Chapter Three #3
“Yeah, I was just about to leave,” I say, but before I stand up, he sits next to me. Close. His knee touches mine, his elegant, slender hands resting between his legs. My stomach flutters again. Goddammit. “I thought you were returning to the hotel with Jeremy.”
“He didn’t want to walk back, so I just showed him the way to the nearest vaporetto station. Then I guessed you could need some help finding that .” He points at my phone screen, still unlocked in the Maps app.
“I’m good, don’t worry.” I stare at his hands to avoid his face, but that does nothing. Every part of him is beautiful, masculine and graceful, and my body gets all sassy about that.
How gentle would his touch be?
Oh my God, you’re fired, brain. Or hormones. Whatever is making me have these tremendously stupid thoughts.
“Can I see it?” He leans closer to check which gelato shop I’ve been searching for, but he doesn’t just lean closer—he brings my phone toward him, his hand holding the device on top of mine. The chills rise to a full-body level, and my fingers get particularly prickly where they are covered by his.
His glance at the phone screen lasts only a couple of seconds, but it’s enough to make me forget to breathe. Jesus. He returns to his initial pose, away from my hands, although his knee keeps touching mine. Part of my focus stays on that patch of my jeans making contact with his dress pants.
“I know where it is,” he says, smiling in that relaxed way of his. “Can I walk you there?”
I’m aware of his game—the one guys like him play. Leaning closer. Touching you “innocently.” Giving you smiles and making gentle offers. It’s all part of a seduction plan. They know exactly how that makes you feel. It’s calculated, designed to get you in the palm of their hand.
Now I see it for what it is, though. I’m not falling for a player ever again.
He stands up when I don’t answer. “Do you come?”
I stare at him for a moment, shielding myself with rationality. It’s just a pretty facade. The inside is what matters. And he is NOT what I need right now. So it should be easy to block the damn hormones, right?
I shake my head and snort in my imagination.
I’m ridiculous. It’s just a walk to a gelateria, for God’s sake.
He’s not trying to seduce me. Why would he?
He is here to help me fall for Jeremy. What would Lorenzo gain by sabotaging his own plans?
He needs our project to work so he can become the boss, right?
Feeling calmer and at least thirty percent more rational, I stand up and walk with him.
“Are you passionate about food?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yeah, I’m a chef.”
His eyebrows rise. “Really? Nice!” he says with genuine enthusiasm, not the fake tone many people use when I tell them my profession.
More than a couple of acquaintances have asked me why I got a university degree if cooking was my ambition all along.
The answer has always been complicated. For some reason, I decide to share it with Lorenzo.
“That wasn’t always the plan, you know,” I say. “As a kid, I loved cooking with my dad, and I assisted him in his restaurant back when I was in high school. But then I decided that if I was ever going to help him run the business, I needed a degree in business administration.”
“So you studied business?” He observes me for a moment. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Twenty-seven,” I reply. “And you?”
“Twenty-eight.” He smiles.
“Answering your question, yes, I studied business at Cal State Northridge, in Los Angeles,” I say, not expecting him to know my school, but just out of habit.
“I got hired at the company where I interned, but it wasn’t at all what I wanted to do, so I enrolled in a culinary school and started working for my dad in the kitchen. ”
He nods, listening with interest. We turn another corner, and I stop paying attention to the city, immersed in my past and Lorenzo’s eyes.
“Do you still work for him?” The inevitable question comes, and I bite my lip, shaking my head.
“No. He…passed away a year ago.”
“Oh.” Lorenzo stops—as we are crossing a bridge, I realize—and looks at me, his face a mix of concern and pity. “I’m sorry, Daisy.”
I’ve heard those words many times, but coming out of Lorenzo’s mouth, they sound sincere. I look down, and his voice saves me from saying something in response.
“My father is still alive, but I never felt like I had him.”
I look up again, and my eyes stay on his.
This is not the kind of thing you expect to hear from a stranger in a casual conversation.
I wonder if he felt the need to open up because I did, so we could be even somehow.
To me, however, his revelation feels heavy.
Personal on a deep level. Still, he doesn’t bat a lash.
Nothing in his bearing indicates that he regrets disclosing the private information to me.
He saunters toward the guardrail and looks at the narrow canal we stopped crossing. “Funnily enough, my father figure is my boss,” he says.
I smile and stand next to him. “The one who will give you his job if you’re a good fairy godmother?”
He chuckles, and I enjoy the sound a bit too much. “Yes, that’s the one. Luigi Marchesi. The hotel has been in his family for generations.” He glances at me. “It’s a scary prospect…being the first non-Marchesi to run it.”
My smile won’t vanish. It’s easy to talk to him. Way too easy…
“He must trust you.” I’m curious about their relationship and how Lorenzo became Mr. Marchesi’s successor, but I don’t want to be too invasive.
Lorenzo chuckles again, this time with a hint of scorn. “He does…somewhat. That’s why I need to prove myself.”
“You’ve had too many escapades with guests or what?” The mocking comment comes out of my mouth before I remember that he is not Jeremy, my brother, or my dad. I blush. That wasn’t okay, but what can I do when chatting with Lorenzo is so chill?
I’m normally another me when I’m talking with attractive guys. I’m flirty-Daisy—a mode automatically triggered, even when I’m not fully conscious of it. I say vague, pleasant things, laugh at unfunny comments, and hold back on the jokes, the sarcasm, and the teasing remarks.
The mortifying thing about the current situation is that I didn’t only tease the concierge of my hotel—but I also did it in a rather flirty way, strongly hinting I believe he often sleeps with guests.
Oh God.
