Page 97 of Casanova LLC

The movement caught him by surprise. He stumbled backwards, and into a chair, which toppled over, which he then toppled over, landing, with a pained grunt, on his back on the floor.

For a moment, I could only stare. This crumbled old man I’d just assaulted.

Then I was surging toward him. “Fuck me.” I reached down, grabbed his arm. “I’m so sorry?—”

“Leave me!” Now he pushed me away. “Leave me.”

So I did. I left my uncle on the floor.

Episode 7

“We love without heeding reason, and cease to love in the same manner.”

? Giacomo Casanova

Alessandro

I walked into the sala, and she was already there. She was on the window seat where she’d untangled Friday night, feet curled up under her, a coffee table book of Venice’s palazzos on her lap.

It was so domestic. As if she were waiting for me to get home from work.

I pushed the thought away, along with all my other thoughts, as she glanced up at me and smiled.

I walked toward her, but as she unfolded herself and stood, I slowed.

She was wearing what she’d been wearing five years ago, at the rehearsal dinner. “This is freshening up?”

My tone was opaque. Her pause reflected that. “I thought—do you want me to change?”

“No, no, I love it.” I needed to get my head in the game. I needed to let go of where I just was and be here. “More than you know.”

Her smile opened up. And she shivered.

“Are you cold? It is a little cold in here. Right?” I walked to the bedroom, going to the thermostat by the kitchenette. I thought about asking her if she wanted a warm shower, or another bath. But I didn’t want to delay this any longer. I needed to get this…show on the road. So I grabbed a bottle of wine and was already opening it when I asked, “Want some wine?” She didn’t answer me from the other room. I called louder, as I poured, “Claire? Do you want?—”

Hands snaked around my waist and I jumped, splashing a glug of wine onto the counter. I laughed it off as her palms wound upwards, toward my chest. I felt her forehead rest itself in the center of my back. She inhaled deeply as her hands skated down my abs and around to my hips and back around to my thighs and then up to my shoulders. She kissed my spine through my shirt and lifted onto her toes to drop a kiss to the skin above my collar, like she’d done on the stairs the night of the ball.

I set the wine bottle down and plucked her hands off me, bringing them, together, to my lips. I murmured against them, “Wine?”

I ran through all the possible ways to play this. None of them seemed right.

Because I didn’t know where I was anymore. When I was.

She had to wear that outfit.

I’d never had a connection like this before. Not with any guest. Not with anyone.

Three days, fueled by five years. Years that lay dormant, never reactivated, until now. Now: her, in that blouse. Me, kissing her ringless finger.

* * *

The week of the rehearsal dinner, Jacopo had been visiting New York to meet new baby Lucca, and I’d asked if I could bring him to the rehearsal dinner as a plus-one. I think I stupidly wanted to impress him, to say look, someone important wants my art.

I’d been instructed to arrive at ten. We got there at nine fifty and were held at the door. People were already leaving. Standing there, I felt like I was twenty-two again and waiting to get into a club. When we were admitted into the airy white gallery space, we saw eight or so circular tables with elaborate flower sculpture centerpieces. In a corner was a jazz trio. The tables were mostly empty. Some held a few people, finishing bottles of wine or forking cake into their rich maws. Along the periphery, people had paired off to stand and talk in front of paintings.

I wanted them to be mine. After all, they had been picked up this morning from Cyril’s. A knee-jerk thought before I remembered that he was going to hand-sell them at an exclusive get-together at his house, and wasn’t that better?

Jacopo and I silently observed the room. A waiter came by with two glasses of champagne on a silver tray. We each took one.

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