Page 135 of Casanova LLC

I was surprised to find I never cried over him. I suppose I’d left all my tears on the dock that day. I was sure I had made the right choice. In truth, there was no other choice to make, not for me. I might not have gotten what I’d wanted, but I had what I needed. And that would have to suffice.

Still.

I did have his painting. And seeing it every night before bed comforted me.

That would have to suffice, too.

Then one day at the gallery, there was a small package waiting for me.

The postage was Italian.

Hands shaking, I opened it. And pulled out a heavy, notepaper-wrapped bundle no bigger than my hand. The paper, it was clear, had a poem on it. No, I revised, as I began to read it: not a poem. A song. His song. Forever.

The lyrics he’d promised me.

I unwrapped it and into my palm plopped the forcola.

Vision blurring, I dug into the envelope and pulled out a note. It read:

“The paintings didn’t make me whole.

Does this make you whole?

If so, I’m glad.

If not, I’m here.

All of me.

Forever.”

Alessandro

The sun was setting and we were sitting outside, in the courtyard. Jacopo had prepared pappardelle chinghiale. It was our favorite. We would eat it either in celebration or commiseration. Tonight, it was the latter. Because tonight, I’d decided it was time to move on.

We were silent as we ate and drank. I mopped up the last bit of ragu with a crust of bread from the loaf I had picked up on my way back to the palazzo.

There had been a few days after my sister called, after Jacopo had told me about Claire’s wedding ring, after I miraculously found the forcola and sent it to her, when a window of hope had been left open, waiting for her response. But none came. So I waited some more. I waited until it became clear that in sending me my paintings she had upheld her end of the bargain. Forcola or no forcola. It was done. We were done.

I took a last sip of wine, wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Scusa.”

As I slid out from the table, Jacopo spoke. “Alessandro. Un momento.”

“Must I?”

“Per favore.”

I reluctantly settled back into my chair.

“We must look to the future.”

“I know. Bills to be paid. Taxes coming due.”

“I am just saying?—”

“I know what you’re saying. I’m gonna keep all of this going. The house, the legacy.”

“How?”

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