Chapter Seven #2
“It’s you who’s complaining that we’re not lovers.”
“I don’t think we should kiss,” I say calmly.
“Yeah, you’d probably not feel anything since you’ve just had the best orgasm of your life ,” he mocks, and I make a face in response. “Maybe you should tell me how hot Lorenzo is until I crawl out of my skin in jealousy.”
I laugh at the suggestion. “Are you a tiny bit jealous already?”
“If I’m jealous of anything, it’s that you’re having passionate sex while I’m still hung up on my cheating ex.”
“Why is it so easy in the movies? People have a rational realization that their friend is the right person for their life and— bang! Feelings. Romance.”
He chuckles. “Well, disappointment is what you get when you let fiction inform your decisions.”
I show him my tongue. “Fine. It’s over and let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“Or we could give it one last try,” he suggests again, looking serious enough. “Just in case we haven’t given it our all.”
“I’m not kissing you right now,” I reiterate.
His eyes follow the gondola passing in front of us. The couple in it laughs as if one of them said something hilarious.
“We could just hang out as ourselves…in a gondola.” He arches an eyebrow, hoping for me to see his idea makes sense. “We can’t leave Venice without trying that, can we?”
I hesitate. I do want to ride in a gondola, and now that we’re at ease with each other again, there’s no harm, right?
“Okay, but we’ll go as friends, with no expectations,” I say.
“Yeah, it won’t be a date. The goal is to have fun together.” He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re free to do whatever you want. The project is over, and we’ll only talk about it again if something changes.”
I don’t need him to say, “If feelings suddenly emerge after the gondola ride.” It’s a good plan, so I nod in agreement.
“All right, so gondola tomorrow.” He stands up, and I follow. “Can you ask Lorenzo for the best route? Or would that be too weird?”
“No, I can talk to him,” I say, my stomach plunging at the idea of seeing Lorenzo again.
“Cool. We’ll meet for breakfast and leave right after.”
I remember the reservation Lorenzo made for me tonight at a restaurant I’m hyped about.
I don’t feel like sitting for hours at a table, though, either with Jeremy or alone. One more excuse to speak with Lorenzo. Maybe he can reschedule it.
We enter through the revolving doors, and Jeremy takes the elevator up while I go to the bar to find Lorenzo.
He is there, impeccable as usual, pouring a drink for someone standing by the counter. I approach with my heart pumping in my ears, my senses instantly reminded of the touches, the smells, the pleasure of our perfect escapade this afternoon.
I stop at the end of the bar, observing him work, fascinated by the skillful way his hands move and the wide range of smiles he freely distributes to all the guests in sight—the most meaningful smirks targeted at me.
His tasteful, musky cologne is more fragrant than anyone else’s, marking his territory along with his orchestral playlist. He’s busy, and I stand by until he comes to me.
Once he does, he brings a negroni and a snack plate like the one he made on my first night.
I stare at him when he places both in front of me.
“I didn’t order that.”
He puts his elbows on the counter, flexing his biceps in a way that brings me back to the ballroom, when I touched those muscles…
“It’s on the house,” he says with his sexy smile, and I involuntarily melt a little inside.
“Put it on my room bill.”
He simply stretches his smirk. “You’re welcome.”
“I haven’t even had dinner yet…” I say, looking at the drink I’m not sure my stomach can handle. “I’m just going to order room service. Could you cancel my reservation for tonight and maybe try to move it to tomorrow instead?”
“Of course,” he says, looking at me, trying to read my mood. He notices the red in my cheeks. The way I’m fidgeting with the glazed almonds. “Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod without meeting his eyes. “Jeremy wants to ride on a gondola tomorrow after breakfast, and I agreed to go with him,” I say, quickly adding, “as friends,” before taking a generous sip of negroni.
“How do you feel about that?”
I study him over the rim of my glass. His face is unreadable.
“I want to do it. It’ll be fun.”
I don’t convince him. I set the cup down and sigh.
“I know gondolas are the most romantic symbol of Venice, and we ended the project, so maybe we shouldn’t be doing it…” Especially after what happened between us , I add mentally. “But Jeremy and I are being open with each other again, so I’m sure it won’t be awkward.”
Lorenzo doesn’t nod. He busies himself cleaning a stain on the polished wooden surface with his thumb. He obviously doesn’t agree it’s a good idea— Is he jealous or what? —but he won’t say it. We’re nothing to each other, after all.
