Under his breath, Francesco retorted, ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ and cast a wry grin across the street.
Alex dropped his forehead against the back of the closed door and grunted into the wood.
He could only think of two things that might reset how he was feeling: a long cold shower, or some uninterrupted work in his studio. Believing the latter to be a more productive use of his time, he turned and rolled up his sleeves.
It was time to put Lucia out of his mind and keep his hands busy.
Hands.
Lucia’s hands.
The sensation of her grip on his forearms returned to taunt his skin. Her lips, those luscious curling lips that he could almost taste at that close proximity. The way her hair spilled over her left shoulder. And those magnetic green eyes.
He swallowed, and shaking his head he went upstairs to take a shower.
A long one.
trentadue
‘Are we going to run with Marco Polo 2.0 for Nicolò?’ asked Francesco cheerfully that Saturday evening.
Lucia giggled. She was thankful for the levity. ‘Why not?’ She took another sip of her wine and cleared her throat.
Checking the time on her phone she happened to catch the moment the digits clicked from 20:59 to 21:00, and as if on cue she looked up to see a tall, broad-chested man walk into the bar.
He smiled kindly to a couple who were exiting as they all bottle-necked at the entrance. Taking a step back, he held open the door and wished thembuonaserawith a wave. Something in Lucia dared the universe to deliver this man to her table. His brown wavy hair sat just on his collar line, and was tucked behind his ears. His chiselled chin featured a smattering of stubble, and it all accented his deeply magnetic chocolate eyes.
Lucia watched as the man scanned the bar in search of someone. He hadn’t yet seen her tucked away by the far window, with Francesco at the next table. The man caught the attention of a passing waiter and said a few words to him, and then he, too, scanned the bar before gesturing to Lucia with a suggestive open hand.
And that was the moment he set eyes on her. His face bloomed into a devastatingly handsome smile and he crossed the bar, pulling off his coat as he did so.
‘Lucia,’ he said, approaching the table.
Lucia nodded and couldn’t help but mirror his expression. She stood up and joined him beside the table, accepting and reciprocating his cheek kisses.
‘I am so sorry it has taken me a few weeks to get back to Venice. I don’t live here anymore, and work has been really busy in the meantime. Apologies.’ He lowered his voice and drew her a little closer with a gentle hand on her forearm. ‘And I saw what happened after the ball.’ His eyes softened with genuine concern for her. ‘That was simply terrible. No one should have to live through that. And I feel partly responsible for it, for the kiss. I’m so sorry.’
Lucia’s mind whirled. He was so sure about what had happened and his perceived role in it. As if there were no question or doubt that he wasthe one. As if this meeting were the most natural stepping stone after the kiss in the piazzetta. And despite the character he’d shown when he entered the bar – the kind opening of the door, the polite interruption of the waiter – his concern for her wellbeing was the most unexpected yet delightful turn of events.
‘Thank you,’ Lucia said, and forced herself to remember Francesco’s earlier advice about open-ended, non-leading questions. ‘Please, Nicolò, take a seat.’ She gestured across the table.
‘Thank you.’ He dropped the coat onto the back of his chair and said, ‘But please, just call me Nic. No one except my mother calls me Nicolò.’ He dropped another of those dashing, charming smiles and proceeded to pour them both a glass of water. ‘Now tell me, how are you feeling about this?’ He waved across the table with both hands. ‘A little strange, isn’t it?’ He proffered his glass and clinked it against Lucia’s.
Smiling, she said, ‘It’s been a ride.’
‘I can imagine.’ The waiter he had caught only moments earlier passed by, and he ordered a drink to match Lucia’s. ‘So, did you want to talk about what happened at the ball?’
His question was all on Lucia. She caught herself fumbling over her words. ‘Well, uhm,’ she stammered.
‘Wait,’ he said, reaching across the table to catch her arm reassuringly. ‘So you know I am not a phoney, I thought I would bring this along.’ He reached behind him and dug around in one of the pockets of his coat, pulling from it a black satin pouch. He handed it to her. ‘I can only imagine how difficult it might be for you to trust people. And especially in this situation.’
Beyond the silken touch of the satin Lucia could feel the soft contoured lines of something well-formed yet malleable. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
With a smile, he said, ‘Hopefully something that helps you to identify me.’
She reached into the bag and withdrew a soft black leather mask. It flattened naturally in her hand, but she saw straight away that it had the same ripples and folded waves emulating the wind as the mask her kisser had been wearing. Lucia’s eyes flicked to Nicolò and took in his serene expression. He was at peace. There was no pretence. He knew this was the mask, and that they had shared that kiss. This much she could read, plain as day.
Her hands began to tremble, and noticing this, he said, ‘It’s ok, Lucia. There’s nothing to be frightened of.’
