trentasette
Just on eight o’clock, Lucia woke to find Alex gone. She poked around the apartment, then through the second floor, before finally ending up on the first.
He was nowhere to be found, and she didn’t know at what point during the night he had left.
On account of the makeshift door pane, the air inside the school was icy cold, although the rays of sun that beamed in through the front window display were warm.
Seeing some sparkling shards of the smashed glass still across the floorboards, Lucia did her best to pad around them before taking off across the street to La Commedia.
She knocked on the door, the sound echoing down Calle del Leone.
‘Alex!’ she called, stepping back a few paces to stare up at the top windows. ‘Are you in there?’
After a few moments Alex appeared at the central window. ‘I’m here.’
Bruises had bloomed on his jaw, and fresh pink flesh now replaced the crusting lines of blood from the night before.
‘Will you at least come down here so we don’t wake the neighbours?’
He nodded, appearing a minute later on his stoop. ‘Are you feeling alr—?’
‘You left me.’ Lucia’s hands fell by her sides as her expression flattened. ‘You said you wouldn’t.’
Alex bit his lip. Knowing what he now knew, he felt torn. The realisation had smacked him so suddenly that he hadn’t fully processed it yet himself. Until he made sense of it all, he didn’t want to tell her. Plus, knowing the fate she had narrowly avoided last night, he didn’t want to dump this on her too soon. ‘I’m sorry, Lucia. I couldn’t stay any longer.’
‘What time did you leave? In the middle of the night?’
‘No. Around an hour ago. It was morning; you were safe.’
‘But you just . . . left me there.’ Lucia shook her head and turned to leave, but stopped short as she was intercepted by Francesco’s arrival.
‘What happened here?!’ he asked, arms fanned wide as he gestured to the temporary door pane and back to Lucia’s dishevelled state.
‘I’m sorry, Lucia,’ said Alex. ‘I hope you have a better day. If the carabinieri need anything else from me, let me know.’
‘ Carabinieri ?!’ Francesco’s eyes darted between them.
Not knowing what else to say or do, Alex simply retreated back inside and closed the door.
A week after the break-in, Lucia had still been unable to engage Alex in a conversation, let alone reach out with a proper thank you for his support and actions. The carabinieri had also since returned to inform Lucia that the case would likely not progress on account of a lack of evidence against the attacker, which she had been expecting. And with Francesco’s support, she had engaged a glazier to repair the door’s glass pane.
The days passed slowly, lessons were shared, and the Venezia, Ovunque! project continued to gain traction. Over the week her disappointment about Alex having left her in the morning had faded away, and she could see very clearly the help and security he had provided her that night. It wasn’t just that Alex had confronted the intruder and stopped what would have been a devastating, life-altering experience. It was much more. It was the sense of safety he had created for Lucia, allowing her to sleep after the attack, and the trust she had been able to place in him. And that was more than she had been able to do for anyone in a very long time.
But all her attempts to reach out had been futile.
She caught him a few times exiting La Commedia, but on each occasion he politely brushed her aside with excuses of outings and appointments. Early on Thursday morning, true to form, she spotted him leaving with his usual posy of paper flowers. And while covertly following him again was tempting, she figured if he didn’t appreciate her bailing him up at his front door, he certainly wouldn’t appreciate it at the cimitero .
It was that Saturday morning, with Foscari nibbling his breakfast by her feet and the moka bubbling away on the stove behind her, that Lucia thought she would give it one last go. Checking her watch, she figured eight was early enough to catch Alex, so she crossed the calle clinging to her last shred of hope.
She decided on a different, more dignified approach than usual, hoping that it might inspire a different reaction from Alex. So instead of her usual call up to the windows for all the calle to hear, she used the knocker to bang smartly on the door.
And it worked. A few moments passed, but Alex eventually arrived at the door. By the look of his wide eyes and raised brows, he too was surprised by Lucia’s knocking.
