Chapter Seven #3
I feel free and powerful in Venice. I feel happy, passionate, and inspired.
I feel alive .
Some would say that’s standard when you’re on vacation. But it’s never been for me. I always have a schedule and an agenda. After two nights away, usually I feel ready to get back to the routine.
But here and now, I don’t want to go home. I want to stay in the dream forever.
“This orange building to your left, next to Ponte dei Bacaroli, was Mozart’s home in Venice,” Giuseppe’s thick-accented voice cuts through my thoughts.
I spot a stone plate on the building that confirms what the gondolier is saying.
“The musical genius stayed here with his father when he was fifteen, in 1771.”
I can’t help but think of Lorenzo.
“They enjoyed all that Venice could offer, including the musical venues, of course,” Giuseppe says. “The opera house Teatro La Fenice is over there.” He points to a spot across the canal. “But you can’t see it from the water.”
If Lorenzo were here, we would go inside the opulent opera house, and he’d talk about the frescoes adorning the foyer’s ceiling and walls. Then we would enter the main auditorium, he’d step onto the stage, and I would sit in the royal box like a wealthy guest to see him perform.
I understand that he’s afraid to play since he’s been away from his violin for so long—and the consequences of the accident still pain him.
He chose a path that didn’t force him to look back and confront his unfulfilled ambitions.
Meanwhile, I chose to unbury the past and rectify it by making Dad’s dreams for La Veneziana come true.
Dreams I had hindered for him out of fear.
I’m not braver than Lorenzo for hanging on to what I could have moved past. Lorenzo has embraced the unknown and chosen new dreams for himself. In Venice, he let go , and now he is helping me do the same.
Maybe I should do something for him too. Because when he let go, he didn’t cut the strings, just turned away. Maybe I can convince him to revisit his past, even if only once, to deal with his unresolved feelings toward the instrument he used to love.
“It’s worth the eighty euros, don’t you think?”
Eighty euros? It takes me a second to realize Jeremy is talking about the price of the gondola ride.
“Ah. Yeah. It is.”
I’m in no mindset to judge the fair price of things right now, but agreeing with him seems adequate.
We smile at each other, and I conclude once and for all that I feel nothing for Jeremy. Friendship is all we’ll ever have.
And it’s enough.
* * *
We grab a quick lunch once we’re out of the gondola—a delicious to-go pasta, the best fast food I’ve ever had—and as soon as we get back to the hotel, Jeremy says he needs a nap. I tell him I’ll text him before dinner, and we go to our separate rooms.
I’m not tired at all, and I don’t want to waste my time in Venice in a hotel room, no matter how lovely the accommodations are at Hotel Marchesi.
I could go for a walk and discover a new place.
That’s something you can always do in Venice—let it surprise you.
But for some reason, I end up on the rooftop terrace with my phone and a soda I took from the minibar.
I wonder if I’m the only guest with a key.
Why would I be? Well…the place would be crowded if anyone could access it anytime. And it wouldn’t have been locked.
I have privileges granted by the concierge. The thought makes me smirk.
I sit on a chair near the balustrade and rub my face. I’m a mess. I don’t know who I am or what I want. I’m lost in Venice.
You need to get lost to find yourself, right? Dad would have said. He always had a weirdly suitable philosophy for any specific situation. I loved talking to him. I miss him so much…
I open my brother’s contact on my phone and call him, but it goes to voicemail.
Nick has been living in a friend’s basement, saving up for Hawaii, and I want to know how he’s doing.
I want to ask him if he’s sure he wants to leave LA and what he’s going to do if he misses everything he’s left behind. I want to know if he is afraid.
Without thinking much, I unlock my phone screen and open a chat with the number I’ve recently added to my contacts.
Free now? I’m on the rooftop terrace…
An earthquake shakes my insides after I press Send.
Lorenzo is the person I need right now. As minutes pass without an answer, I struggle against my heart, which doesn’t want to calm down.
My usual concerning thoughts are quick to fill my mind with their annoying blabber.
