Page 29 of Casanova LLC

The ornately wallpapered dining room overlooked the canal. There was a significant wine rack against one wall and a marble-topped sideboard against the other.

Alessandro spoke. “Once, this was a dining room for twenty. Now it’s only meant for two.” He tapped a finger on the intimate table that sat before a fireplace bordered by a pair of French doors. Doors that I imagined fully open on a warm spring night.

Two table settings were already perfectly laid.

It was surprising to feel such intimacy in so grand a space.

“We could eat now or continue the quick tour?” he said behind me.

I turned. He looked just as tailored and elegant as the rest of the room. “Tour, please.”

He nodded and walked to the far wall of the dining room. A chair rail ran the length of it, bisecting the stamped leather wallpaper. Alessandro placed his hand on the wall and it sprang to life, becoming a door in front of my eyes.

I grinned. “You’re good.”

“With doors. Women aren’t so easily opened.”

“Not if you know where to put your hand.”

I relished the surprise that quickly flashed over his face at my retort. He didn’t know it paled in comparison to not wearing any panties. He regained his composure, grinned at me, and led me through the door and into the main salon…

And I slowed in awe.

This was the room hiding behind the two massive doors at the foot of the stairs. It was about thirty feet by forty feet, with the longer side fronting the canal. The ceiling was easily fifteen feet high and featured a fresco that, if I had to guess, depicted the Ascension. The carved ceiling surrounding the fresco was coved and softly lit. A chandelier hung from the center and held twelve candle-taper electric bulbs amidst dripping crystal pendants. Wall sconces in the same style were also illuminated. Plus, there were some candles, both pillar and tea, on various side tables.

I walked directly into the center of the room and slowly turned.

Right in front of me, between two floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canal, was a now-defunct marble fireplace. Inside, lit candles, set at different heights, created the illusion of a fire.

I knew enough to know fireplaces had been banned in Venice. The houses were all constructed out of wood and then bricked in; a recipe for conflagration. It’s why they’d made the glass blowers move to their own island, Murano.

The room was filled with antiques. An eighteenth-century card table with four matching chairs, sweeping bookcases with period tomes, overstuffed chaises, and leather couches. A window seat overlooked the canal, similar to the one in my room, but larger, wider, more like a daybed. And the art.

Oh, the art.

A collection of styles and periods, thoughtfully curated. No wonder Alessandro had become a painter.

Speaking of. I’d forgotten about him as I’d wandered gobsmacked through the room. He was smiling at me. “What?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying you.”

I looked at him for a moment too long. “I have…so many questions.”

He chuckled. “Of course you do.”

“I want to know everything about every single thing and every single thing about everything.”

A bigger chuckle. “I’ll do my best, given I understood what you just said.”

“I just meant?—”

“And I was just joking.” His eyes were mirthful now, not at all smoldering. Not intimidating. I liked them like this. How many people—women, I reminded myself, women—had he joked with? “Done his best” for? How many women had he magically turned a wall into a door for?

Oh, so what? Now it was my turn.

“What’s in there?” I gestured toward an open doorway across the room, opposite the dining room door through which we’d come.

He simply held up a hand, giving me permission to explore.

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