Page 18 of Casanova LLC

Retired or not, this was who we were. This was what we had been taught to do.

We were performers. Magicians. We created an illusion that only required a suspension of disbelief. Easily done when desired. The women loved who we were because of what we did and what we did was real as far as they were concerned. But, as with all magic, they never wanted the trick revealed to them. They only wanted the magic. And we gave them that by controlling the outcome. And personal feelings could cause a slipup.

I glanced down at my phone sitting dark on the bench next to me.

Ever-observant, Jacopo raised a brow.

“Waiting for confirmation is all.” I made sure to keep my voice slightly aloof. His unwavering stare made me clarify. “If she cancels, I need to pull someone off the waitlist.”

“Is this a problem?”

I lifted my glass. “No, it’s not a—why would you ask that?”

“Why so defensive?”

I laughed him off, or at least attempted to. “Why are you using that tone?”

“Because I see.”

“Oh, yeah? Cosa vedi?”

“You want this one.” My head whipped to him. That was unnervingly astute, even for him. “You know she is bella.”

Ah. I took another sip of wine.

I decided to tell a very small, very insignificant, white lie. Hardly a lie, really. An omission. “What if she is?” He just laughed. “It’s the beginning of a new season! I’ve been babysitting for two months. So it makes me happy my first guest is attractive, cosi?”

“You feel lonely?—”

“I’m not lonely?—”

“Get a cat.”

“I’m not lonely!”

“At least a cat would help with the mice.”

I coughed a small laugh and he smiled. Gave me his I-am-but-an-old-man shrug. “A pretty woman shouldn’t matter, you know this. But. Is it nice occasionally? To us, un po’. But to the job? Never. The job is to find the beauty in all and coax it out.”

“I know.”

“This is the magic and we?—”

“Are the magician. I know.”

“This is a sacrament and we?—”

“Are the priest. I know.”

“You think a priest does not see a beautiful woman? Of course he does. But it only serves to remind him of the importance of his work. So you see, attraction might be a good thing.”

Jacopo’s innate personality was more suited to the isolation of the job than mine and he’d treated his time monastically. On his days off he worked on the palazzo. At night he read woodworking books with a glass of wine. He was chivalrous and steady and solid and a generous lover, of course, but fundamentally he had the temperament of a monk.

At first, I’d imitated him; now, I emulated him. That’s how I’d found my way. “I don’t think she’ll go through with it, anyway.” I nodded at the phone.

And it illuminated. The banner of text came across the screen. I saw everything I needed to see. And he saw everything he needed to see in my face.

He continued looking at me as we drained our glasses.

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