‘Allora, let’s have breakfast.’ She gestured to the table set for two, and collected the white paper bag from the kitchen counter. ‘Cornettiand somedolcifor us to share.’
Alex seemed astonished as he took in the spread before him: cheeses, prosciutto cotto, jams, a small ramekin of whipped butter, an assortment of pastries, and the hot moka sitting atop a cork coaster. He looked both mystified and – was she reading him right? – grateful. When he spoke, his voice confirmed it. ‘That is incredibly thoughtful.’
And so, they sat together. Lucia poured the coffee, Alex proffered the pastries, and Foscari danced rings under the table in the hope of catching some crumbs.
Lucia studied Alex across the table. Hewashandsome. His dark melancholic eyes and that accenting stubble made for the most intoxicating aesthetic. The stubborn quips and tussles of words they’d had in the past seemed to have sunk to the depths of the lagoon. All that remained was Alex.
JustAlex.
And Lucia caught her eyes trailing across his lips.
Lips. That kiss . . .
Something deep inside her would never let her forget that intense masked kiss at the ball. It had beentoogood,toochemical.Toogood to be true.
Perhaps it was?
Following the Nicolò disaster, her heart knew better. She had tried her best to shelve it all, to put it behind her, wanting to protect whatever last shred of hope and dignity she had left.
For now, Lucia wanted to turn her focus to Alex, respect their new ‘normal’ and acknowledge what he had done for her.
‘To our fresh start,’ Lucia said, holding her espresso cup aloft.
Alex gazed solemnly back at her. ‘Va bene.’ Their cups clinked and they drank in unison.
Lucia could sense some of that lingering hesitation from Alex. She had hoped it might’ve receded over the past week, but something had clearly set a fire of doubt or worry under him, and its smoke signal concerned her. ‘Are you ok?’ she asked finally, reaching down to drop some rolled prosciutto cotto to Foscari. ‘You still have bruises . . .’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured her loftily, waving away her concerns. ‘Are you . . .?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, all things considered.’
Alex reached for acornettoand took a bite, which saved him having to make further conversation right away. Eventually he said, ‘I’m glad I could help you.’
Lucia leaned forward. ‘Tell me more about you, Alex. I feel like I don’t know anything apart from your sleeping schedule. And the fact that you have an Australian connection.’
His brow furrowed. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Your passport. At thecomunemeeting.’
Despite himself, he allowed a smile to reach his lips. ‘Lucia, I’m not a very interesting person . . .’
‘Ti prego,’ she urged.
‘Yes. I am Australian. I was born in Perth, on the west coast, but have lived in Venice for the past twenty years. I like to read. And draw. And perhaps that’s because I’ve never really been a social person, or liked relying on others. I live alone, and happily. I keep to myself. I’m a quiet, private person.’
‘Can I ask why?’
Alex’s fingers found his cup and refilled it from the moka. ‘I think that’s the way the universe wants it.’
‘The universe?’
‘Hmm.L’universo. The forces of nature. Sometimes it’s hard to feel you have any control over your life when changes and actions are undertaken on your behalf.’
Lucia nodded, settling her elbows on the table, allowing her chin to rest on her fists. ‘I knowthatfeeling.’ Watching Alex take another bite, she let curiosity get the better of her. ‘Alex, do you know who I am?’
‘What do you mean?’ He shook his head, confused. ‘You’re Lucia Trevisan.’
‘No, I mean, do you know what happened to my family when I was a child?’ she pressed. Part of her wanted to know if Alex knew the other side of her. That dark tragic side, the one which drew attention far and wide. Nothing thus far had suggested he did, but she couldn’t help but ask.
