Page 99 of Casanova LLC

“You’re so close! He’s in the art scene…”

“Richard, you’re boring him.” She flicked another look my way and it occurred to me that I should probably move my face. “He’s one of your painters?”

“He is now,” he cooed. “Of certain landscapes…of certain Venetian land?—”

“Oh!” Her eyes flew to mine, open and wild. “The painting from Cyril’s? Of sunset on the water—the wall and Moorish?—”

“The painting that is currently being hung in our bedroom. Merry Wedding!”

“Oh, Richard!” And she kissed him. On the cheek. What a waste of those lips. “You are amazing.” And then she turned to me. “As are you! I’m such a fan. Oh my God, this is so exciting. I’m Claire.” Thrusting her hand out to me.

“This is Alessandro Vianello. I bought him for you.”

I was still frozen. I only unfroze when I felt Jacopo’s hand stealthily appear at my lower back, nudging me into action.

I took her hand. And there was a literal spark. A crackle of static electricity.

We both yanked our hands back. She shook hers out, chuckling. “Magic hands! I knew it.”

“Baby, you have no idea. I’m gonna rep him, too.”

“Are you? Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you.” She put her hands to her chest and looked at me. “I can’t wait for people to see how brilliant you are. I hope you get everything you want.”

Right now, there was only one thing I wanted.

“I actually had a question about your technique?—”

“Babe, why don’t you save it for later? The mayor’s been waiting to talk to you all night and he needs to leave soon.”

“Oh, of course.” Her disappointment was quickly covered by gracious poise. She had an Old Money comportment that I wanted nothing more than to dismantle.

Richard turned to me. “But, hey, bar’s open for another half hour. Why don’t you help ‘em clean out the good stuff and we’ll clear out the riffraff and you two can talk later. Okay? Partner?”

“Sure.” It was the first thing I’d said and it was so stupid. Not to be outdone by what I said next: “Sounds good.”

And then Jacopo’s hand was back on my body, nudging me away. My eyes found Claire’s one more time and I caught a glimpse of de-composure, of a crack in her façade, and I wanted to burrow myself into it, spread it wide, push down the walls until there was nothing left standing but the two of us.

Jacopo steered me bodily away and all but shoved me toward the bar. When we arrived, he leaned into my ear. “We go. Now.”

“What?”

“Come, let’s go.”

“N-no, I—I have to stay.”

“We go. Now.”

“Are you forgetting the entire reason I’m?—”

“I forget nothing. It is you who must forget. Forget the deal. Forget her.”

“What the fuck are you—twenty minutes ago this deal was the best thing to ever happen to me and now you’re?—”

“Twenty minutes ago I had not seen her.”

After a moment, I turned, resolutely, to the bartender. “Two bourbons, please. The Pappy.”

“Alessandro—”

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