One Great Lie by Deb Caletti

Author:Deb Caletti
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 2021-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Veneranda Bragadin, poet.

When she wrote a sonnet in objection to Giovanni Battista Barbo’s misogynistic poem, she sparked a vicious feud with him. He fought back with hostility, impugning her honor, but she didn’t back down. She accused him of being senile and told everyone that he visited prostitutes, since he had no other options.

(Dates unknown, likely 1613 or so)

Cantina Do Mori is tucked away in an alley behind a set of wooden doors. Bethany isn’t feeling well, so it’s just the seven of them and Luca, and he’s in a grand mood. His strides are large and jovial, and he keeps shouting stuff over his shoulder at them as they walk. People turn around to look. Now he stops at the doors.

“One of two entrances.” He taps a long finger on the door. “Which I’m sure Casanova appreciated. Did I tell you he used to come here? He could slip out the back, so he didn’t get caught by some husband-dude.” He winks and then goes in.

“Casanova?” Ashley asks.

“You don’t know who he is? Are you kidding?” Hailey says. “How’d you get to college without knowing that? He’s, like, the most famous bad boy in history. Like, a really famous seducer of lots of women.”

“Can you two stop fighting for five seconds?” Shaye says. Even dressed up, she’s in her usual mood: semi–pissed off.

“Come on! Go in, you guys!” Katerina says.

It’s a small and wonderful place. Warm, charming, busy. Copper pots hang from the ceiling, and you’re immediately hit with the smell of salami and cheese, and it’s dimly lit, with no tables, only a long wooden bar. They all take seats. Soon, glasses of a cold, fizzy red wine appear in front of them, which Shaye downs in, like, a minute. Charlotte worries about her, a lot, because her dad’s an alcoholic, and she seems to drink two of anything before Charlotte’s practically touched hers, even if Ashley’s also like that. Charlotte’s a nervous Goody Two-shoes about alcohol, though, she knows. Her mom’s always warning her when they talk on the phone not to drink a lot, and to be careful, and to remember that she’s nowhere near the legal drinking age at home.

Whatever. The fizzy wine is refreshing, since it’s warm in the little bacaro. It tastes way better than that gross limoncello they sometimes have after dinner too, which looks and tastes like Pine-Sol. Eliot is on one side of Charlotte, and Luca Bruni is on the other, and they’re all sitting so close, she can practically feel the heat coming off Luca’s skin. Now there’s plate after plate of cicchetti—finger food. Dishes of everything from tramezzini—crustless sandwiches stuffed with meat and cheese—to fried artichoke hearts, to those sardines that are everywhere, which she’s finally starting to like.

“Setting!” Luca shouts, and at first, Charlotte thinks he means this place, but then realizes he wants someone to read.

“I didn’t even bring anything,” Eliot says.

“Too loud in here! Forget it,” Shaye shouts.

Who cares if it’s loud, if it’s

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