Don't Shoot the Messenger

22 - The Letter

* edited

Claire POV

The Salone Margherita Theatre is like nothing else. We choose a 5 course meal themed for the Opera we are about to watch. The private dining room doubles as box seating with a fine view of the stage. The lyrical opera is amazing. The virtuosi dell'opera di Roma live up to the extravagant promise of their name. The rich music is stunning, and the opera itself... the actors are so expressive, the costumes sumptuous, and the man beside me puts all of it to shame. I love him, and anywhere he takes me will be magical... even if we go nowhere at all.  

Macello POV

  The mail came...the letter from "Greg". I slide it through my fingers noting the smudge of blood. "How long until you will be ready to come back to bed?"  "When you are inviting me, right now." The envelope falls and I knock over some other correspondence as I walk around the desk. 

 Once the door closes behind us, I tell her "The guards thank you for wearing the robe while you came to fetch me. I would regret having to rip their eyes out for seeing you like this.... But I prefer you without it." I tell her, sliding the robe from her shoulders as I admire the view. Her eyes twinkle at the joke, though I am half serious. I wouldn't blind them for an accident, but if they were trying to... "I am still a novice, you have much to teach me and I'm eager for my next lesson." Her soft kiss turns heated. "If I didn't know you were a virgin I would wonder about where you learned before; You're a quick study."  "I have a good teacher."    "Lets practice to see how well you remember the last lesson." I suggest in a voice that sounds low and lusty even to my own ears.  

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The next days are filled with light laughter and heavy passion. Soon it is nearly time for the festival in Venice. I packed up the office to take with me, double shredding old documents. I order one of my men to burn the scraps. I have canceled her old reservations now that she is staying with me. Festival lasts 2 weeks, and we are arriving a few days early for costume fittings, and a few other things. I have months to convince her to marry me; I already know what I want. There is no more doubt about whether this is real; it is real to me.

She is changing me in small ways. Greg is dead, but not by my order. In the past I would never have hesitated making a brutal example of him for daring to even try something like that. Pleas and protests would not move me at all. Even if I didn't particularly care for the woman, I would not stand for the attempt to steal her from me by force. ...For her, I had concealed his suspected involvement from my own people, and she never had to ask.

It may have started as an infatuation, a fantasy, but she is all I will ever want. No other woman catches my eye, save in annoyance. I cannot care less about any woman in my past. It will always be Claire, forever.  

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Venice. 

 We just got the final touches of our costumes here- the masques themselves.

Mario Belloni is passionate about his craft.  He is a good man, with a bit of self depreciating humor. I could tell that Claire liked him; she asked for his help with the mask she was making. I strongly disliked watching her whispering to him about what she wanted and letting him guide her hands. I pushed him firmly aside and took his place. If she was going to have someones hands over hers and their arms around her like that, it would be me. If he was a younger man, and unmarried, I would have been less cordial about it.