trentuno
Both Lucia and Alex stepped out their front doors onto Calle del Leone at the same moment. They froze, eyes locking onto each other. That strange, loaded gaze which had filled Alex’s eyes yesterday on Il Camino’s stage was there again.
Definitely not imagining it . . .
Lucia felt the space between her lungs and stomach tighten and she shook her head.
Not now. Don’t get distracted.
Pulling the door closed behind her, she could hear the dying minutes of the day’s lessons and the situation grated on her.
They needed her now. Not him . And not the comune .
Lucia set off first, and turned to say, ‘Please allow me a wide berth.’ Her eyes dropped to Alex’s feet, now a few metres behind her, as if to mark some sort of barrier between them.
‘If you wish.’
And so the pair walked, and with every step Lucia took, the echo of Alex’s answered, all the way to the comune . When they arrived, they made their way to the desk.
The same man was on reception, and on seeing them, he smiled. But Lucia read only sarcasm and schadenfreude in his eyes and curled lips. There was nothing friendly about the smile, let alone anything genuine.
He didn’t wait for an exchange of pleasantries but pointed to the left, indicating a corridor. ‘Third door on the right. Play nice,’ he said, pressing the buzzer and calling the next Venetian in line.
Lucia, with Alex in tow, entered the meeting room and took a seat. Alex chose the one next to hers and they both sat in silence for a moment.
Eventually, Alex reached across and poured himself a glass of water. ‘Would you li—’
‘ No, grazie .’
It all felt foreign to Lucia. The cold air of the meeting room. The way the knitted upholstery of the chair seemed to cling to the fabric of her clothes. The stack of papers sitting opposite them. The feeling of disembodiment, as if her arms and legs belonged to someone else.
It felt sterile. Clinical. And something about the white walls and linoleum floor drew her mind back to the funeral parlour where her parents had been prepared for cremation. That trip with Mariella to drop off their clothes and personal affects.
She swallowed, breathing as slowly and as deeply as she could.
This was the last thing she needed right now.
They turned in unison as a short, stumpy, balding man entered the room. He was the very picture of beige: beige suit, beige shirt, beige tie. His brown leather shoes were the only accent to counter his boring monotonal aesthetic.
‘ Buongiorno . I’m Salvatore Fabris.’ The official’s Venetian accent was so thick it sounded as if he pushed the syllables through the back of his nose via a wringer. His square-framed glasses reflected some of the overhead lighting, so Lucia couldn’t quite make out where he was looking.
Neither Lucia nor Alex spoke.
‘ Documenti ?’ Salvatore asked, and Lucia and Alex poked around in their personal belongings, producing their identification documents. Lucia handed over her carta d’identità . Alex had an Australian passport.
Lucia’s eyes caught on the passport for a moment, and she suddenly remembered how she had earlier noticed an interesting tonal inflection to the way Alex had said the e in his name.
He’s Australi —?
But her train of thought was interrupted. ‘I have read the case notes, as well as the significant number of concerns . . .’
Lucia sat up a little taller in her chair. ‘I can explain . . .’
Salvatore paused momentarily to survey her over the top of his glasses then shuffled his papers. ‘This is a common dispute. Tit for tat. And to be honest, we have more important things to be dealing with.’
Lucia jumped in. ‘But I—’
The man raised his hand. ‘Signorina Trevisan. The issues raised by Signor Scarpa fall under the jurisdiction of the comune . Claims of noise regulation violation. Use of public space without the appropriate permits. Antisocial behaviour.’ Lucia’s mouth dropped open. ‘These are of concern to us. But, seeing as this is all alleged behaviour, and without photographic evidence or otherwise from the complainant, consider this your warning.’
Lucia turned to glare at Alex, but his focus remained resolutely fixed to the man. ‘What do you mean by “warning”?’
‘Should the comune be presented with evidence – documented formally – to support the aforementioned complaints, then you will be fined. And on-going issues may result in the termination of your business licence. Am I clear?’
Lucia didn’t respond. She simply inhaled a little more deeply, a little more loudly.
‘And Signor Scarpa . . .’ The man turned his attention to Alex. ‘You are encouraged to disengage from further encounters with Signorina Trevisan and her business. Should there be continued issues, we encourage you to contact the comune with documentable evidence.’
Lucia erupted. ‘That’s it? A keep-clear warning?’
‘Signorina Trevisan, the complaints we have received pertain to your behaviour, and to your encounters with Signor Scarpa. Not about his behaviour.’
‘But he—’
‘Do you have evidence of any wrongdoing on his part?’ The man brought his pen to his lips.
Alex turned to look at Lucia and she scoured her memory. What had he done? Existed in the space she had always thought of as her own? Had there been noise? Disruption? No. All he had asked for was respectful quiet. And for the second time in a week, Lucia felt ashamed of herself. She lowered her gaze. ‘No. Nothing.’
A stifled, frustrated sigh escaped Alex, and he dropped his face into his hands.
‘ Perfetto ,’ the man said, clicking his pen and clipping it onto one of his folders. ‘Let’s hope we don’t see either of you back here again.’ He stood, straightened his suit, then left.
Both stared across at the blank white wall behind Salvatore’s table for a few moments, still and quiet.
Eventually, Lucia said, ‘Alex, I’m sor—’
‘I am too. I even came to withdraw the complaints a few days ago. To cancel all this. But it had already been processed.’
