[venice] the bad touch. [tag; luciana]

There was no way he was going to screw this up.

Luciana Bertinelli was basically a goddess and he wasn't being dramatic. The fact that she was still willing to meet up with him after all the messing around he'd done to her was testament to her saintly ways. That, or she was a little bit certifiable. Either way, Harvey was in Italy and he was trying to play it cool.

The sticking point was that Luciana was not English. He didn't mean to be rude but girls from his homeland were rather readable. The phrase treat them mean, keep them keen dinged about in his head as he walked across the cracked pavements. He usually had the knack of getting what he wanted with minimal effort; get close, compliment her outfit, buy her a drink, bingo. But Luciana was very much not British and therefore not the same. Harvey wasn't frustrated but he was curious how to approach this.

They'd been pen-pals, up until the point where he'd accidentally ghosted her. It hadn't been his fault. He had schooling, a job and a pain in the arse called Nathalie to deal with. That wasn't an excuse and she deserved better and something told him that this was most definitely his second strike. One more and he was getting shoved into the Grand Canal.

With his hands in his pockets and his coat collar turned up against the breeze rolling in off the lido, Harvey's long legs jogged up the stone steps of one of the iconic bridges that spanned the width of the canal. He was no stranger to Venice but the last time he was here, he'd had his tongue down the back of a pretty girl's throat. Carmelita, he remembered now. He absently wondered if she ever went back to the boyfriend she'd "accidentally" cheated on him with.

The evening, like most things in the Mediterranean, was slow to arrive. It was a little after seven in the evening and the clouds were tinged with pink as the last remnants of the sun clung to them. Lights in the bars and restaurants were on and he caught snippets of music and chatter as he passed. He'd been wracking his brain to think of something appropriate for him and Luciana could do together but all the could think of was the opposite. She was rich, she was gorgeous, she was basically infallible and he needed to make this memorable. Hopefully in a good way.

The winter chill seemed to have made a dent in the usual throng of tourists that normally crowded the ever-sinking city. It was beautiful, with its architecture and history. It was romantic, in an old-fashioned and forgotten sort of way. It was easy to see the glamour and opulence of the past, still clinging to the ornate white fronted buildings. As he neared the meeting spot, Harvey picked up his pace. He set about crossing the square but - like the other native Venetians - he skirted around the columns of St. Mark's Square, offering the great golden winged lion a salute with his two forefingers as he went. It was silly, a centuries' old superstition but everyone knew not to walk between the two columns of Piazza San Marco. The last thing he needed was any more bad luck on his date.

He wanted to get to know Luciana. They were going to go to dinner eventually but first, they were going to Gallerie dell'Accademia di Venezia It was a small art museum that had later opening hours, off the beaten track. While he wasn't expecting it to be empty, they should be able to wander around fairly easily.

He spotted her instantly standing on the bridge, her hands on the edge as she watched the vaporetti put-putting along the water below her. While he was bang on time, he should have known not to keep a lady waiting. He climbed the steep and worn steps of the canal bridge, taking his time to look at her before she noticed and told him off.

"Ciao bella," he called out to her, his voice carrying on the breeze as he cracked a cheeky grin. Oh, how many times had she heard that in her life so far? He crossed the distance and leaned down to place a kiss on each of her cheeks as he placed his hand on the small of her back, a fraction lower than was considered polite. In their correspondence, he'd already sent her flowers and a necklace and he didn't think he could top that. So he didn't bother.

"You look beautiful," he commented lightly, holding his arm out for her to take as they descended the bridge at the other side, meandering along the canal leisurely. Their ticket slots weren't for another twenty minutes or so. "How have you been?" Harvey asked interested as he smiled at her. He was under no illusion that Luciana could be doing absolutely anything else with her evening than spending it with him, that much was perfectly clear. He couldn't fuck this up.


