Page 76 of After Felix
The buildings and elegant old palazzos crowd over us, nestlingtogether in their sepia tones, as if remembering, in their faded grandeur, the times when Venice was a centre for music and art, and Casanova was still climbing in and out of ladies’ bedrooms.
Felix’s eyes are everywhere, his face keen and eager. I wish he understood that, although I’ve spent the money for this trip, he’s the one giving me the best gift. Sharing in his excitement, I get to experience one of my favourite cities anew.
I lean into him, pointing here and there at interesting buildings, blessing my ability to retain the most random of facts, because they have always interested Felix.
And, slowly, the wariness that had been evident on the platform recedes, and he leans into me, grabbing my arm as he points things out, showing no signs of caution. I almost resent it when we pull up to the hotel, but Felix’s expression is worth everything.
“Are we staying here?” he hisses.
“We are.” I smile. “I always stay here.”
“Do you get a second mortgage every time?”
I laugh. “I told you before, I don’t stint on life experiences,” I say. “There have been too many times when I was convinced I wasn’t coming home. I won’t waste my time trying to be cheap when I’ve got the money.”
And I like to spoil you,I think.I want to spoil you for the rest of your life, take you all over the globe and show you the hidden paths and byways of the world that I know so well. With Felix at my side, my knowledge of the world wouldn’t die away in loneliness, but flourish by being shared. I think of a little old cafe in Saudi Arabia that I remember where they serve the best luquaimats. The little fried dumplings would satisfy his sweet tooth, and the taste of honey would linger on his tongue when I kiss?—
My thoughts come to a screeching stop.
Kissing him?I’d be safer kissing a tiger at the moment. Felix would gut me if I tried anything, but that knowledge only makes me more determined. I want him back, and this is my last chance. If I don’t succeed this time, he will find someone else, and I will be alone for the rest of my life because no one can replace Felix.
I’m able to shake the thoughts away only when Giulia, the owner ofthe hotel, comes out, talking volubly in her warm voice. I smile as she throws her arms around me.
“Max,” she says when she lets me go. “So good to see you.”
“You sound surprised.”
She pinches my cheek. “I am a bit. The last time you were here, I thought you might drink yourself to death. Or fall in the canal and take a shortcut there.” She looks at my cast. “And I see you might have a head start on this trip too.”
Felix laughs, and she looks at him with her warm, bright eyes, the sun playing on her dark hair. “And who have you brought me, Max?”
I reach out and drag Felix against me, unable to stop the claiming gesture. “This is Felix,” I say proudly.
“Felix?” she says loudly. “This is Felix?” She looks startled, and well she should, because I have spent many hours talking her ear off about my lost love. I narrow my eyes pleadingly at her, and she recovers herself quickly. “What alovelyname,” she cries. “You don’t meet many Felixes.”
“I suppose not,” Felix says doubtfully.
She smiles at him, taking his arm and drawing him after her, leaving me to trail happily after them while the porter brings the luggage.
They talk and laugh as she signs us in, but as Felix wanders over to the bank of lifts that Giulia points out, she grabs my arm. “You look good, Max,” she whispers, her eyes warm. “Is that for him?”
“To some extent,” I say quietly. “I needed to get better, and I need him, so the two things are mutually inclusive to me.”
“I’m glad to see it, my friend. He’s lovely.”
She looks over at Felix, who is staring at an old oil painting. He’s slim and lithe, his skin pale and his hair a mess of dark waves. I remember strolling through the Louvre once, killing time before I had to meet a contact. In a quiet corner of one of the museum’s less-travelled galleries, I’d found a painting of an Italian count who was lounging against a tree. I was fascinated by his slumberous eyes with their winged eyebrows, and the silky hair that was as dark and shiny as a blackbird’s wing. I’d lingered over that painting far longer than Ishould, caught by the image. Looking at Felix now, I realise how much he looks like that long-ago young nobleman.
He glances back at us and smiles. I catch my breath because it’s the smile he used to flash at me so often—full and wide, with a wicked edge.
“He’s very beautiful,” Giulia murmurs. “And sharp. But fragile too. It’s there under the pretty exterior. Be careful with that boy, Max, or you’ll lose him completely.”
It had taken her only a few minutes to see him clearly, and I’m jealous of her talent. I’d been dazzled by his sparkling exterior and sharp tongue and recognised his layer of fragility far too late.
“I will,” I vow. “I’m getting him back, Giulia. This is my chance.”
“Yes, I think you will too,” she says. There’s more hope than certainty in her voice, but I can work with both.
She hands me the room key. “Two bedrooms, Max? You’re losing your touch.”