‘Is everything ok, Lucia?’
‘It feels like you’ve been avoiding me this past week since the break-in. I’d like to apologise for questioning you . . . about the way you left me. Also I want to say that I appreciate what you did for me. It . . . meant a lot. And again, mi dispiace tantissimo .’ And while it felt like she had to push the word from her lips – sorry – she was proud of herself. Lucia hadn’t allowed herself to be voluntarily vulnerable for quite some time, and perhaps Alex sensed this too because he let out a long breath as if he’d been holding it in.
‘ Grazie , Lucia. But everything is fine between us.’
She couldn’t help but notice how, as he spoke, his eyes flicked away from hers. Even if he said he had accepted her apology, she didn’t feel it was accepted in spirit. So she added, ‘Alex, can I please invite you to dinner? Next Sunday night. We can have a week of space to clear the air, if that helps?’
Alex’s gaze shot up to Lucia’s apartment window. He took a deep breath, as if this offer required considered thought, but eventually his eyes met hers.
‘Ok. I’ll come.’
Lucia was startled by his acceptance. She wasn’t sure why he suddenly seemed so distant, and deep down she’d expected him to decline. Her mood brightened. ‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Really. I’ll see you next Sunday.’
‘I’ll give you some space until then.’
He worried at his bottom lip, glancing away. Then, turning his cinnamon eyes to her green ones once more, he said, ‘Thank you for understanding.’
Lucia kept her promise, and for the week that passed she kept her distance from Alex. In any case, she and Mariella were busy with lessons, while Francesco and Stefano advanced the Venezia, Ovunque! project, which had garnered promising attention and was finally pulling in some modest income with online subscriptions. It had just thirty-two days to prove itself.
This week’s project experience involved an intimate walking tour with their students through the lagoon’s lace-making island, Burano. Once Lucia and Francesco had wrapped up their final preparations over the phone on Sunday evening, Francesco turned the subject to Lucia’s dinner plans with Alex.
‘Just keep a level head. You’ve apologised. You’ve let him have some space. Now, just be yourself.’
With her phone perched in the crook between her ear and her shoulder, Lucia laughed. ‘You know how hard this will be for me.’ With both hands free, and despite the awkward angle of her head and neck, she managed to open the paper bag containing their dinner. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’
‘I’m proud of you, Ciccia,’ Francesco said before blowing a kiss into the phone.
‘ Grazie , Checco.’
Ending the call she tossed her phone to the bed. Foscari’s ears pricked up and he raced up the grammar-book staircase and pressed his wet nose to the glass. Without looking, Lucia knew what he could see. ‘He’s coming, eh?’ And Foscari barked.
She shook out her hands and took a deep breath, then walked to the window. She pushed it open and looked down onto the calle . Alex looked up, and she said, ‘It’s open. Three shoulder shoves.’
He nodded.
Lucia met Alex at the stairs with a smile, which he reciprocated. She leaned in and initiated a duo of cheek kisses, which, though they hadn’t ever done this before, he didn’t resist.
‘I’m glad you could come.’
‘Thank you for having me.’ Alex lifted his nose slightly. ‘ Caffé , at this hour?’
Lucia stifled a laugh. ‘This is your nocturnal breakfast time, isn’t it?’
Alex tilted his head questioningly. ‘It is.’
‘ Allora , let’s have breakfast.’ She gestured to the table set for two, and collected the white paper bag from the kitchen counter. ‘ Cornetti and some dolci for us to share.’
Alex seemed astonished as he took in the spread before him: cheeses, prosciutto cotto, jams, a small ramekin of whipped butter, an assortment of pastries, and the hot moka sitting atop a cork coaster. He looked both mystified and – was she reading him right? – grateful. When he spoke, his voice confirmed it. ‘That is incredibly thoughtful.’
And so, they sat together. Lucia poured the coffee, Alex proffered the pastries, and Foscari danced rings under the table in the hope of catching some crumbs.