“So, will you tell me the best place to take a gondola?”
Lorenzo reaches for a small notebook and a pen in his pocket, writes something down, rips off the paper, and gives it to me.
“The earlier you go, the better. And remember, it costs eighty euros for half an hour, and they only accept cash.”
Ouch. That’s one expensive ride.
“Thank you.” I look at his green eyes, and time stands still as we gaze at each other.
Memories of our passionate moment keep flooding my brain and spreading to my skin. I want to jump over the bar, grab him by the neck, and kiss him until the sun rises.
Thankfully, he breaks eye contact and distracts me by writing another note.
“This is my personal number,” he whispers, discreetly passing me the paper. “Text me whenever you want. Literally, any time .” I swallow hard, thinking of the possibility of calling Lorenzo in the middle of the night for another escapade…
I pull up my phone to add his number to my contacts and try to convince myself it’s only in case we get lost, or I need him to cancel another reservation.
“What is your last name?” I ask as I’m typing his contact information.
Come on, Daisy, admit it. You want to know the full name of the man who gave you the most romantic moment of your life.
“My full name is Lorenzo Fontana.”
Fontana. It sounds so good on the tongue… Daisy Fontana…
Jesus . What is happening to me?
I should go. Lock myself in my room. Order a burger and fries and a large soda.
“ Ciao , Lorenzo,” I say, meaning goodbye , not see you later . “And thank you again.”
Thank you again for the best orgasm ever. One that came so easily because you’re so goddamn hot, and your fingers are heavenly, and your lips are—
“See you, Daisy.”
He has that smile on. The one that promises a trip to paradise if I just go along…
I leave.
* * *
Our gondolier is a jolly man in his sixties clad in the traditional striped shirt and straw hat.
The moment he welcomes us into the gondola, I understand why Lorenzo told us to find him.
His name is Giuseppe, and he gives us a smooth ride leaving from a calm part of the Grand Canal and crossing through a quiet, narrow canal, away from the bustling crowds.
He asks if it’s okay that he whistles and sings, and Jeremy and I find no problem with that at all.
It’s cozy and makes us smile, which is great for breaking the ice.
The morning sun casts a golden glow over the water, and my heart quickens nervously.
Sitting side by side on the plush crimson cushion, Jeremy and I smile at each other.
Then we start admiring the view. As Giuseppe paddles, standing on the rear, whistling a happy tune, the gondola glides through the shimmering water, its gentle motion putting us in a lazy state of appreciation.
“This is nice,” Jeremy says, and I agree. It’s an experience like no other—seeing the city from this point of view, just like the Venetians of the past saw it every day.
People passing over the bridges we cross under look at us and take pictures of our boat.
It feels somehow intrusive as if we are celebrities spotted by paparazzi.
I realize that no matter how calm the route, there’s never complete privacy.
My tense shoulders finally relax as it sinks in that we’re simply on a boat ride anyone can take for any reason.
“What is your favorite thing about Venice?” Jeremy asks me at some point. “Mine is the color of the water. Emerald green.”
Like Lorenzo’s eyes.
“I love the bridges,” I say. “The bare bricks. The churches. The buildings of different colors… Palaces that nowadays are luxury hotels, residences, museums, institutions, or maybe abandoned spaces full of history. I love the labyrinthine streets. And the food, the gelato, and the wine. Mostly, though, I love how there are always small details you miss at first glance, which means every time you look around it’s a new experience. ”
“Wow,” he says, chuckling. “That was poetic.”
I look away, smiling. I have no idea where my passionate answer came from.
“You really like it here, don’t you?” Jeremy gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
I nod, smiling. “Yeah… I do.”
I sigh, letting the beauty around me bathe my soul and fill my heart with awe.
I try to ignore the tourists walking down the streets and focus on the oar dipping into the water, disturbing its peace.
On the layer of shells glued to the outer walls of the buildings that the seawater stained.
On the arched bridges, the facades of majestic palazzi , and the doors linking the canal to the residences.
I’m seriously in love with this city, as Jeremy pointed out. I know it’s a vacation site. An overcrowded destination. Too far from reality. Too fantastic to belong in anyone’s daily life.
But I met a local, and he brought me to the other side of the curtain. Thanks to Lorenzo, I’ve dived into the history of the city and got to appreciate its hidden gems. I saw there is so much more I can experience and learn and feel .
It’s like I’m in a dream, but a lucid one, where everything is sharp and clear, and I have full autonomy over myself.