Page 96 of Casanova LLC

“Of course, of course. Va bene. I will pour un bicchiere di vino.”

That he thought throwing in Italian would soften me in some way pinched my anger. I went down the newly shellacked steps, held on to the perfectly polished brass handrail, ducked under the doorframe. He was grabbing small glasses, an open bottle of wine on the counter. “You know, my boy. I was thinking more about your situation today.”

“That so? What a coincidence.”

“And I think I finally understand something.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Sì, about Bella. For since the first time you meet, I worry about you. I worry that you want her too much. Then I worry that you do not tell her about the deal with Shitball. Then, you tell me not to worry, so I worry more.” He handed me a glass and chuckled. “But then I?—”

“Told her about Forever.”

That brought him up short. He assessed me. “Sì.”

“Perché?”

“I was about to explain, but you interrupt.”

I snorted. Steam came out.

“I have been telling the wrong person my worries. I talk, but you do not hear. She hears when I talk. She, I can trust. So we protect you from yourself. This is how it must be. I know this now. And today, after she and I talk, my worries? Poof.” He lifted his glass. “I have taken care of it. Of you. Have your wine. Salute.” He drank. I didn’t.

I raised my glass. But I moved it over the sink. Staring at him, I slowly poured it out, and set the empty glass down on the counter.

I might as well have thrown it in his face.

There was a long silence. “In all my life, not even an enemy has done this thing.”

“Seven years,” I said, lowly. “Hundreds of women. Not once have I required your help. Not one problem. Not one misunderstanding, or misinterpretation, or misconception. Not one?—”

“Not one Claire.” He peered at me. “How long are you going to keep denying that she is different?”

“She isn’t.”

“Oh no? If I told anyone else about Forever, you would leap onto my boat and pour my wine down my sink?”

I slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your delusions! Why would you do that? Now it’s in her head, she’s asking me questions, have I met my Forever?”

“And? What you answer?”

“This weekend isn’t about me!” I exploded. “You’re the one who taught me that, for fuck’s sake! None of this is ever about us! We’re the magicians and if they see the trick the whole illusion comes crashing down around our heads! We’re irrelevant! What we want doesn’t matter, who we are doesn’t matter, who we want doesn’t matter!”

I was shaking. Jacopo was looking at me like I had a bomb strapped to my chest. He held out a tentative hand. “Sandro. It matters. This is what you do not hear. It matters so much that when you deny it, it eats you alive from the inside out. Trust me, I know.”

“What do you know?”

“She will go. You will stay. But you will not be here. You will be a ghost, not in this house, but in yourself. This I promise you.” I could tell he wanted to reach for me. “If you are not honest about who she is, what you give up?—”

“She’s not my Forever!”

“You think I did not have the same conversation with my father?”

“You’re not my father.”

It had been such an instantaneous response. I didn’t even fully know what I had said until it was out, reverberating in the galley. I had to leave. I went for the stairs, felt his hand on my elbow, “My boy?—”

“I’m not your boy!” I flung his hand off me. Much harder than I’d intended.

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