Lucia studied Alex across the table. He was handsome. His dark melancholic eyes and that accenting stubble made for the most intoxicating aesthetic. The stubborn quips and tussles of words they’d had in the past seemed to have sunk to the depths of the lagoon. All that remained was Alex.
Just Alex.
And Lucia caught her eyes trailing across his lips.
Lips. That kiss . . .
Something deep inside her would never let her forget that intense masked kiss at the ball. It had been too good, too chemical. Too good to be true.
Perhaps it was?
Following the Nicolò disaster, her heart knew better. She had tried her best to shelve it all, to put it behind her, wanting to protect whatever last shred of hope and dignity she had left.
For now, Lucia wanted to turn her focus to Alex, respect their new ‘normal’ and acknowledge what he had done for her.
‘To our fresh start,’ Lucia said, holding her espresso cup aloft.
Alex gazed solemnly back at her. ‘ Va bene .’ Their cups clinked and they drank in unison.
Lucia could sense some of that lingering hesitation from Alex. She had hoped it might’ve receded over the past week, but something had clearly set a fire of doubt or worry under him, and its smoke signal concerned her. ‘Are you ok?’ she asked finally, reaching down to drop some rolled prosciutto cotto to Foscari. ‘You still have bruises . . .’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured her loftily, waving away her concerns. ‘Are you . . .?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, all things considered.’
Alex reached for a cornetto and took a bite, which saved him having to make further conversation right away. Eventually he said, ‘I’m glad I could help you.’
Lucia leaned forward. ‘Tell me more about you, Alex. I feel like I don’t know anything apart from your sleeping schedule. And the fact that you have an Australian connection.’
His brow furrowed. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Your passport. At the comune meeting.’
Despite himself, he allowed a smile to reach his lips. ‘Lucia, I’m not a very interesting person . . .’
‘ Ti prego ,’ she urged.
‘Yes. I am Australian. I was born in Perth, on the west coast, but have lived in Venice for the past twenty years. I like to read. And draw. And perhaps that’s because I’ve never really been a social person, or liked relying on others. I live alone, and happily. I keep to myself. I’m a quiet, private person.’
‘Can I ask why?’
Alex’s fingers found his cup and refilled it from the moka. ‘I think that’s the way the universe wants it.’
‘The universe?’
‘Hmm. L’universo . The forces of nature. Sometimes it’s hard to feel you have any control over your life when changes and actions are undertaken on your behalf.’
Lucia nodded, settling her elbows on the table, allowing her chin to rest on her fists. ‘I know that feeling.’ Watching Alex take another bite, she let curiosity get the better of her. ‘Alex, do you know who I am?’
‘What do you mean?’ He shook his head, confused. ‘You’re Lucia Trevisan.’
‘No, I mean, do you know what happened to my family when I was a child?’ she pressed. Part of her wanted to know if Alex knew the other side of her. That dark tragic side, the one which drew attention far and wide. Nothing thus far had suggested he did, but she couldn’t help but ask.
‘No. Should I?’
Satisfied by the vacant, puzzled expression which had filled his face, she said, ‘It’s refreshing that you don’t.’
‘I don’t engage with social media or the papers. If those are somehow connected.’
She cocked her head to the side. ‘Why is that?’
‘I have my reasons. But mostly, I think they’re dangerous.’
She exhaled a short breath as she nodded in agreement. ‘You’ve got that right.’ Lucia emptied the last of the moka into her cup, then rose to her feet. ‘I’ll just get some water.’ Without thinking she grabbed his upper arm as she walked past and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It felt lovely and natural, and represented the peace offering she had laid on the table.
What Lucia didn’t see, however, was how Alex’s head hung low behind her turned back, or the way he frowned disapprovingly at himself.
No. Should I?
Those lie-soaked words taunted him, seeming to bundle up at the back of his throat before dropping heavily to his lungs. He felt he might drown under the weight of his deception.
