He chose his words wisely. ‘Perhaps they aren’t willing to confront you, Lucia. ButI am. All I’m asking is for a little respe—’
It was at that precise moment that Francesco emerged from the school, looking surprised to find the two engaged in conversation. ‘Buonasera,’ he said, joining them, immediately tucking himself tightly beside Lucia for support. That same cautious, disappointed look Francesco had seen at the window the night before returned to Alex’s eyes.
‘Buonasera,’ Alex replied, noting their intimate proximity and the way Lucia’s arm instinctively wrapped itself around Francesco’s shoulder. His gaze settled there a moment too long to go unnoticed by Francesco.
With a nod of the head, Francesco said, ‘Piacere, Francesco.’
‘Alex,piacere.’ Alex could see the almost tangible energy which bound the pair, and he stifled a defeated sigh.
‘Is there a problem out here?’ Francesco said into the awkward silence that followed.
‘No. Not at all. We were just talking about the extremely successful screening,’ Lucia answered with a smile.
Turning his attention solely to Lucia, Alex said, ‘Please, just think about what I’ve asked for.’ His gaze flicked to Francesco and he gave him a nod, then he turned and headed back into La Commedia.
Francesco took Lucia by the hand and led her back inside the school’s lobby. ‘What did he say?’ He brought her hands together in a reassuring steeple and held them tightly between his.
‘He asked for quiet.’
Francesco pondered his next move. Should he ask Lucia for some kind of justification for her actions? The Verdi concerto in thecalle. ThePinocchioscreening, right across from Alex’s window. He recognised that theirs was a relationship in which they could challenge each other, so he knew he could encourage her to see reason. ‘Lucia. Ciccia.’
She smiled. ‘You haven’t called me that since we were sixteen.’
‘Leave Alex alone.Ti prego. You and I both know that tonight wasn’t about the students. Or Benigni. It was aboutyoutaking back some kind of power or control. Because I know you feel quite powerless at the moment. Many things are out of your control.’
The defiance in Lucia’s green eyes flickered. ‘I don’t know what y—’
‘You know exactlywhat.’ He shook his head, and the image of Alex’s disappointed face swam back into his mind. ‘What you actually have here is a perfect situation.’
She let out a strained guffaw and her hands dropped by her sides. ‘How isanyof this perfect?’
‘Lucia, the man is gorgeous.’ He let the comment linger between them, noting Lucia’s raised brow. ‘And he lives right across thecalle.’
‘Too close.’
Francesco pinched his fingers together and brought them to his temples. ‘You’re not hearing me.’ He sighed. ‘He. Lives. Right. Over. There. And he is clearly just as unique a character as you!’
‘Eh! I resent that.’
‘That doesn’t make it any less true. You’re one of a kind, and often stubborn and difficult to deal with. You don’t take no for an answer, unless no is what you are looking for. And Lucia, you have kept men at bay for . . .’ His eyes grazed the vaulted wooden ceiling, searching for dates. ‘At least four or five years.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘I’m begging you,’ he took a step forward and pressed his body against hers, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself, ‘either respect his wishes and give him the peace and quiet he is asking for,orget to know him. Open yourself up to him. Let him in. You might be surprised by what you find.’
Francesco watched as she took a deep breath.
‘I have spent the better part of my life trying to stand up for myself, Checco. I am hard-wired for self-defence.’
‘I know. But do me a favour, please think about Alex’s request. Another ally on thecallecould work in your favour.’
Francesco turned and stepped back outside. He looked up at La Commedia, and saw Alex by the window. Francesco gave him a meek smile, then turned back to Lucia.
She hadn’t moved from where he had left her. Her head hung low, her eyes were closed; something had clearly struck a nerve.
ventiquattro
If she could just secure the €100,000 from Tiziano, Lucia knew she could get by. Between what she could borrow, her savings, and hopefullysomeextra money on account of theVenezia, Ovunque!project, she could see hope at the end of the next sixty-eight days.
Or something that vaguely resembled it, at least.
So, that Saturday morning, as planned, Lucia knocked on Tiziano Zorzi’s door and waited. After a moment she could hear the shuffling of delicate feet approaching from within, and then she was face to face with Tiziano’s elderly maid.
