She ran her finger along the printed names of the deceased family members. ‘And this isyourfamily?’
‘My parents. My brother. I lost them too that night in the accident.Myfamily.Yourfamily. And all the others.’
‘Dio. . .’ Her green eyes welled with tears and she slowly climbed off the bed and began pacing the apartment.
‘I was born in Perth, in Western Australia, like I told you before, but mypapàwas Italian. A Venetian. Mymammawas Australian, of Italian descent. We were here visiting mynonniwhen it happened. And after the accident . . . I chose not to return home. Not withoutthem. I just couldn’t. I was sixteen.’
Lucia walked to the window and stared at her own home across Calle del Leone. This was the view of her world that Alex had. Their apartment windows aligned perfectly, and she wondered for a moment how often he stood here and looked out for her, as she did for him. But the realisation brought her back to the present, and the reality of their entwined lives.
Her breath hitched and the tears started to flow once again.
She turned and walked over to him, and with open arms drew him up to standing. She wrapped herself around him in a tight consoling embrace, nuzzling her face into the space at the base of his neck. In return, his arms cocooned her, and the pair stood there unified by their shared grief.
‘I’m sorry that you . . .’ she broke off, sobbing into his shoulder. ‘No one should have to have lived what we have. Especially as children.’
He nodded into her warm fragrant hair. ‘I know.’
Despite having to relive that moment by thefondamentaall over again, Lucia felt some relief in the knowledge that Alex shared this history with her. This terrible, life-changing history. She found comfort and security in their unity – in the fact that he truly understood what it was like – and she squeezed him a little tighter.
Over his shoulder she could see the article on his bed. The image of sixteen-year-old Alex, arm outstretched to the other photographer. She pulled away slightly from his hold and asked, ‘What happened there?’ She gestured to the photo.
Alex drew in a long breath. Collecting the article, he said, ‘After you left on the dinghy, most of the crowd disappeared. I was behind you the entire time. You never saw me.’ His red-veined eyes met hers. ‘After it was all . . . done . . . right before I was put on the next boat . . . I found thepaparazzowho took the photo.’
Lucia’s eyes narrowed. ‘And?’
‘I asked him to delete it. But he simply laughed at me.’
‘Why did you ask him to do that?’
‘Because it would have been cruel to publish that photo. Capturing grief and shock like that.’
‘You asked him to do that? Even inyourmoment of grief and shock?’
Alex’s lips pursed to mask his welling emotions, and he nodded.
She reached across and wrapped her arms around him once again. ‘Grazie, Alex. You have no idea how much it means to hear this. That photo has haunted me for twenty years.’
Alex’s hand made its way to catch and caress the back of Lucia’s neck, his fingers knitting tightly into the warmth of her long dark hair. Lucia felt so safe yet so vulnerable there with him. And just as she was about to pull back and plant a tender kiss on his lips, something stopped her. She tensed from head to toe, shook her head and took a step back. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I have a question.’
Noting this change in her, Alex suddenly swallowed. ‘Yes?’
‘When did you work out who I was? This shared history? Or, have you known all along?’
No matter his answer, Alex knew he was about to upset her. ‘The morning after you were assaulted in your apartment.’
Lucia’s stomach knotted. ‘So, two weeks ago?’
‘Yes.’ Alex braced himself.
‘And when you came over for the dinner-breakfast, I explicitly asked you if you knew who I was. You said you didn’t—’
‘I lied. I’m sorry.’
Lucia felt winded. The person she had found such comfort in, such a unique bond with, the person she had let into her home and shared intimacy with, had betrayed her. Just like so many others. ‘And you’ve been sitting on this lie, this knowledge. When were you going to tell me? Whydidn’tyou tell me?’ Her jaw tensed.
‘Luc—’
‘You’ve made a fool of me Alex.’ Her arms dropped defeatedly by her sides. ‘Here I have been worried aboutyouthese past two weeks. I could tell something had changed, I sensedyoupull away. I was concerned foryou. . .’ But then she stopped. ‘That’s it. It’s because ofthis.Yourguilty conscience about keeping this a secret from me.’ She walked over to the window and looked across at La Scuola Rosa. ‘My life is in utter ruins, Alex. I have reached the bottom of the lagoon, and I might as well just drown there. Let Venice take the last of the Trevisans.’