But then, it wasn’t just Lucia he was deceiving.
Francesco suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass pane of La Scuola Rosa’s door on Monday morning.
Lucia, who was setting places with diagnostic tests for the incoming students, stopped and took stock of him. He grinned, zeroed in on the glass, then exhaled his warm breath onto the pane. With a finger he drew the outline of a heart in the condensation, complete with L.T. and A. S. in the middle.
Lucia scowled. ‘ Basta !’
Delighted with himself, Francesco pointed over his shoulder to La Commedia, then turned so that his back was facing Lucia. He wrapped his hands around his own torso and caressed himself, so that from Lucia’s angle it looked as if he were passionately kissing someone.
‘Checco!’ she warned, but it was too late. He already had an audience of a few students who had gathered in the calle .
Lucia’s expression dropped into a sarcastic ‘told you so’ pout, but Francesco only laughed. He sauntered in, setting his lesson notes down on the welcome desk with a dramatic flourish.
‘So . . .’ he started smoothly. ‘Was there kissing? And do you need lip balm?’ He proffered her a stick, which she promptly waved away.
She grunted. ‘No. And you couldn’t be farther from the truth.’
‘Oh. Really?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘ Sì . We just talked. He was lovely but still . . . he felt distant. Or, like he was holding me at arm’s-length. Something has changed.’
Francesco’s face drained of all its previous joy and playfulness. ‘Did you feel anything towards him ?’
‘Romantically?’
‘ Sì .’
Lucia tried to busy herself with the papers once more. ‘I . . . I don’t know. He’s very—’
‘Good-looking. Yes, we established that a while ago. I mean, feelings-wise?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so.’
‘Something is holding you back, Lucia.’ He stepped forward to assess her a little more closely. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
‘Something in me wants closure. That’s all.’
‘Closure for what?’
‘The masked kisser. I know it makes no sense to dive back into that swamp of trouble. But, I guess I wish I knew who . . . There are so many loose ends in my life at the moment. It would be nice to tie this one off.’
He reached across and held her steady. The diagnostic tests fell to the floor. ‘If you want one last chance, one final probe at the universe, we can try. Just say the word.’
It was at that precise moment that the students began to filter in, with Mariella behind them, ushering them with both hands. ‘ Buongiorno !’ she sang out.
‘ Buongiorno !’ Lucia and Francesco replied in unison, not breaking eye contact.
Lucia swallowed hard, and her alabaster skin grew even paler. ‘I think I do want one last shot.’
‘ Fantastico ,’ he said, squeezing her arms a little harder, then leading her out onto the calle to talk in private.
Between the groups chatting and a few students smoking, Francesco led Lucia to La Commedia’s stoop for more privacy. They sat down and leaned their backs against the door.
‘I want to have one last shot. And if it all falls apart I will move on,’ said Lucia quietly.
‘Then let’s do it.’
‘How?’ Her eyes looked sullen and her cheeks were drawn.
Francesco scoured the clear Monday morning sky. ‘Ok. We put up one final post, something like, “She’s still looking for the masked kisser from the ball” . . .’
‘ No .’ She shooed it away. ‘ My words this time.’ She exhaled, quiet for a moment while she mulled over the phrasing. ‘How about, “If you really are the masked kisser from the ball, you will know where we kissed and when. Be there this Friday. And bring your mask.”’
Francesco was taking down a note on his phone. ‘Done.’
‘I really hope he shows, Checco. That kiss was just . . . There’s no coming back from that kiss.’
‘You do realise that this Friday is Venerdì Santo ? Good Friday.’
‘Well, let’s hope there is something good about it, once all is said and done.’
‘Let’s go, classes are waiting. We can post the message to the school’s profile over lunch if you like.’
They left their perch by La Commedia’s door and headed back inside the school.
Alex stood still behind the door and closed his eyes, letting their words sink in.