In a vain attempt to shelter himself from a second and more powerful gust, Alex pinned himself against the wall of the Palazzo Ducale, closed his eyes, and waited for a lull. When it came, he blinked his eyes open to find himself face to face with the Boca de Leon. He couldn’t help but smile, and reached out to trace the outline of the face’s bushy eyebrows, then the eyes, and the contorted bulbous nose. He looked to the mouth, and there saw a small wodge of paper jammed into the narrow gap between the deep-set tongue and parted lips.
His brow furrowed. Alex’s initial thought was that it was rubbish left behind by a lazy tourist, but something about it piqued his interest. It seemed more purposeful than that. Picking at the paper, it came loose and fell into his palm. It was folded over and over onto itself, and it took a few moments for his cold-stiffened hands to loosen it and flatten it out.
And then, there she was.
Trevisan, Lucia. Calle del Leone.
He had to look twice.
It was unmistakable. Alex turned on the spot, feeling as if he might have an audience. As if someone were playing a trick on him. But there was no one even remotely interested in his presence there by the Boca.
His eyes traced the ornate cursive once again. It was certainlyhis calle. But was thistheLucia from the school? The intriguing woman he had been watching – studying, really – with great interest? The quick-witted, confident woman with those long legs?
If only she weren’t so stubborn. But then again, you aren’t that easy to get along with either, Alex.
Bewildered, he turned and pressed his back against the wall. It didn’t make sense. He refused to believe that anything other than a coincidence was at play.
Noting how the rain had begun to ease, Alex flipped up the collar on his coat, adjusted his flat cap, and slipped the note into his pocket. Checking his watch, his heart skipped a beat. The best part of the morning was already behind him, and he still had a few commissions to complete overnight for the Carnevale deadline. And right now, sleep awaited him.
As he set foot onto the piazzetta, he chose to leave his wondering and curiosity there by the Boca.
But he took Lucia’s name with him.
ventitré
‘You made that look so easy,’ Lucia said, bundled up next to Francesco on her bed later that night. ‘You just clipped and cropped and look at it now.’
‘Just takes some practise.’ Francesco saved the third version of the file. The first was the full ten-minute video forVenezia, Ovunque!The second was a ninety-second Reel to share to the school’s Instagram profile, and the third a fifteen-second teaser for their Stories. ‘Finito.’
‘Incredibile.’
‘No, you were. Look.’ He opened the teaser, and Lucia’s bright smiling face, animated in the middle of her recount, filled the computer screen. ‘Eccoti. You are a natural.’
‘Grazie, Checco.’ She dropped her head to his shoulder while he uploaded the files to Instagram. What surrounded them across Lucia’s bedspread were all the project planning notes and printouts of various icons and logos Francesco had designed.
‘We are live!’ He opened the app on his phone and showed Lucia. ‘Now open for business, and with our first content up for grabs.’
‘And ten euros per—’
‘Is enough to start with until we build demand and a solid base from our existing followers.’
‘Ok, I understand.’
‘You did great today, Lucia. I know beingout therefor the world to see is a big step for you. But this is the Lucia Trevisan everyone should see. Not the long-lensed pap shots of your past.Sei stupenda.’
Lucia’s cheeks warmed under his compliment. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’ She gave his dark mop of curls a playful tousle, completely destroying their glossy definition. ‘Would you like to stay the night? It’s almost midnight.’
As if on cue he yawned and said, ‘Just as long as you don’t hog the covers.’
‘I am promising nothing!’ Lucia gathered the mishmash of papers and Francesco’s laptop into one pile and levered herself from the bed, dumping the lot on her desk. Foscari was quick to nip at her ankles, eager for some attention. ‘Ok,sì, sì,’ she said, acknowledging him and leading him to the bathroom. ‘Just going to freshen up. Can you close the shutters, Checco?’
Francesco was already halfway through pulling off his shirt, so he arrived at the window looking unkempt, his hair – now messy on account of Lucia’s playfulness – suggesting that more had taken place than her innocent gesture of affection.
Leaning onto the cushioned bench, Francesco opened the window wide and reached out to pull the external shutters closed. What he hadn’t expected was to find Alex looking out his window directly across from him. And clearly, given the deer-in-the-headlights shock plastered across Alex’s face, neither had Alex expected to see Francesco.
Francesco froze momentarily to watch as Alex ducked from view, closing his curtains as swiftly as possible. He wasn’t quick enough, however, to prevent Francesco noting a defeated grimace on Alex’s face. Francesco closed the shutters, then the window, catching a glimpse of himself reflected in the glass pane, illuminated by the low backlight of the apartment.
Then Alex’s facial expression returned to his mind. The way his cheeks had deflated upon seeing Francesco, and likely spotting Lucia in her black lace bra and matching underwear at the opposite end of the apartment, poised by the basin in the bathroom. And the way she bent over the basin to wash her face, revealing the entire length of her naked spine . . .
