time is up, bello ,” he says, standing up. “Go have fun with your little birds, and please keep me updated.”
I look at him for a little longer than necessary. I’ll miss Luigi when he retires. This place became home due to his paternal care for me and all his other employees. We might not have Marchesi blood, but we are his family.
The hotel won’t be the same without him, but I will honor his legacy. I understand his vision and the reasons behind his every decision. Not only hard work is involved in running the Marchesi business but also, mostly, love .
I don’t want him to sell the hotel. I don’t want to leave.
Here, I can be myself, free of fear and judgment.
People have my back, and I have theirs. I am respected and trusted, and we’re fortunate to get the best guests.
Of course, sometimes I must deal with impolite people, but my overall experience working and living here has been wonderful and transformative on a soul level.
Even when Luigi is gone, I will still feel good here.
I will still have friends. I’ll have more responsibility but will enjoy each day, like I already do.
I’ll keep giving guests a great time while showing them the magic of Venice.
The life I have here taught me to relax, be grateful, and not live longing for something that I may never find.
Even though, right now, I confess I look forward to living in Luigi’s quarters. My eyes roam around the neat loft. I’m confident that when he names me manager and leaves the city, he’ll allow me to trade my cramped little room for this suite.
I get up from the sofa and walk to the door, but his voice catches me before I reach the knob. “And take it easy on the flirting. A general manager shouldn’t leave half the ladies—and gentlemen—catching their breath in the corridors.”
I smirk without turning to him and wave a ciao before exiting my future home.
* * *
In the elevator, I tuck my favorite light blue shirt into my pants.
After undoing the first two buttons, I quickly comb my dark, wavy hair with my fingers then lightly mess it on top.
I’m glad I left the tie and the suit jacket in my room.
I want to look professional but not too formal. Not for the task at hand.
After all, Daisy and her friend are expecting exceptional service from a competent concierge. However, based on what I gathered of their personalities, I’m sure they would prefer to walk around the city with someone who could look like a tourist rather than a front-desk employee.
Not that I expect they’ll want me to personally guide them around the places I recommend. But I’ll ask. Not getting lost in Venice when you don’t want to get lost is key to fully enjoying the city.
The elevator lands on the ground floor, and with a last look at my business-casual figure, I walk into the lobby.
Breakfast will be over soon, so many guests are leaving the restaurant. I smile and nod at anyone who meets my gaze. If it’s a staff member I haven’t greeted this morning, I also say a cheerful buongiorno .
Where should I meet my special guests? Oh, yes, the lobby, I told Daisy— Signora… Signorina… Dio mio, what’s her last name again?
My brain melts down as I try to remember while deciding if I should go to the reception desk for a last-minute check so I don’t embarrass myself, or if I should go to the concierge desk, or if I should just roam around until I spot them, or—
“Hey,” someone says from behind me. “Lorenzo, right?”
Recognizing the friend’s voice, I turn around with a smile of relief.
“Buongiorno,” I say, but it’s the death of my relief. I don’t remember his name. Just keep babbling. “Or, well, good morning. Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
Daisy stands next to him in jeans and a white T-shirt, looking as if she didn’t sleep well, but also very beautiful in a simple, natural way.
Her light brown eyes look even warmer and gentler without the heavy layer of mascara or the redness from tears she wore last night.
The thought that she hasn’t cried this morning over her stupido ex-boyfriend makes me happy.
They tell me they enjoyed the breakfast, but my attention is dispersed—or maybe I should say it is on her , not her words.
Her subtle, reluctant smile brings me back to last night when she stood at the bar wearing a pristine white sweater with a generous V-neck exposing her collarbones.
So beautiful… I remember her blushing after saying she wanted something sweet that could take away the sour taste someone left in her mouth.
I knew she wasn’t flirting, but I wished she was.