@Luciana Bertinelli

Harvey Landsdowne was on his last chance. Luciana had known him for a few years now, or, knew him as much as she could given the number of times their correspondence had stopped and started. She was forgiving him for two reasons: firstly, because the Landsdownes were known for their expertise in herbology, and Luciana wanted in; and secondly, because she knew what it was like to get busy – admittedly, her kind of ‘busy’ likely differed considerably from Harvey’s; he was a medical student, she had operas to attend. Okay, perhaps there was a third reason: despite herself, she did find him rather charming (on paper, at least), so she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The Italian witch was wrapped up against the winter chill in a black fur coat, beneath which she was wearing a figure-hugging black dress, stockings, and stiletto boots. Harvey had not gone so far as to tell Luciana what he had planned – she assumed dinner or drinks at this time of the evening. Maybe a gondola ride as tourists to the city tended to do (perhaps he was unaware that Neroli was also full of them, she presumed he’d never been to Neroli or he would have bothered to try and meet her then) – she wouldn’t say no, though; it would be a good excuse to cuddle up against the breeze.

Luciana stood on one of the many canal-spanning bridges, looking out over the edge. She was early because she had wanted to get out of the villa before her father noticed that she was leaving. She could have said she would be at Il Giardino, but there was always the chance he’d send someone in to check on her. She was only slightly worried about meeting someone whom she had a reasonably clear mental image of – someone she knew, really, very little about other than what he had curated for her in their letters.

Ciao bella.

Luciana turned, knowing who to expect but not sure if she should trust the photographs. Her eyes widened just slightly before she smiled back at the Englishman. He was possibly better looking than the photos, and that caught her off guard. He was tall, too. Luciana stared straight ahead, a little stiff in the body, as she felt his hand on her lower back, and she allowed him to greet her with a kiss on each cheek.

As they pulled apart the brunette glanced down at the arm he’d held out for her. She took it, wrapping her own around his a little tighter than she might normally do with a strange man – even if she told herself he wasn’t really a stranger – and of course under the pretext that she needed the support on the cobblestoned streets. “Thank you,” she replied in heavily-accented English, trying to not look too pleased with herself. Should she say he looked handsome? No, that would make it too easy for him. She’d already done enough by agreeing – again – to meet him. He did look good though – she'd been rather concerned that he was going to turn up in one of those shellsuits the muggle English boys seemed to be so fond of.

How was she? Luciana kept her eyes focused on where she was walking so that she wouldn’t roll her ankle. “Good, and you? How was your trip over?” She glanced up at him; it would be too forward to ask where he was staying, wouldn't it? Better to focus on the present. "Where are we going?"

Harvey wasn't perturbed by Luciana's slightly chilly reception. He'd be the first to admit that he'd treated her poorly. She was either extremely bored or her previous plans had fallen through; girls like her always had plans. The fur of her coat was soft, but he could feel the heat of her body through it. She looked very regal, like being draped in fur was an everyday sort of outfit. She suited it. It conjured up images of cold winters in log cabins, high in the mountains, a roaring fire, a sheepskin rug, a game of strip poker and --

They walked on through the ancient city, and he offered her a broad smile. "Very well, thank you," Harvey commented lightly. The trip over was fairly stress-free. He'd booked into a quaint little bed and breakfast on the lagoon. It was very traditionally Venetian with a sumptuous double bed and heavy curtains and a lovely view over St. Mark's Bay. While he hadn't booked it with any intent of showing it to Luciana, looking back, he thought she might rather like it.

With care, he helped her down the steps, one hand on the crook of her elbow as they descended and followed the curve of the canal. "Ah," Harvey said brightly. "Did your mother never tell you that curiosity killed the cat?" He tutted lightly and playfully. As night drew closer, the cafes of Venice spilled out onto the surrounding streets. Music and chatter and the clinking of wine glasses punctuated conversation. A rich waft of garlic and seafood mixed with the salty smell of the water as they meandered on.

