The lists continued, and the margins were dotted with suggestions and possibilities that required more thinking and planning.
There were the five-minute flash videos, which could showcase some of Venice’s more recognisable attractions, and theIn Cucinaseries, designed to teach viewers how to make the most iconic Venetian dishes, all from the comfort of Lucia’s little apartment kitchen.
They would make all the content themselves in the afternoons, once classes had finished. They would also take advantage of the existing class program excursions, walks and tours. Francesco had reported that Stefano was keen to help, which would provide a much-needed fourth set of hands to contribute to the mammoth task.
Lucia scanned the collection of ideas one final time and sighed contentedly. It was a start.
She set the papers down on her nightstand and gave Foscari a final pat for the night. His tail twitched as he registered her familiar touch, even in his sleep. She blew him a little kiss. ‘Sogni d’oro, Foscarino mio.’
As she prepared to sleep, Lucia noticed that the curtain across the window facing Calle del Leone was bunched to the side. Foscari must have been playing with it during the day, she thought. As quietly as she could, Lucia padded over to it and gave the fabric a shake to straighten the pleats. As she did so, her eyes flicked across to the top windows of La Commedia, directly opposite her own.
The lights were on.
This revelation didn’t deliver the adrenaline spike it once had, now that she had met the man who lived there.
She tried to see in from her three-metre vantage point across the narrowcalle, but all there seemed to be beyond La Commedia’s curtains was a golden lit void.
Then suddenly, the man appeared.
What will it be this time, huh?She looked calmly over at him.
He didn’t seem all that perturbed by her presence. This made Lucia wonder if perhaps he had been waiting for her. And if so, why?
He leaned against the side of the window and looked back at her. His expression was mostly neutral, but any definition in his features was muted by the darkness of the night and the glare from the glass pane in front of him.
Who would be the first to look away? Lucia felt the temptation to disappear and ignore him, but there was something intoxicating about holding his attention. At a safe distance, of course.
Eventually, he nodded. Gentle enough to be an acknowledgment, but calculated enough to be a challenge. Lucia felt her earlier strength and determination returning.Thisman, whoever he was, wouldn’t get the better of her.
She watched as he moved and fidgeted behind the glass. Then, with a considerable shove from his left shoulder, he opened both sides of the window and leaned forward, resting his hands on the exterior wooden ledge. Lucia saw his breath catch the cold night air. His hand mimed an upward wave, coaxing Lucia to follow suit.
He was initiating communication.
What does he want from me? A war of words? Another verbal duel?
Lucia’s stomach suddenly cramped with uncertainty, and the calm resolution she had found only moments earlier dissolved and seemed to seep away.
She came undone.
The sarcastic tone of their previous encounter returned to taunt her. He had left her feeling powerless and the perfect fool. Now, more than ever, Lucia wanted to regain control.
If she opened the window, would that make her complicit? Obedient? Or, defensive? She couldn’t determine which, and most definitely needed longer than the few seconds available to ponder her next step.
Now that his face was gently illuminated by the exterior lights of a building a few doors up, Lucia could see him more clearly. His cinnamon-brown stare locked with hers, and Lucia sensed that he was appraising her. Considering her. Maybe trying to place her.
He rolled up the sleeves of his thick woven knit, revealing his forearms; they were marked with valleys of muscular definition so deep and articulated that Lucia, even at three metres away, could see them clearly.
Those arms . . .
Her eyes lingered on them a beat longer than she had intended. Then she buried the desire to see how they might feel under her fingertips. Without conscious thought, her teeth caught her bottom lip.
The man raised his eyebrows expectantly and gestured again.
Despite the temptation to pull the curtains and shut him out, just as he had done to her at his front door, Lucia’s curiosity had been piqued. She straightened her spine and pulled back her shoulders, careful of her injured arm. Then she leaned onto the padded bench with one knee, unlatched the window and pushed it open.
A flush of cold air ignited all her senses and tousled the wisps of hair framing her face. But she stood tall and resolute in her simple singlet, ignoring the goosebumps that sprang up on her arms.
Mirroring the man’s stance, she leaned forward and rested her one steady hand on the ledge.