He’s busy. He won’t come. Why did you send that message? You’re getting him in trouble…
Suddenly, the door to the terrace unlocks, and I jump in my seat, startled. With a hand on my chest, I watch a man walk through the door and lock it behind him.
Lorenzo.
I exhale with relief, but my heart keeps beating frantically. It’s speedier than ever when he stops in front of me, handsome as hell in dark gray pants and a salmon-colored button-up, his dark hair carefully styled, his beard trimmed to perfection.
The afternoon breeze sweeps his musky cologne in my direction, and I relax a little with the comfort his scent brings. It tells me that his soothing, musical voice is on its way— along with his caring hands…
“You came,” I state the obvious, and he smiles—the smile that makes everything feel like cream inside me.
“Of course I came,” he says in his easy way. “And before you ask…no, I’m not busy with work. I can be with you as long as you want.”
Hearing this makes me shiver with excitement.
“Sit down.” I motion toward the chair next to mine.
He sits by my side, his body turned to me. Even the way he sits is elegant, with perfect posture, as if he was trained at a young age to always make a good impression.
“How was the gondola ride?” he asks.
“It was nice,” I say. “Indeed, a must-do in Venice. Thanks for the recommendation, by the way. The route and the gondolier were great.” I pause, looking at the view.
“It wasn’t even awkward with Jeremy, but…
I concluded once and for all that we’ll only ever be friends.
And I’m totally fine with that. It’s a relief, really. ”
Lorenzo observes me for a moment, blinking with his long, dark lashes, his expression unreadable. “What is bothering you then, sweet Daisy?”
The question is almost foreign to me, even in perfect English. I love the way he speaks. And he’s so caring… He knows something is up because he truly looks at me and sees into the depths of my soul.
The truth is, three days ago, I was sure I wanted to be the owner of La Veneziana and have a stable life with a man who lived in Los Angeles with me. But I don’t know if I want that anymore.
Venice is giving me glimpses of a different life. One I could see myself greatly enjoying… But it’s a blurry, volatile picture. And that scares me. I don’t like taking risks. I like things to be predictable. Certain , if possible.
“I want to hear more about how Venice helped you drop your old plans and become a new person.” The words leave my mouth unplanned, but as they do, I realize it’s what I truly want from Lorenzo right now.
I observe his expression change from mildly confused to pleased. It’s a request he didn’t expect, but he’s willing to indulge me.
“You already know part of the story. The accident,” he starts, and this time, there is no shadow in his features when he mentions his darkest period. “I broke up with my fiancée and moved out of the apartment we shared.”
He looks at his hands on his lap as he talks about the past, and I know he is thinking about the bones he broke, which halted his career and made him reconsider his goals.
“I went to Pavia to live with my grandma,” he continues. “It’s half an hour away from Milano by train. I stayed there until I fully recovered, helping her while she helped me.”
He glances at me, and I nod, showing him I’m listening.
“Then too much time passed, in my view,” he says. “I was able to play violin again, even though I wasn’t as good as before. I filled my days with practice, but I was convinced I was a burden to Nonna, even though she reassured me she was very pleased to have me there.”
“That’s how parents and grandparents are,” I say, thinking of how much Dad loved having us over. I couldn’t stay more than a few days, though, so I know what Lorenzo means. “They tell us the home is ours, but we want to care for ourselves.”
“Exactly. I needed to find out what to do with my life, and I couldn’t do that from my grandma’s home. So I left.”
I nod again, my eyes fixed on his. I know that’s when he came to Venice. He said he was busking at the start and then met Luigi. “Did you come to Venice with a plan or just to spend some time in a new place?”
“It was an impulse,” he says with a smile.
“I went to the train station with a backpack and my violin, and the next train was to Venice, so that’s where I decided to go.
” The amused expression on his face is a welcome reminder that we don’t always have to reprove ourselves for our impulsive decisions.
Sometimes, they can lead to good things.
They always lead to something good because they teach us a lot , Dad would have said. He was always making decisions moved by passion, and maybe Jeremy is right that I learned to be controlled because I didn’t want to make his mistakes. One rational person was needed in our business. In our family.