He hadn't told his parents he was going out tonight, much in the same way Luciana hadn't, but for very different reasons. Harvey knew how to respect women, but he'd almost psyched himself out over this. Luciana (he couldn't bring himself to shorten her name, it felt almost disrespectful) was used to the high life. She was used to high dining, stuck up men, operas and money. While Harvey had the latter, he'd really put effort into this. He assumed she'd guessed they'd be going for dinner and drinks but that boring. She could do that in her sleep. In fact, she might even be sleeping mid-way through her main course.

As daft as it sounded, Harvey was thrilled to finally be able to hear her voice. He liked the way she formed her vowels, soft and sultry. It was unfortunate that he was wearing a coat because he was getting a little hot under the collar. "This way," he told Luciana, steering her gently and underneath another canal bridge. The chatter of the restaurants sounded a little farther away now as they crossed into the old town. The street lamps began to flicker on. It was a little too early for Christmas decorations to be up but in a way, the city didn't really need all the tinsel and the twinkling lights; it was pretty enough without.

"Here we go," Harvey announced as he nodded to the white-washed building. It would be pretty empty with perhaps a handful of people inside at this time of night. Upon entering, the cool gallery air enveloped them as he let go of Luciana to slip a hand into his jacket pocket and extract his tickets for inspection. He didn't miss the lingering look the guard gave his date and Harvey instinctively placed himself in front of Luciana as he took back his tickets.

The gallery itself was rather small and compact, with works by the Renaissance masters. It wasn't as claustrophobic as the Vatican Museum or as confusing and overwhelming as the Louvre. It was a short walk to one of the gallery's open spaces. It was a hall, painted in pale blue with a large painting of a bible scene. Despite it being over three hundred years old, it was remarkably bright with its pinks and blues and the ever-so-slightly faded gold leaf around the edges. With his hands behind his back, Harvey drew closer and tilted his head as he studied it.

He was quiet for a moment before he offered Luciana a smile as she looked at her, nodding at the plaque near the frame. "I'd hold your hand but the sign says not to touch the masterpieces."

She appreciated the way he slowed and supported her on the steps – if nothing else came of this, at least she could praise his manners. Luciana blanched at his next words, though she knew it was normal for people to assume a typical nuclear family until informed otherwise. “My mother died when I was born,” she said matter-of-factly, with little emotion behind the statement – not because she was trying to make Harvey feel bad, but because she’d never known the woman, and nobody much liked to talk about her, so she was either dreadful or boring and Luciana hoped to be neither.

They took a turn under a bridge and a less confident woman might’ve looked back nervously as they entered this more secluded location, but Luciana was determined to appear calm and in control. Harvey hardly seemed the type, and she’d been around enough men who were the type to spot them now, she thought.

After a little more walking Harvey announced their arrival at his chosen destination, and she looked from him to the off-white building in front of them: the Gallerie dell'Accademia di Venezia. Her bottom lip – stained deep red by lipstick – pushed out, impressed. Not bad for an English boy. Maybe he hadn’t been stretching the truth when he’d written to her about waltzing around the London museums – though she supposed he was only walking the walk thus far, hadn’t yet been made to talk the talk. She could quiz him on his Bellini and Bellotto inside.

Luciana wrapped her coat tighter around her, checking her nails as Harvey sorted their tickets. He didn’t offer his arm again, but he certainly wasn’t shy about being in her personal space. They walked in silence though the gallery; Luciana allowed him to take the lead, curious as to whether he had some grand plan, some specific painting he wanted to show her first. They stepped into a hall and approached an oversized painting – something from the bible. Luciana was half looking at it and half trying to see her companion out of the corner of her eye. She understood what he was doing – being different, taking her somewhere other than straight to dinner – but she couldn’t help but think they ought to be speaking more than they were. She wasn’t going to hand it to him on a platter though.

