Page 92 of Casanova LLC

And then I kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but an honest one.

I pulled slightly back from his mouth and reached further into him with my eyes.

Access granted.

His hands came to my hair. “It was the hottest fucking night of my life.”

Then he kissed me. It was a mutual understanding. A found recognition. An intimate connection. Something I was willing to bet neither of us had felt before. It was unspoken but we both knew.

He tipped my head back. “What do you want now?”

What I couldn’t have.

“Hold me.” I tucked my face into his neck.

His long arms came around me. We synchronistically breathed.

I hoped he couldn’t feel my tears pooling on his shoulder.

Alessandro

Hold me. I wasn’t sure if she remembered that’s exactly what I’d done at two o’clock this morning.

I’d woken from a dead sleep, only to find one lamp still on, a cold plate of ziti on the counter, and Claire curled up next to me. I’d gotten up, filled my growling stomach with the pasta, and carefully pulled back the covers, slipped her inside them.

I watched her, wondering how I had let this happen. She’d knocked me the fuck out. Granted, I was exhausted from a sleepless night, thrown for a loop with her revelation, and obviously the blow job had been…I had yet to find the words. But something else niggled at me. Was it my guilty conscience?

My mother had dated this police detective for a while. And he said he could tell if someone was guilty by bringing them in for questioning, settling them in an interrogation room, and leaving. The guilty ones fell asleep. The adrenaline spiked, then crashed. He’d watch them, through the two-way glass, waiting to see if they nodded off sitting upright in an uncomfortable aluminum chair.

The problem with this theory was that they hadn’t just had the best head of their life. So how could I tell?

I was still vacillating. Should I wake her up right then to tell her the truth? Should I wake her up with pleasure? Should I lay down next to her and indulge in the only thing I really wanted to do?

I chose door number three and held her.

She didn’t wake.

Now, after a late breakfast in bed and a long walking tour of some historical Casanova sites, I handed Claire down into a gondola for our final planned activity together.

“How beautiful! How long have you had it?” She was speaking to Matteo, the gondoliere, as she settled herself on the bench and I stepped in beside her.

As Matteo worked his oar in the forcola and we moved into the heart of the canal, he told Claire that the gondola was very old. It had passed through the hands of his great-great-grandfather, all the way through his family line, until he took ownership over thirty years ago.

Claire, of course, had a question. “Have you known each other for a long time?”

Matteo smiled knowingly. “I have had the pleasure of knowing both bulls. For more time than either would want to admit.”

“Where would you like to go, Claire? The rii of Venice are at your feet.”

“I want to go where we would go if we had no specific place to go.”

“Matteo? You heard the lady.”

“Sì, today I show you my Venice.”

We sat back in the red velvet seat and gave ourselves over to the soft sounds of water brushing along the sides of the gondola and echoing off the walls of the age-worn buildings as we wound our way. We were silent. We were happy. We were…in love? If I didn’t know better, it would seem that way. But I knew better.

Claire’s attention was on Matteo guiding the oar—or remo—through the curves and crevices of the forcola. She leaned into me. “It’s just like Lorenzo said. They’re made for each other.”

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