Though Lucia tried her best to contain her emotions, her eyes had begun to well with tears. ‘I need all this to be over, please. I am going through a lot right now, and I need it settled.’
‘I do, too.’
‘Thank you.’ She collected her things and left.
The walk home from the comune offices felt longer than it was. Or, perhaps, longer than Lucia wanted it to be.
The shameful exhausted tail between her legs seemed to suddenly drag against the grey pavers. Once again she could hear the distinct echo of Alex’s footsteps a few metres behind her, matching her own. Her legs felt as if they were filled from top to bottom with layers of humiliation and chagrin, and she wished she could simply disappear on the breeze which whistled its way along Rio de San Salvador.
Eventually arriving home, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass pane of La Scuola Rosa’s door. She looked tired; drained, in fact.
She wiggled the key in the lock, gave the jamb its usual shoulder thrusts, and let herself in, where she was relieved to find she was alone. The radiating warmth from the termosifoni enveloped her and Lucia exhaled. Just as she was about to collapse in one of the wingback chairs and indulge in a well-earned dose of self-pity, the door opened behind her.
She startled, turning. ‘Alex,’ she raised a hand, ‘please just go home.’
‘I want to talk. We need to talk.’ He stepped inside and removed his coat, placing it atop the welcome desk.
Noting this, she said, ‘But you were warned to stay away.’
‘Lucia . . . I want to apologise properly.’
‘What for?’ She put her hands defensively on her hips.
‘I’m sorry about what happened today. And I acknowledge that I’ve also been difficult these past few weeks.’
Lucia let her hands drop to her sides. ‘Really?’
‘Of course.’ He ran his hands through his hair and began pacing the space between Lucia and the front door. ‘I’ve been on tight deadlines with work, and my sleep – let’s not even go there. I’ve been going through some things these past few weeks, and I guess I foolishly chose you to project some of that on.’
Lucia stifled a laugh. ‘I guess I could say the same, actually. I’m stretched thin to the point of transparency at the moment.’
Alex stopped and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’m hoping for the best.’ Her eyes met his, and that intoxicating gaze returned. That more vulnerable, soft version of Alex stood in front of her now. She cleared her throat. ‘Shall we just start over?’
‘Please.’
She smiled. ‘ Va bene . Tomorrow is a new day.’
Alex exhaled a relieved sigh, collected his coat, and allowed Lucia to show him to the door. A foot from the school’s entrance he stopped short. ‘If I can hel—’ he began, half turning, but his sudden change in direction caused Lucia to slam into him. Instinctively, Alex caught her in his arms to stop her from falling backwards, and in the process drew her close.
Irrespective of her heeled boots, Lucia was tall; a match Alex had rarely known. Their eyes levelled and the air thickened, as if it were the mud of the shallows in the backwaters of the lagoon. His deep cinnamon eyes latched on to hers, and she couldn’t help but notice how he smelled of soap and fresh linen. She felt herself relax against him, and could sense his grasp on her tighten.
For reasons she couldn’t articulate, Lucia didn’t fight this moment as she sensed she normally would have. She could feel Alex’s heart beating feverishly through his warm layers, in contrast to her own which seemed to have settled into a new, comfortable rhythm.
Comfortable?
She watched as Alex’s eyes moved to her lips, just as they had done at Il Camino, and for a moment he seemed lost in his thoughts. Then he caught his lower lip with his teeth, and Lucia felt his grip tighten again.
She wasn’t imagining things when his head dipped lower, nor had she misread the way his lips gathered in a wistful smile as he did so. She couldn’t have predicted how her hands would somehow cling fiercely to his forearms – those delicious , commanding forearms – as she rose to her toes, but none of that mattered.
Not in the slightest.
Because that was when Francesco, distracted by music in his AirPods, waltzed casually through the front door, completely extinguishing the moment.
‘ Permesso ?’ he called, removing the pods from his ears, and his expression immediately faltered upon seeing the pair entangled in each other’s arms.
Lucia was the first to pull away, but Alex’s hands seemed to linger on her for a beat longer.
‘ Sì, sì ,’ Lucia said, righting the hem of her jumper.
Francesco blinked and said, ‘ Erm . Do you . . . two . . . need a moment?’ His startled, incredulous eyes flicked between them.
‘ No ,’ Alex said quietly, ‘I was just leaving.’ He collected his coat from where it had fallen at their feet and locked eyes with Lucia. ‘ Scusami .’ Then, he disappeared across the street.
It wasn’t until the door of La Commedia had closed securely behind Alex that Francesco turned to Lucia, and with raised eyebrows asked, ‘So, how did the comune go?’
‘I received a warning. Better than expected, yes, but still not great,’ she said, making her way across the room.
Under his breath, Francesco retorted, ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ and cast a wry grin across the street.
Alex dropped his forehead against the back of the closed door and grunted into the wood.
He could only think of two things that might reset how he was feeling: a long cold shower, or some uninterrupted work in his studio. Believing the latter to be a more productive use of his time, he turned and rolled up his sleeves.
It was time to put Lucia out of his mind and keep his hands busy.
Hands.
Lucia’s hands.
The sensation of her grip on his forearms returned to taunt his skin. Her lips, those luscious curling lips that he could almost taste at that close proximity. The way her hair spilled over her left shoulder. And those magnetic green eyes.
He swallowed, and shaking his head he went upstairs to take a shower.
A long one.