Luciana felt Harvey’s eyes on her. She turned and he offered her a smile. She stared at him. Had he just—? The brunette tried not to look as ill as his ‘compliment’ had made her feel, instead smiling demurely before turning to walk to the next painting and rolling her eyes where he couldn’t see. “Do you have a favourite?” she asked as he caught up, nodding at the paintings and shedding her furs now that she’d begun to acclimatise to the temperature inside. They’d lowered the lights for this evening showing, letting the artworks stand out even more than they might during the day.

The Italian witch kept walking, slowly, her heels echoing in the gallery as they looped around the room and then into the next.  She was growing impatient. She was going to have to co-steer this evening, she could tell. “How is your studying going?” she asked, “Is it what you want to do?”

"Oh shit." The words were out before he could contain them and he visibly winced at her words. "I'm sorry," he began to offer as though any number of apologies could make up for the fact that her mother was dead. Had she mentioned that in her letters? Was that something people mentioned in their letters? Flabbergasted (and dying of shame, no pun intended) he turned to look at her in the fading Italian sunlight. There really wasn't any way back from that clanger and he could feel the date capsizing under his feet. It made sense that she was a daddy's girl. What an absolute fucking nightmare.

The lingering bereftness didn't shift as they entered the gallery. If he thought Luciana would be impressed, then he was sorely mistaken. That was one of his better chat-up lines. It had a 90% success rate, which had now plummeted to a disappointing 65% at her rebuttal.

Stunned, Harvey watched her snake around him, the atmospheric lighting clinging to her curves and he frowned. He wasn't used to striking out. He relied on his accent and his affable, roguish charm to do the hard work for him.  Luciana was messing with his head and he was stuck. His usual patter wasn't working. Why wasn't she falling for his flattery? Didn't all girls like that sort of thing? With a fleeting panic, Harvey realised that she was racing ahead and leaving him in the dust.

Down but not out, he stepped closer and cleared his throat. Well, seeing as they had come to this point, he might as well be honest. "It's not really my style," he admitted as he came to stand next to her, bent at the waist and squinting at the painting. "This sort of thing gives me the creeps," he added, with a shudder for effect. "Everyone is either moments from death or looks like they're straining to have a particularly difficult poo." There was a lot of pain and anguish in the faces of those depicted. It also unnerved him to see the poor guys who were being impaled to things looking bored, like they were in the waiting room for the dentist.

As Luciana's furs were shedded, he stepped forward in an attempt to catch them before they brushed the floor but no need - she was on the case. Did losing her mother at such a young age force her to become so self-sufficient? Or was that the result of an outside pressure? Failed relationships? Disappointment? Either way, he followed her.

A look of surprise crossed his face. "Of course," Harvey answered her, tilting his head as he looped around the other side of the room, giving her the space that she seemed to be craving. He watched her in the low light. She seemed...sad, almost. She was undeniably beautiful, in her furs and diamonds. She had the type of timeless face, the sort that hung on the walls of ancient European royal castles. But he didn't understand her. He couldn't crack her. Either he was losing his touch or her walls were built stronger.

"It's going well," Harvey replied easily, folding his hands behind his back as he walked, the spitting image of his father. He neglected to tell Luciana the amount of times he'd been thrown up on. "I'm learning lots about plants and herbs," he commented, pretending to be engrossed in a portrait but he kept sneaking looks at her. "Are you green-fingered, Luciana?" He asked gently. "But I've never been forced into something I didn't want to do," he told her, his voice carrying across the empty room. "I'll admit, I had a couple of people to prove wrong." Harvey in Hogwarts wasn't the Harvey in real life but it wasn't difficult to see why people thought him dim or sluggish. "I'm looking forward to writing a lot of "I told you so" letters," he added brightly.

"But you," he said suddenly, his long legs making short work of crossing the room to stand in front of her. He circled her slowly, patiently. "Why did you agree to come out with me tonight?" He pressed Luciana insistently. She was obviously disappointed in him. Maybe he wasn't as suave as he'd been in the letters they exchanged or maybe he just wasn't her type.

