‘I have something to say.’
‘Can we please do this another time? Someplace more private?’ Her eyes widened as she blinked towards their audience.
‘No.’
Francesco and Mariella moved closer to Lucia, but Alex stepped forward and the room fell silent. ‘There is something I need to say.’
Lucia’s eyes narrowed, and she fought to control the sting that burned behind them. ‘Alex, not here, please.’
Drawing a deep breath, he took another step forward and began, ‘You.’ There was power and force behind the word. He shook his head at Lucia, not for a moment breaking eye contact. ‘Everything you represent. All the history we share.That,’ he gestured between them, ‘I wouldn’t wish on anyone. No one should have to be connected in the way we are. It’s the most torturous life – one I wish I could escape, but cannot. I am tethered to Venice, Lucia. Just as you are.’
Lucia seemed to crumple, dropping to the chair by her side. ‘Alex, please stop.’
‘You are opinionated and often very stubborn. You speak before you think, and your persistence is sometimes exasperating.’
Francesco looked tempted to interject, but Mariella shot him an indignant glare that stayed his hand.
‘You shut people out because you fear support and relinquishing control, when what you actually need, Lucia,ishelp.’
Lucia looked up and straightened her spine. ‘Is this what you’ve come here for? To berate me? To embarrass me in front of my colleagues and students? In my own home?’
‘No matter how strong or high you think you’ve built your wall, Lucia,Ican still see over it.’ He paused for a moment, and his eyes found the floorboards. ‘Because, truth be told,you, Lucia, are my undoing. Your passion. Your resolve. Your protective hold over everything you hold dear.’ Shaking his head, Alex rubbed his chin. ‘I admire it all. Anddespiteit all, Lucia, Ineedyou.’ He took another step forward. ‘If you’ll have me.’ The rain which had soaked through Alex’s coat had made its way to the ends of his clothing and now dripped quietly at his feet. ‘That night twenty years ago forged us together. As I said goodbye to my brother and my parents I made a promise . . . I wasn’t able to save them. I couldn’t stop the photographer. But I did vow that if I ever crossed paths withyouagain that I would doeverythingin my power to help you.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘So that’s what I’ve done, Lucia. That’s why you have your school. And you can keep your story safe. I kept my promise.’ His hands, open and vulnerable by his sides, called to her. ‘Please, Lucia. Let me in.’
In unison, the congregation turned to Lucia, and the sea of curious eyes made her feel self-conscious.
It was all too much. The attention. The faces.
Lucia closed her eyes as tightly as she could, dropping her head to the tops of her knees. Her heart found a nervous, tense rhythm. Feeling her breath warm her thighs, she continued to fight it all. She wished she could make everyone evaporate. Disappear.
Why did he have to do this now?
Lucia wanted to talk to Alex. Sheneededto. Somehow, her resolve re-established itself. If the conversation had to happen now, in front of everyone, then it would.
Eventually unfurling herself in the chair, she looked up, blotchy eyed and sweaty faced. But where was Alex?
Lucia frantically scanned the people in front of her. Finding Francesco, her eyes begged for clarity. ‘Checco?’
‘He’s gone, Lucia.’
Suddenly, Lucia’s feet found purpose and she bolted through the crowd. Tearing down the stairs she jumped from the landing to the ground floor, collecting her coat from behind the welcome desk on her way through.
The rain was pelting down on Calle del Leone, so Lucia threaded her arms through her coat and pulled the hood over her head. Water splashed up her legs from the pavers underfoot, and within seconds her tights were soaked through.
She darted across to La Commedia, noting how the lights were all on. Banging on the front door, she waited for Alex to open it. But there was nothing. No face to greet her. No bright cinnamon eyes. She pounded again, twice as hard. ‘Alex, open up. I need to talk to you!’
But, between the dull thud of the pulse in her ears and the white noise of the torrential rain, she couldn’t hear anything.
Desperate, she took a few steps back, looking up at the top windows. No moving shadows. No Alex. She turned around to find her students pressed up against the left-hand window of the second floor, with Mariella, Francesco and Foscari hanging out of the other.
Turning on her heel, Lucia ran as fast as her legs would carry her. In her wake, a raucous applause poured out of La Scuola Rosa, and Mariella and Francesco, holding each other tightly, exhaled the breath they had held for Lucia for more than two decades.
The backcalliwere shadowed and menacing, with the night sky reflected in the gathering puddles. The sound of Lucia’s feet slapping the pavers was the only sign of life, other than the cacophony of Mother Nature’s tempest.
Where has he gone? Just look . . . You have to try . . .
Lucia bounded down the few stairs which led to the covered portico opening onto Piazza San Marco, and suddenly the thought of finding and confronting Alex terrified her. She stopped momentarily to catch her breath and wipe her hair from her face. Steeling herself, she flicked her hood back over her head, ready to dive into the rain again.
But when she reached the portico’s edge she saw that the piazza was empty. She made her way to the very centre – with the basilica as her witness – and she dropped to her knees.
