I took a bite of one of the ciambelle and said, “In the U.S., people may be racist, but at least they are usually aware that it is wrong.”
Estelle said, popping one of the dumplings into her mouth, “Sometimes I think that because we Dutch believe we are so emancipated, we become blind to the faults in ourselves.”
Filip tilted his head to the side and looked at me with his clear blue eyes. “So how goes it with this engagement manager of yours?”
I took a deep breath and reminded myself, New Sylvie. “Actually, he got me fired.”
Lukas froze with his zaeti cookie halfway to his plate. Estelle reached out and took my hand in hers. “What? Oh, little darling. What happened?”
I could not meet their eyes. “He had wanted to get rid of me for a while—after I made it clear I was not interested in fun and games with him in bed. So when I was foolish enough to give him an excuse, he did.” I hunched my shoulders. I was a failure at everything. What must they think of me now?
Lukas tilted up my chin in his hands. His face was blurry. I blinked to clear my eyes as he said, “It was not your fault.”
I gave a choked laugh and brought a shaky hand to my cheek. “He was not the only one who wanted me gone. I do not really have friends back home.” My throat felt thick, as if I were having an allergic attack.
Estelle gave me an incredulous look. “How can you say that? Why not?”
“People use me for my connections, and the ones who do not, stay away.” I hugged my shoulders, my chin resting on my neck. I suddenly felt chilled.
Lukas asked, eyes fixed on me, “Why is that?”
It hurt to admit everything, but it felt good too. No more hiding. “It is my fault. I keep them at a distance. I am cold and unfeeling. I always have to play first violin.”
Filip smiled and pretended to shudder at the idea of me playing any instrument, then picked up my hand from across the little table and pressed a warm kiss onto it. “Ridiculous. You are not that bossy. Remember, high trees are attacked by strong winds.”
Estelle wrapped her arm around me. “I have the solution: Do not go back, Sylvie. Stay here with us.”
I hugged her and looked across the table at the two men: Filip, with his elegant eyebrows arched in challenge, and Lukas, with his heart in his eyes. Stay.
Later, when we tried to cross Piazza San Marco to return to our hotel, I was amazed to find it under at least ten inches of flooding, the lights that hung from every archway now reflected in the glistening water. The enormous square had become a sea, with no dry spots anywhere. Some tourists wore plastic sheeting on their feet and legs while others waded barefoot. A few reclined in the partially submerged metal and bamboo chairs that had been set out earlier for dining, their shoes dangling from the armrests.
“What happened?” I asked, breathless at the transformation.
Estelle said, “Acqua alta. Occurs during certain phases of the moon when tides are strong.”
“You knew this was possible?” said Lukas, swatting her on the arm. “And you did not warn us?”
Estelle opened her black leather shopping tote and pulled out a pair of rubber boots encased in a thin plastic bag.
“Incredible,” said Filip with a bark of laughter.
“You kept boots in your Prada bag?” I said, wide-eyed. I shook my head in disbelief.
“Bought these rain-shoes for an apple and an egg at the HEMA, only ten euros,” she said happily, pulling off her Rockstud ballerinas and slipping them into the plastic bag she had used for the boots.
Lukas sighed. “In the land of the blind, she with one eye is queen.”
She pulled on the khaki rain boots. I looked down at my champagne satin mules, my blue linen wide-leg pants. They would be ruined by the water.
“I would have mentioned it to you,” Estelle said, “but I knew you could not fit anything in your little knot clutch anyway. I love it, by the way. That woven silk is so cute.”
Estelle began to wade across the plaza. I took a breath and was about to plunge in behind her when Lukas stopped me with a touch on the shoulder.
“Please allow me to carry you,” he said, his head haloed by the street lamp behind him. He stood there, broad and handsome, holding out his hand in invitation, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
But before I could step into his embrace, Filip swooped me up from behind. I clung to his neck, laughing, as he twirled in circles until the world spun and I was dizzy and gasping. Then he strode across the dark water of the square, his strong arms holding me tight, while Lukas was left behind.
By the next morning, the floodwater had drained away as if it had never been there. This was our last full day in Venice. We tried to purchase tickets for a concert that evening, but the only showing available was performed by musicians in period costumes.
Filip pretended to stick his finger down his throat. “I refuse to see this Punch and Judy show.”
“‘Masquerade dinner and dancing beforehand,’” Estelle read from the brochure. “‘Masks required.’”
“Can you say ‘tourist trap’?” Filip said.
“I think it sounds fun,” I said, peering over her shoulder. “And are not we shopping for gifts and souvenirs anyway today?”
To appease Filip, we first visited the renowned opera house Teatro La Fenice. We decided to follow the audio tour, but at some point Estelle and Lukas disappeared and I found myself growing bored. Instead, I followed Filip around. His face was aglow, his grumbling manner entirely dissipated.
“It is amazing to be here,” he said. “Monteverdi was hired as choirmaster. La Traviata and Rigoletto premiered here. Rossini, Bellini.”
By this point, we had climbed the stairs and could hear music coming from the stage below. The door was ajar and we peeked through to find one of the central opera boxes, half-filled with tourists watching a rehearsal in progress. We squeezed into two empty seats. At first, I was too astounded by the beauty of the theater to notice the opera. The room glowed with elaborate golden moldings and paintings beneath a huge chandelier.
The woman on the minimalistic set was dressed in a simple all-black shirt-and-pants combination with stiletto heels, which I could tell were Louboutins from their signature red soles. The two male singers wore bathrobes and slippers. I could not tell if they were in costume because this was a modern opera or if these were their normal clothes. When they sang, the music reverberated inside my soul.
As we left to rejoin Lukas and Estelle, I said, “I think I follow now.”
“What?”
“Music. My sister, Amy, lives for it. I never truly understood before.” I traced a finger along the wall as we passed.
We started down the elaborate staircase and Filip took my elbow. “Watch your step. And what have you learned?”
“That it can express something beyond words, beyond logic and rational thought.”
“The first time I heard the cello, I felt recognized. Like the music was greeting something inside of me, something no one else could see.” He slung his arm around my shoulder in a loose hug.
It was unusual for Filip to be this open about something that mattered to him. I reached up to give his hand an affectionate squeeze, then gazed down the stairs to find Lukas staring up at us. Estelle was busy checking her phone at his side. His face was tight. He sent me such a long, pained look that I tried to edge away from Filip, who only tightened his grip.