Page 137 of Casanova LLC

“Do not stop for me! I pour some more wine, I enjoy the show!”

Laughing, I took a solid breath. “Okay. Number one, if we all agree, I will be living here. Permanently.”

Alessandro grinned. “Do I get to stay?”

“Cute. Number two. We will keep the palazzo.”

I watched their eyes meet, Old Bull and Young Bull.

“All three of us,” I clarified. I met Jacopo’s gaze. “You will always have a home here. Our Forever is yours, too.”

His eyes went misty before they dropped to the table. “Grazie, Bella. I appreciate the thought more than you can know. But, realistically, even with Sandro’s plans, we have a year, maybe two, before it will be impossible to keep our house.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“That is so sweet, but, here in Italy, there are things that cost much more than you know. The taxes alone and the?—”

“I sold Visage.”

“Sì, but—scusa?”

“Wait, what?” Alessandro bleated.

“Visage. I sold it.”

“Already?!”

“Yes. For a lot. A lot for Italy, as well.”

If Alessandro’s mouth opened any wider, it would be cartoonish.

“To The Other Woman.” Now it was cartoonish. “Later. So I want something to do with myself. And that’s where you come in.”

They looked at each other once more, then at me.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next. And when I think about what that is, the answer keeps being: you. What you represent. For two hundred years you’ve been helping women. It’s time to help men, too.”

They looked confused. “While you helped women understand sexual comfort, sexual identity, sexual freedom, you left out the one thing most of them wanted: all of that in a relationship. That’s what I was missing at the Ball. And that’s what I was saying out on the dock. You set a standard no one else can meet and then you disappear. But what if we could make more of you? More lasting yous?” I pointed at Alessandro’s wineglass. “May I?” He nodded and I took a sip, figuring one or both of them would jump in. They didn’t. I couldn’t tell if their silence was a good or bad thing. I didn’t care. “I think?—”

But suddenly Alessandro’s lips were on mine. His kiss was filled with surprise and warmth, relief and love. So much love. Feeling him so unencumbered, so free, made me want him even more, if that were possible. He pulled away from my mouth. “I had to do that. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I had to do that.” His smile was deadly. “You had some wine on your lip. Please. Continue.”

“I think…” I cleared my throat. “I think men want to be good partners, want a relationship, I just don’t think they know how. They don’t understand women, sure, but more importantly they don’t understand themselves. Who they’ve been made to become. And they don’t know how to let a woman in, to feel them as a part of themselves. How to let the colors mix. ‘When a man loves a woman she feels more; and so does he. When a woman loves a man he becomes more; and so does she.’ If that isn’t a recipe for relationship, I don’t know what is. I want to take Casanova the legacy and turn it into Casanova the philosophy. A resource for women and for men. For their relationships. A business. The business of building Forevers.” I lifted a shoulder. “Casanova LLC.”

After a long while of simply staring at me, Alessandro reached over and filled his empty water glass with wine. He lifted it, looked between Jacopo—whose face had the beginnings of a grin—and me. We lifted our glasses, too. Alessandro held it in front of him and took a long sobering breath. “To Casanova LLC.”

Alessandro

As Claire ate the plate of pappardelle Jacopo had retrieved for her—while I took her things inside—I couldn’t get over how easily she’d managed to solve things, to put it all together, to keep the legacy alive in the most unexpected way.

The second Claire set her fork down, I stood. And held out a hand to her.

Jacopo got the message. “I will take care of all this.” She stood and went over to him, kissing his cheek. I did the same, just to be annoying. He pushed us off. “Enough, enough. Save it for each other. Go.”

I took Claire’s hand and led her out of the garden, into the androne, and up the stairs. She hesitated at the piano nobile but we weren’t headed for the sala. We kept climbing, and at the landing for the guest apartment, she began to veer off, but I tugged her upward. To my room.

I could feel her smile behind me.

I opened the door and ushered her in, her luggage greeting us where I’d left it: two suitcases, her backpack, and the boxed painting. Atop it all, I’d placed the plum robe.

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