I avert my eyes, wanting to jump onto the gondola passing under the bridge.
“I can see that you don’t trust me,” he says with amusement in his voice, which relieves me, but not significantly. There is too much tension between us right now—and of a dangerous kind.
“By escapades , I meant adventures , just to be clear. Nothing of a sexual nature.”
Oh God. Oh, my fucking God. I laugh out of nervousness. He laughs a little too, but because he is entertained by my lack of tact.
“You mean an escapade like we’re having now?” He looks at me with an eyebrow arched, and I feel the ground disappear under my feet. Because this is not real—nothing of this movie-set city and this ridiculously charming guy and the bad script I was given.
None of it is the rom-com I want to live. The one where I marry my best friend and reopen my dad’s restaurant after a Venice trip that changes the way we see each other.
That’s my mission, my happy ending, and I’m not about to betray Jeremy or myself.
Ignore the sexual insinuations , I tell myself.
Play innocent and pretend you didn’t get it.
With flirty guys, if you don’t give matching input, they get the message eventually.
Well, some do, and Lorenzo seems more respectful than the average.
I am the one who is talking about things of a “sexual nature.” God…
“Should we head to the gelateria?” I ask to end the awkward mess the situation has become.
“Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t move. I wait. “Can I ask you something?”
No. Definitely not.
“Sure.” I still can’t get my eyes to look in his direction. I keep staring at the water moving up and down, making dark wet marks on the walls of the ancient buildings.
“How far do you want to take the thing with Jeremy?”
I can’t help but look at him then, with wide eyes, my heart thumping against my rib cage. Is this his way to start a conversation about my availability for a casual affair of a “sexual nature”?
Shut up, Daisy. Stop thinking he wants to have sex with you.
I feel hotter and hotter, and it is barely warm outside. I should get back to the hotel. Immediately.
“Far,” I answer Lorenzo’s question. “I want to marry him and have two children with fiery curls.”
Lorenzo laughs, but then he looks at me. “You’re serious.” His statement is humorless.
I shrug. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
He nods slowly. “And how do you think it’s going?”
I need a moment to answer. How it’s going? Very well, thanks.
“It’s going badly,” I say, laughing more than I intended to, and Lorenzo’s mood follows mine.
I mean, he witnessed the whole stealing from God scene.
He knows we’re closer to Judgment Day than to a wedding.
“It’s probably just his hangover, though.
” And maybe the fact that he was dumped by his girlfriend last night.
I didn’t love Ryan, I realized yesterday. Over the past year, I’d been too busy—working with a Michelin chef, dealing with my grief, and making plans for my restaurant—to notice. It’s why I was sad about him leaving, but not devastated like I’d been over previous breakups.
But Jeremy loved Alice. His feelings must now be clouded by anger and disillusionment, which tends to make love turn to hate then to, ultimately, some murky mess you can’t name but resembles emptiness.
I can only hope his feelings for Alice fade into nothingness while we’re still here, and his heart frees up space for me. I’m afraid it’s now or never. When we’re back, real life will catch up, we’ll be busy, and our unique opportunity for romance will be over.
One week. To forget Alice. To fall for me. It’s possible. Isn’t it?
“Maybe it is a hopeless plan,” I dare say the thought out loud. It’s too easy when I’m looking at the handsome Lorenzo staring back at me.
“I don’t see how it’s hopeless,” he says, his green eyes so fixed on mine, I feel my legs wobble. “Not when it’s you.”
I’m shivering all over. Wow…
Ignore it , my brain says . It’s just another cheap trick to charm you .
“Exactly, because we’ve known each other for twenty years,” I say. “It’s just scary and…a bit awkward, so I understand. He’s treading carefully.” I run my fingers over the ornate railing, feeling anxious. “But I can’t give up. We need to try harder.”
A couple seconds of silence sounds like lengthy minutes as people cross the bridge, passing behind us. Realizing that we’re not somewhere private—that we’re still sharing the city with thousands of tourists—makes me relax a little.
“Daisy…” Lorenzo looks down as if afraid to say his next words. I watch him expectantly, my hands sweaty against the railing. “Never mind,” he says, smiling as shyly as someone like him can.
“What?” He can’t stop there. I’m curious.
“Nothing. Let’s go to the gelateria—”
“No, tell me what it is.”
He smiles with resignation. “Fine. I’m just wondering if you’re thinking about romantic moves in addition to romantic places .”
I look at him with a slight frown, not sure I understand where he is going with that.
“Venice is romantic, but action is needed, if you ask me.”
Seduction plans. That’s what he’s talking about.
Jesus.
“We agreed not to make a move until we’re both ready.” I look at my nails to forget I’m discussing this subject with a guy like Lorenzo. “Besides, it’ll be challenging because I’m not his type, so I need to—”
“You’re everyone’s type,” he says with such assertiveness that I’m taken aback. My heart hammers in my ears, and I feel another of those little stomach quivers.
“Not his,” I say with a shrug as if I don’t care, but Lorenzo’s words are still blinking in my head like a safety warning. You’re Lorenzo’s type. Leave now. You’re Lorenzo’s type. Leave now.
“Maybe because he never had the chance to see you as anything other than his childhood friend.” Lorenzo’s statement makes me bite my lower lip because it sounds logical.
“Then what are you suggesting I do? Say it clearly. I can take it.”
The corners of his mouth rise, and he leans a few inches closer. “I can show you if you can take that.”
Ooh , the chills are intense . How can he do that? I mean, how can a human have such power? Is it the power he wants to somehow transmit to me so I can do the same to Jeremy?
Players are not good for nothing, after all. I’m sure there is a lot I can learn with this one.