 "Why don't we play a game?" He suggested, stopping in front of her. "Two truths and a lie," Harvey encouraged her with an easy smile. "Tell me three things about you and I'll try and guess which one isn't true. There could be a prize. You can pick it."

Luciana laughed before she had a chance to stifle it, head still facing forward to the painting on the wall. She lifted her chin and swallowed, making her face neutral once more. “At least you’re honest.” The brunette glanced sideways at him, her lips twisting despite herself, then focused back on the artwork. “So do you only pretend to like art, or do you just not like Italian art?” She assumed it was neither, but she wanted to toy with him a little longer.

The brunette raised an eyebrow at him. Plants and herbs. She tried not to look too obviously interested. “Is that your speciality?” she asked, not realising she had meant to say ‘specialisation’ but the word getting lost in translation. Luciana turned to look at Harvey. Green-fingered. It took her a moment to interpret the term. If only he knew. “Yes.” She fixed him with a stare, tilting her head to one side. “Does that surprise you?”

She smiled with him – sounded like they had more in common than she had realised. “Good for you.” Hopefully she would be able to write her own one day, she just wasn’t sure who they would be addressed to yet. Luciana let Harvey circle her, keeping her body still and only turning her head to follow him around the room. She fought the urge to grin in response. “Something to do,” she lied, shrugging one shoulder.

Ah, that was more like it. Luciana’s full red lips curled into a smirk, finally displaying him some genuine warmth. “A game,” she repeated, pushing her bottom lip out and rolling her eyes skyward – showing him she was considering it. Her mouth curled up at one end and she took a step closer to him, peering up even in her heels thanks to his height advantage. “And what will your prize be?” She murmured, handing him her coat by thrusting it into his chest, and strode into the next room with a backwards glance and another smirk at him.

The Italian slowed as she entered the next gallery. It was beautiful; every wall, including the ceiling, was hand-painted in a similar style to what she’d seen in Rome. Luciana loved the outdoors, the open sky – peach sunsets and golden sunrises, grey storms and crisp, blue days – but if she was going to be inside, this was the kind of room she’d want to be in. She felt Harvey come up behind her and she kept her face upturned, doe eyes still taking it all in. “My favourite flowers are roses,” she began in a lower voice, though they were still alone so there was nobody to disturb – it just felt wrong to talk at a normal volume in such a room. “I prefer La Bohème to Carmen.” She lowered her gaze to meet his. “I agreed to meet you because I think you can be charming.”

Oh. He made her laugh.

In spite of wanting to play it cool, his ego had been pumped up and he let himself grin in response. Honestly, he didn't care if she was laughing with him or at him; a laugh was a laugh. "I'm always honest," he lied smoothly as he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, looking in the same direction that Luciana was but sneaking glances at her face every so often. Oh, this was high stakes poker. There wasn't an easy way out of her question.

Harvey was a lad's lad, all rugby and cheap beer and he was both alarmed and impressed by Luciana's ability to cut him to the bone. "The brush strokes are nice?" He ventured, his deep voice carrying across the empty space. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention that she was a piece of Italian art but he was still basking in the embers of her terrific burn moments ago.

"Sure," he said casually as he squinted up at the painted fresco. "It's what I'm best at. I'm better with plants than people. Shocking, I know," he mused sarcastically, catching her eye. It was a shame that the Italian hadn't really known him when he was in school. He had a better reputation then than he did now, that was for sure. Her question stopped him; was he surprised? He thought about his answer before he gave it. "No," he settled on and she was full of surprises. She had that strange sort of mix of aloofness and coldness that dd suit solitary work. "I bet all the flowers bloom for you," he added absently. And I bet you're good with your hands.

