‘Absolutely not him, then,’ said Lucia firmly, and with a flourish of the wrist, she drew a thick line through Paolo’s name.
‘Claudio, pending, despite the eye colour issue. That leaves us with Nicolò.’ Francesco opened the profile. ‘Call me Nic, very original. And no emojis. JustVE–MI.’
‘Venezia to Milano. Maybe he’s no longer in Venice.’ Lucia pulled the phone closer and clicked on Nicolò’s photo – a dark male silhouette, sitting at the end of Piazzetta San Marco, watching the sun set over Lido. Something in her heart tightened like a vice. ‘Wow . . .’
‘Before you get ahead of yourself,’ Francesco interrupted, ‘let’s stick to the facts. What did he say in his original message?’ He tapped on Lucia’s table.
She tracked back to Nicolò’s DMs. ‘I was at the masked ball in one of the palazzi off Piazza San Marco.’ Her skin grew hot.
‘Ok.’ Francesco’s tongue caught in the inside of his cheek while he thought about this. Taking back the phone, he furiously typed,Describe yourself. Are you in Venice? What kind of mask did you wear to the ball?Satisfied with this, Francesco leaned back into the window frame. ‘We will get to the bottom of this, Lucia. I know we will. We can keep looking at both Nicolò and Claudio until we have answers.’
Lucia rested against Francesco, the image of the dark silhouette framed by the water and sunset caught in her mind’s eye. Her love life had been disastrous to date. Only a few men had come and gone over the years, with her longest relationship lasting just six months. He’d been scared away by the public interest their union caused. And yet, despite her protests to Francesco over the years, shedidwant to find someone. Of course she did.
But thatsomeonewould have to first earn Lucia’s trust. And in turn, Lucia would have to learn to let her guard down – a process that had burned her in the past and left her alone and perpetually single.
Francesco wrapped his arms around her, and even Foscari enjoyed nuzzling between the two of them. Their friendship had been reset, and despite the many loose ends in her life, Lucia was happy that they had tied a knot in this one. And now, in addition to their mission to buy out the school, they had an elusive man to catch.
Francesco refreshed Instagram, and a red1appeared over his inbox. ‘A reply,’ he said, and they both readjusted themselves to read.Tall, athletic. Originally from VE, Santa Croce. Working in MI. This was the mask. . .
Lucia didn’t dare breathe. Her heart paused, waiting for what she assumed would be the arrival of a photo. Then suddenly, all the text in the conversation jumped upward to make room for the image.
Lucia snatched the phone from Francesco’s grip, clicked and enlarged the photo. Her hands quivered as she pointed to the mask on the screen. ‘That’s the one.’
Alex watched as the pair that were cosied up in the window seat together began to gesticulate wildly, seemingly in celebration of something, totally consumed by whatever it was they were doing on the phone. It was the same man who came and went from the school, and who often stayed the night, and over weekends. The man who had left the pink flowers.
Despite it all, Alex was happy to see the woman smiling again after yesterday’s accident involving the paparazzi at the school. That was the one consolation he could find in his inexplicable sense of defeat. Hers was the kind of smile one couldn’t help but mirror. The way it bloomed first from the left corner of her lips and eventually stretched across her whole face. He thought for a moment, reflecting on how she always seemed happiest at the front door by the bougainvillea, greeting and welcoming the students. That’s where she seemed most at ease. Her most vibrant.
Alex shook his head, trying to clear her from his mind. But that was easier said than done. Seeing her wrapped up intimately with her partner ignited a melancholy deep in his chest.
There was something about the dark-haired woman that had certainly toyed with his imagination for the past few weeks. Quietly watching her, he couldn’t put a finger on it, let alone label it. Whatever it was, and whatever it was she shared withthatman, it made him feel ever lonelier.
He looked to the sliver of night sky visible from his window. He had just woken up, and had a long night of work ahead of him.
Just as the woman’s dog started to yap again, Alex retreated from the window, collected his latest sketches and designs from his side table, and made his way downstairs to his studio.
Carnevale would wait for no one, and it was always Alex’s busiest time of year.
diciotto
Now pacing the apartment with Francesco’s phone in hand, Lucia was unable to calm her nerves. ‘Do we tell him it’sthemask?’
‘Well, by rights, if Nicolò really isthe one, he should know that already. Don’t say anything.’ Francesco ran his hand down the length of Foscari’s spine to placate him, but the dog continued to squirm in excitement.
‘Yes. I guess so.’ Lucia’s green eyes darted across her apartment restlessly, not settling on anything in particular.
‘Ask him when he will next be in Venice. From there, decide your next move,’ Francesco suggested.
Lucia typed one-handed, re-read her response, then hitsend.
After a tense wait, a response arrived. Lucia read out: ‘Friday 7 March. My father’s birthday weekend.’
‘Perfetto!’ Francesco stood and propped Foscari at the top of his makeshift grammar-book staircase. ‘This gives you time to chase up Claudio. To eat pasta, play tennis, whatever. And then either cancel Nicolò, or arrange a meeting.’
With a confident nod, Lucia agreed. ‘D’accordo.’ There was something so incredibly powerful about that kiss. She felt she owed it to herself to know the man behind the lips.
‘Have you eaten?’ Francesco was now peering into the fridge at the covered tray Mariella had left her.
Hopping down his stairs, Foscari danced circles around Francesco’s feet, hoping he might be gifted a morsel.
