Perhaps . . . just maybe?
His mind toyed with the idea for a moment, and the most delicious, almost vindicating, all-knowing smile spread across his face.
Friday started as it always did for Lucia, Francesco and Mariella – with an early lunch of fresh fish, care of Miro and his sons and their catch of the day. What followed was the usual half-day of lessons, the shared communityaperitivoof drinks and nibbles, and tonight it was all to be washed down with a magical sprinkling of Roberto Benigni dressed as Pinocchio.
Nothing seemed amiss as they set up the chairs, blankets and cushions, nor as the students poured from the school, jovial, lively, drinks in hand. No one was rowdy or disruptive. It was simply a mix of laughter and fun, and La Scuola Rosa was the source of the happiness.
Lucia and Francesco appeared at the two second-floor windows, and with many years of practise behind them, suspended a white cotton bedsheet from the sills, forming a makeshift screen. Both were thankful for the calm weather that night, which meant the sheet hung relatively still.
Lucia dusted off her hands at the window, delighted to see thecallelively with excitement and joy. She looked across to La Commedia, noting how its second-floor windows were illuminated.
Alex was most certainly home.
It took no time for Francesco to get the laptop and projector going, and Benigni made his grand entrance, there under the stars, cast across the sheet-covered façade of La Scuola Rosa.
At about nine o’clock, however, Lucia noticed that thecalleseemed busier than it ought to be. Much busier, in fact. She pulled her attention from the film just in time to watch a few strangers slip in behind her students and make themselves comfortable, perching against the crumbling render of La Commedia’s ground floor.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed for a moment, assessing the scene. Then, a few others joined from the opposite end of thecalle, followed by another small group. Before long, it was plainly evident that word had got out about the school’s little private screening.
Noticing Lucia’s distraction, Francesco asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, but there are non-students here.’ She flicked her head in the direction of the little footbridge to their right, and on cue, a couple carrying two takeaway pizzas and beers appeared.
‘Some extra love for La Scuola Rosa.’ Francesco beamed.
Lucia tried to reassure herself. There was nothing dangerous about this gathering. The only trouble was, the film was funny, and the constant trill and hum of laughter from the audience was growing louder and more raucous by the minute.
Finally the credits began to roll, and Lucia checked her watch, amazed that Alex hadn’t kicked up a fuss, let alone appeared to protest the event. She encouraged Mariella to return home before it got too late, and helped Francesco pack up the AV gear, which he took inside to its storage unit. This left Lucia to farewell their students and the extra company, waving them off into the night’s darkness.
Just as the last students slipped from view, Lucia suddenly sensed she was being watched. She turned on her heel to find Alex standing a metre behind her.
Just breathe, Lucia. Calm. Centred . . .
Alex took a step forward, narrowing the space between them.
‘Buonasera, Alex. You missed the screening,’ she said casually. ‘There’s some popcorn left if you’re hungry.’
Alex’s chiselled features were accentuated by the warm golden light emanating from the second-floor windows of the school. His cinnamon eyes settled, just as they always did, on hers. He was not dressed appropriately for the cool night air in his dark jeans and navy tee. Lucia found herself once again distracted by the shape and definition of his forearms. Plump with just the right degree of delicious tone, they were mapped with lines of hidden sinew and raised veins.
She swallowed.
‘No, grazie,’ he said calmly. ‘I let you have your screening. But now I am asking for some peace.’ Alex was softer today. An unexpected brand of sombre. The frustrated, abrasive front she had met at the window just two days earlier had receded. ‘Please, Lucia. If we are going to co-exist in this space, all I ask is for some quiet. It’s only decent.’
What could she possibly offer by way of retort? He was being perfectly reasonable. And his subdued demeanour and melancholic energy drew the tiniest thread of guilt from Lucia’s resolve. Thetiniest.
While she should have left it there, apologised, cleaned up then returned inside, Lucia suddenly wondered if thisshowwas planned and calculated. Was Alex trying to lull her into a false sense of security? Or, victory? She couldn’t help but question it, as her experiences of being in the spotlight had taught her that trust had to be earned.
‘I need to run my school, Alex. These events happen. We gather. We learn. That requires noise at times.Scusami.’
He sighed, somewhat exasperated. ‘I work at night and sleep through the day. And next week being Carnevale . . .’ He trailed off, rubbing his hands over his face. ‘Next week isveryimportant for me. I have a lot of work to get through.’
‘While I understand that,Ialso have work to do, Alex.’
Oooft. Stand your ground. Be firm but professional.
Alex’s broad shoulders seemed to drop a little. ‘I’m sorry, Lucia. I really don’t want to make an enemy of you. But we need to find some way of living side by side without these tensions.’
‘Enemies?’ Her eyes widened. ‘It doesn’t need to be like this, Alex.’ She pointed to the other businesses and apartments on thecalle. ‘No one else seems to have a problem with what we do here.’