Luciana's remark was sharp but he found himself laughing all the same, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an index finger. "What's Italian for yikes?" He asked her innocently with a shake of his head. She was hilarious. Either that, or he appreciated her dark sense of humour. The harder she played to get, the more invested he was becoming. It would probably be better that she told him she fancied him. He'd run a mile.

"A game," he confirmed, pleased that seemed to get her back on track. "A second date?" Harvey called after her, taking a step backwards as Luciana shoved her coat at him, his fingers managing to grab the fur before it hit the ground. She was putting on a show and he was playing along. He followed behind her as he moved into the next room and he wasn't a gentleman as he watched her hips swing. He wasn't a saint and he did feel a bit guilty as he walked into a room apparently decorated with the holiest of holy. They'd been here ten minutes and she'd already had him taking part in sacreligious activities.

Luciana stopped and he came up behind her, close to her shoulder -- enough to be felt but not actually touching. "Ah roses," Harvey found himself nodding. "The queen of flowers, so I'm told," he mused as he pretended to be interested in the paintings; he wasn't. Luciana was very rose-like. Beautiful but prickly, it seemed fitting. It took him a second to rattle through his opera knowledge. She preferred a love story of a poor poet and seamstress over a man being enticed by a fiery gypsy? Bollocks.

The third one made him laugh as the noise echoed. "Oh the third one is definitely a lie," Harvey stated lightly, his self deprecating comment hurting more than he thought it was going to. Then again, she wouldn't have given him as many chances as she had if she wasn't at least a tiny bit curious about him. She met his gaze and he offered her another smile. "No one prefers whiny poets over stories of seduction," he joked as he lapped the room, his hand still in his pocket and her coat hanging from the crook of his elbow.

"The second one is a lie," he ventured with a nod of his head. "Spain is exciting. You hate La Boheme," he finished. "So," he said quickly. "When are we going out again?"

“So am I,” she lied easily.

Harvey admitted to liking the brush strokes and Luciana rolled her eyes – but more playfully this time. He was brave – she would give him that – to bring her to an art gallery and not know anything about what was in it; she appreciated the effort, at least.

Better with plants than people. Maybe they had more in common than Harvey realised – not that she was going to reveal as much any time soon. She waited a moment before replying, using a softer tone; “It’s not that shocking.” She smiled, first, when he said he wasn’t surprised by her affinity for gardening, but then he spoiled it with another cheesy attempt at a pickup line. Luciana sighed dramatically in response, though her full lips curled up into a smirk. He was trying, wasn’t he? And she’d never not appreciated it when someone made an effort; Harvey was certainly winning her over in spite of his terrible flirting technique.

“Yikes?” She shrugged. “I don’t think we have it.”

Luciana waited for him to catch up, using the time to rearrange her face into something less smug. “A second date.” She pretended to consider it for a moment. “Deal.” He stopped right by her and she felt a chill run up her spine at the proximity; they were close but not touching and it was taking every bit of willpower not to lean into him.

Her truths and lie were a test, naturally. Roses were often disregarded as ‘too obvious’, but of all the flowers in the garden they were the ones that required the most investment – and held in the highest regard. How much did he know about opera? Probably not a great deal judging by his (assumed) lack of interest in the arts. And how highly did he think of himself? She wanted a boy – man – who was just the right amount of confident.

The Italian turned to look at him slowly, not laughing when he did (with great effort). She pouted morosely and shrugged one shoulder at his comment. “Is that your final answer?” She didn’t want him to be wrong, she realised, but at least if he was going to fail it was through modesty – real or not.

Luciana’s full lips stretched into a grin despite herself. “I don’t hate La Bohème,” she countered, pausing to see if it would lead him to second-guess his answer, “but I do prefer Carmen.” She smirked, stepping closer and gazing up at him through her eyelashes. “I would say that is up to you, we can figure it out over dinner.” He was handsome, wasn't he? "I wouldn't want to distract you from your studies," she murmured, moving so that she was almost up against him, her lips parted softly.