quarantatré
Benedetta was dressed just as immaculately as the first time she had come to the school. She left a trail of designer perfume up the stairs, which eventually clouded where they sat at Lucia’s dining table.
Lucia watched with trepidation as Benedetta considered the digits on the pre-prepared notes Lucia had passed to her. She couldn’t read the older woman’s facial expression. Was it calculating, the way her tongue poked out to the side and her frown gathered in thought? Or was she confused about how a grown woman of Lucia’s age could possibly find herself needing this much money?
Lucia suddenly felt ashamed. Her feet bounced under the table, as if ratcheting up the tension.
Foscari was perched by the calle -facing window with his little black nose pressed to the glass. He yapped, and Lucia tried to settle him with a hush.
‘It is a stretch,’ Benedetta eventually remarked, setting down Lucia’s notes. She reached for the coffee cup to her right. Taking a sip she shook her head and looked back at the original advance she had penned in her contract, tutting.
‘As in?’
‘It is more than I had planned in my budgeting of the project. And your request for full payment upon signature is quite uncommon.’ Benedetta’s eyes fixed on Lucia, then cast a glance around her apartment. ‘But you, Lucia, are a unique offering. And, these past few months of challenges and renewed media spotlight have only fortified the interest the public has in you. Your love life. And your story.’
Lucia swallowed and the delicate skin under her eyes greyed. ‘Can it be done? The money and terms?’
Benedetta paused for a moment to think. ‘I will need to amend some clauses in the contract to mitigate certain risks to La Copertina. But, I think so.’
Exhaling her relief, Lucia nearly doubled over in her chair. ‘ Grazie , Benedetta.’
‘ If we step into this deal together, Lucia, you are going to need to be prepared to let me in. Open yourself up to me. And your editor.’
‘Editor?’
‘The person who will help you write the book.’
‘ They would write the book?’
Benedetta’s eyes narrowed while she dug around for the most appropriate wording. ‘Co-write. With you. Bring your words and experiences to the fore.’
‘So, I wouldn’t be telling my story alone.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘But it’s my story.’
‘We would help you . . . curate . . . the most captivating narrative.’
‘Narrative? You make it sound like fiction.’
Benedetta laughed, and Lucia felt a pang of irritation. Was her story amusing? Her life experiences, were they merely entertainment?
‘By narrative, I mean, what the readers really want to know about you . As l’Orfana .’
She’d said it. Used the one term that made Lucia want to retreat into herself. She closed her eyes in defeat and felt the chair melt into the floorboards beneath her.
Alex knocked again, but still no one answered.
Noting how the Chiuso sign hadn’t been displayed, he opened the door as respectfully as possible and stepped inside the lobby. He could hear Foscari upstairs in Lucia’s apartment, then muffled voices.
Lucia was home.
‘Lucia?’ he called, ascending the stairs, but even Alex could tell that his voice had been muffled by Foscari’s yapping.
It wasn’t until he reached the second floor that he was able to discern the voices.
‘And we are thinking just your eyes on the cover. A really big close-up. Tight. Intimate. That iconic green will just fly off the shelves.’
‘My eyes?’
Alex felt the skin down his spine tighten with prickles.
‘Yes! They have always been the drawcard. Those famous lagoon-green eyes, crying in the rain. Lots of shadows. Really melancholic.’
‘Right . . . and . . . the title of the book?’
‘There can only be one, no ? L’Orfana .’
Alex’s stomach lurched.
What followed was a long pause, a void of blank, empty nothingness. Foscari settled, the voices fell silent, and Alex could almost hear his heart beating.
Then came Lucia’s voice, containing the trembling vibrato of tears, and it tore him apart.
‘And . . . you could guarantee me that sum? All of it? In writing this week?’
‘Lucia Trevisan, you have yourself a deal.’
And with that, Alex was gone.
The days that followed were a mash of frenzied classes, quick conversations on the staircase, nights editing for the Venezia, Ovunque! project, and the bureaucratic paper trail hunt in preparation for Lucia’s meeting with Edoardo scheduled in twelve days – the day before the deadline closure.
Lucia had received an updated publishing agreement from La Copertina, and was waiting on Mariella, Francesco and Stefano to join her for dinner after Friday’s aperitivo party before she signed it. When they all trooped up to her apartment that evening, she was ready.
With sad glossy eyes, they watched on, and the sound of Lucia’s pen pulling across the contract broke all four hearts.
‘We tried,’ she said. ‘It had to be this way. Our project has done what it needed to do. It kept our spirits high, our resolve strong, and it has earned some terrific money.’ She threw her weight back into the cushion behind her on her bed, and Francesco and Stefano joined her there.
‘But not enough to save you from that book deal,’ Francesco mumbled.
Lucia reached across and caressed his hand. ‘Now that the project is set up we can slowly add to it and continue to build our inventory. And, more importantly, it will help contribute to the business loan repayments.’
Mariella wiped away a tear. ‘ Mi dispiace , Lucia. This is not how it was meant to be.’
Lucia joined her on the window seat. ‘But we have enough to secure the school now.’
‘But you shouldn’t have to sell your story for the privilege.’
Lucia squeezed Mariella tightly from the side. ‘I’ve survived all this. What more could the universe possibly throw at me now?’
It was then that Francesco and Stefano shared a loaded look.
‘What’s going on?’ Mariella asked, pointing to the pair.
Francesco gave a nod of support, and Stefano said, ‘I’m sorry, Lucia, but I will soon be handing in my notice. I’ve accepted a lectureship in Bologna. I begin after the summer, in the new academic year.’
The way his shoulders dropped saddened Lucia. Had everyone grown so guilty about leaving her to fend for herself? She didn’t want anyone to feel compelled to stick around merely out of loyalty; she didn’t want anyone to feel tied down or held back by her or La Scuola Rosa. Perhaps now, knowing that the school had been secured, life could go on with some sense of normalcy once again?
Lucia stood and walked over to Stefano. She bundled his hands between hers and said, ‘ Grazie , Stefano. For all your support and time, and for all the care you have shown our students. You have stepped in at the shortest of notice and just been the most brilliant addition to our family. Of course we will miss you, but I know that wonderful things await you and your career in Bologna. I’m so proud of you.’ Stefano stood and the two embraced. Over Stefano’s shoulder Lucia caught Francesco’s eye. She could read his worry and concern about their separation and distance. For good measure, she added, ‘And thank you for making this guy so happy. Because he deserves it, and so much more.’
‘Speaking of,’ Francesco started. ‘What’s happening with Alex?’
Lucia’s eyes flicked back to the window. ‘We are just spending time together. We are going slow.’
‘Says the woman who slept with him twice in a week . . .’
Mariella, upon hearing this, threw her hands over her ears. ‘Enough of that talk, please!’
Lucia gave Francesco a playful sisterly shoulder shove.
‘ Ma che dici ? It’s true!’ he retorted.
‘I am just enjoying his company for now. If anything eventuates between us, I think it will happen slowly. We both have deep scars and plenty of emotional bruises to work around.’
Walking back to the window she looked across at La Commedia. What she wanted to say was that it had been a few days since she and Alex had spoken properly. It had been quick exchanges in the calle and smiles through the windows. She didn’t want to admit that she had felt him pull away a little. And it was beginning to feel familiar. As if he were distancing himself from her again.
She couldn’t be sure, so she shelved the worry for another day. For today, all she wanted to focus on was Jacopo’s share of the school, and her victory in securing the funds from La Copertina.
Even if she’d had to sell her face for it.