Page 32 of Casanova LLC

? Giacomo Casanova

Alessandro

What. The actual fuck. Was he doing?

“Jacopo!” Claire chirped. “How nice to see you again.”

“And so soon.”There were nails in my voice.

Not only was Claire unbothered by his intrusion, she went out of her way to be welcoming. “I’m so glad you’re here. I have a question about the frescoes on the ceiling.”

Why didn’t she ask me?

“Of course, Bella. How may I offer my services?”

She beamed at him.

Because she didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be here.

She didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be setting the charcuterie platter on the table.

She didn’t know he had no business placing the wine in the rimmed pewter coaster.

She didn’t know that he was here to fuck up my night.

“Is it a canvas or was it painted directly on to the ceiling?”

He held back the answer like a cheap cliffhanger as he dashed a small amount of wine into a glass and tasted it—tasted it. “Ahhh,” he sighed, “a bottle as superb as its company.”

She didn’t know his bullshit.

“That was your line, nipote.” He snapped his fingers. “Pick up your cues, eh?” And then he had the audacity to smile. At me.

I smiled back. At him. “Please, join me in the kitchen. I have some questions for you, too.”

He threw both hands out to his sides. “So many questions! But first, Bella’s.” As he poured three glasses—three—he regaled her with the story of how he painstakingly carved the canvas out of the ceiling so it could be restored. But if that wasn’t difficult enough, oh, how he struggled to put it back in. He wished he’d had my help, but of course, I was too busy taking care of the women—how that exhausted me so—and at that point the ceiling plaster had deteriorated.

When he moved to sit down, I snapped, “Zio? Cucina?”

He looked at me as if I’d just arrived. “You worry for the sauce? É perfetto.”

“Not the sauce, the bread.” I would have set fire to the kitchen to get him in there.

“Out of the oven and in the warmer. Come, join us.”

Inviting me to join them.

I reluctantly went to the table. I moved to pull out Claire’s chair, but Jacopo slipped between us. “Please, you must sit. So far you have traveled.” Claire obliged, all smiles, and Jacopo handed her a glass of wine. “My nephew, he is too busy with bread and sauces to remember the most delicious dish is already at the table.”

I snorted.

Claire grinned slyly at me. “I see where you get it from.”

“I joke, I joke!” They both laughed while I tried to come up with a strategy. Jacopo smiled up at me. “Are you sitting or serving tonight?”

Admitting temporary defeat, I sat and grabbed the remaining glass of wine, bringing it to my mouth for a significant slug. But Jacopo grabbed my wrist mid-gulp. “Why you drink so fast, eh? We must first toast our guest.” He made a can you believe this fuckin guy face at Claire, who giggled.

Son. Of a bitch.

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