Page 93 of Casanova LLC

Matteo overheard her. “That is the truth, Signora. This relationship makes a gondola go anywhere you want it to go.”

She turned around and raised herself up on her knees to face him. She dug the wooden forcola out of her pocket. “I’m fascinated by these. Did you get a new one when you took over the boat?”

Matteo didn’t answer. He was squinting at the miniature in her hand. “Where did you get this?”

I told him, in Italian, “Lorenzo gave it to her.”

He stared at me and replied, in Italian, “Bullshit.”

“I know.”

Matteo looked at her long and hard, then turned to me. “Molto speciale, eh?”

All I could say was, “Sì.”

He told her he had, indeed, gotten his own forcola when he took over the gondola. She had more questions and he gladly answered them, clearly charmed. As they spoke, and we wound through the canals, I was more than content to sit back and listen.

Eventually, Claire turned back around and reclaimed her place, curved into my side. The sounds of wood and water took over once again. I felt myself melt further into the cushion. I was relaxed. I wasn’t on guard. I was happy. I wasn’t with a guest. I was with Claire.

Who idled her long fingers over the ebony as she stared dreamily at the passing scenery.

Who, nestled against me, felt…right.

Who pivoted her sweet head to me and said, “Do men fall in love?”

So much for silence. “I think they can.”

“But not the way women do.”

“True.”

She pursed her lips. “They’d have to let the lion out of the cage, for starters.”

“Yes.” I debated the wisdom of going further into this. But I wanted to clarify. “When it comes to love, a lot of what I said last night doesn’t apply. If we don’t get past the control and fear there isn’t a chance in hell for love.”

“So let’s say we got to that point. How would a man fall in love?”

How, indeed. “They would have to see a woman as an ally to join forces with, not an enemy to conquer.”

“Is that even possible?”

It was possible.

“Scusa, but why you no talk about the sex? This is what matters, no?”

Claire raised a brow at me. “He has a point.”

I readjusted myself so I could see both of them. When did this become a tribunal? “Yes, of course he has a—look. Giacomo Casanova?—”

“Giacomo Casanova, here we go.”

“Ignore him. That’s what I do.” I forged on. “He wrote about this, though it was never published. He was determined to understand why men and women want to be with each other. Was it strictly”—I glanced in Matteo’s direction—“the sex? Or was it something beyond the biological imperative? Something else that kept them wanting each other?”

“Did he figure it out?”

“He developed a theory based on one of his hobbies. Painting, actually.” She gave me a look. “Yeah, I know. He saw men and women as primary colors. Because primary colors can’t be created?—”

“By mixing multiple colors. They’re autonomous.”

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