Page 124 of Casanova LLC

In an instant, my rage cleared. What had I done? I rushed toward the edge of the dock. “No, no, no, no, no.” Alessandro grabbed me from behind, keeping me from diving off. “Let me go!” His arms loosened and I dropped to my knees on the wood, searching the dark water. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m an idiot. Where is it?!”

He was on his knees behind me, a hand at the crook of my elbow. “Claire, stop?—”

“Where did it go?”

“My love, it’s—” I tugged away from him, but he quickly overpowered me again, gripping my shoulders, spinning me to face him. “It’s gone. Look at me.” I did. “It’s gone.”

“But—” I looked frantically over my shoulder; he shook me back to him.

“It’s ebony. Remember? It sinks.”

A sob tore out of me.

I don’t know if I fell into him or if he pulled me in, but the next thing I knew my face was buried in his strong chest and his chin was on the top of my head, and our arms were around each other. Both our hearts, pounding. “Let it go,” he rasped. And took a deep breath. “Let it go.”

And I did.

I pulled away from him. I stood. Without looking back, I walked to my luggage.

I opened the door.

I left.

Alessandro

I stood on the dock for a long time. Should I get back in the Riva? Go after her? Go…I don’t know where? I stayed there until the night turned damp and a shiver stole through me. Begrudgingly, I went inside.

Where it was echoey as a tomb. I considered going to my apartment and wallowing in bed until this sickness in my stomach went away. But the voice inside my head wouldn’t let me be that pathetic.

Get your ass to the sala. Clean it up. Get it ready for your next guest. Busy yourself. Get hold of yourself. Get back to work.

I entered the bedroom tentatively, as if I might be interrupting something. It smelled of magnolia, with an undernote of musk. Of sex. Of Claire. Miserably, my groin tightened. It hadn’t gotten the memo.

I puttered around, straightening up. Putting the wineglasses away, adjusting the thermostat. I avoided dealing with the bed until it was the last thing left. When I decided I was ready to look at it, I did so the way one decides to look at an open casket. I went to the rumpled bed, took a breath, and moved to strip the sheets.

Money. Why was there?—

I hadn’t believed it was possible, but I managed to feel even worse. Not because she succeeded in making me feel like the whore I was, but because she had wanted to in the first place. She wanted to hurt me because I hurt her so much more than I’d realized. But she’d only hurt herself. She needed that money. She couldn’t afford that hurt.

I didn’t count it because I knew how much it was. She’d come with a grand from her corporate account and she’d spent two hundred fifty on the placemats. Just like them, I was a write-off.

I picked it up and threw it over on the nightstand, where it belonged.

I thought about calling her, of course I did. But she’d never pick up. I thought about calling a few hotels nearby, but I was pretty sure I knew where Jacopo had taken her. I thought about putting the cash in an envelope and walking it over there, to the pensione, leaving it with the front desk.

But I was too angry. And sitting right beneath that anger was a current of hurt, a powerful undertow battling against the crashing waves of my rage. She’d ruined everything.

I’d ruined everything.

I needed a drink.

I went to the kitchenette and I pulled out some grappa and I sat on the massage table, legs dangling off the side, and I stared at the bed like some weirdo, and I drank. I drank until I had rationalized the entire situation and convinced myself that it was better this way. That this was what I actually wanted. That what happened five years ago wasn’t as profound as I had made it out to be. That this weekend had just been an itch that needed scratching. And we’d done that. And it was over.

I picked up the bottle and, succumbing to temptation, staggered the four steps over to the bed. Flopped into it face first. I fell asleep like that, my nose buried in the memory of us.

I woke up the next morning in the exact same position, the bottle still in my hand. I didn’t recall drinking as much as had disappeared from it. I didn’t know why I had opened my eyes until I heard a knock on the door. From the other side of it, Jacopo spoke. “No!” I croaked. “Lasciami stare!”

He knew when to leave me alone. I heard his receding footsteps.

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