stolehispurse | fandom_muses application: Introduction.

The round of applause was exactly what he expected - his performance was superb, of course, so they were all impressed. Then the crowd parted, and there she was, her hand on her hip, and her eyes on him in that smirk that seemed so natural on her.

It was green satin tonight, not the red dress of their first encounter. It looked no less stunning on her small, lively form. It never ceased to amaze him how women could move, with all of that they had to wear. And she? She could run.

Why hadn't he been able to utter a single untrue word to her? A single truly false look, for that matter?

He licked her lips and put his own hand on his hip, mirroring her, chin up. Acting at his best. Just as she told him.
What was she acting at? Low born, high born, they're all pretending. her words drifted to him. What was she pretending to be? He'd known women. But she was... a mystery. He didn't even know her name.

She raised her brows and lifted her hands, palms up, in 'surprise'. "A virtuoso!"

"Oh this old thing? I only just picked it up. How does it work? I'd pay for lessons, but... someone stole my money."

Her face scrunched up, and her voice was oh-so-consoling. "It's a terrible world."

Quietly, he couldn't resist the jibe. That HAD been all his money. "Who're you stealing from tonight?"

He could actually stand there just fascinated by the expressions on her face. Such a lively face. So persuasively puzzled. "Don't know what you mean!"

"Tell me, though. If you're busy pretending, like everyone else, why not pretend to me? Why tell me the truth?"
Because she hadn't pretended. He'd seen those eyes looking at him with as much honesty as his own held. She'd cared. He was absolutely certain that, dazzling as she was, she could have reached his purse without teaching him as she had. Why? Why him?

"I don't know. I just... did."

"It's an honour!" His voice was ... soft. She was puzzling him again. Some part of his mind was spinning.

"Well then. Just don't go thinking you're special!"

And he knew... he was. Could she be as puzzled about this as he was? One corner of his mouth curled up.

The cocky tone aside, she went on. "You've taken my advice to heart, then? I've heard so many stories about you, and not always as a joke! Signor Casanova." His name, in her voice.

He'd been in love before. This wasn't... the same. This was like finding another part of himself that he hadn't been aware was missing in the first place. It was...
It was the second time he ever saw her.

"Lying his way to the top."

"Not my fault if I was born clever!" He could do cocky too. Perhaps it was another game? Well he could play as well. "Show me a book, a map, a language, a libretto, I won't just learn it, I'll use it."

"The man of parts."

"Of many parts."

"Is that how you win over the ladies? Cheap innuendo?"

... "No, you just make all my better lines - rubbish." True, that. Why was she ... how was she different?

Then they ran out of words. The moment of silence was broken too soon though.

"You keep straying from my side!" The voice made her head turn sharply to the side, and her face cloud into a sweet-faced... mask, impassive, immediately.

The 'noble' who'd punched him the very day that he'd met her. Tall, slim. Handsome. Blond and blue-eyed. Him, Casanova knew - Grimani. The next duke; he was usually referred to by his family name only. The pinnacle of one of the most influential families of Venice. Nobility of the nobility.
Still an idiot.

"Oh, it's that man again."

Giacomo knew he probably should, but couldn't resist. "Are you following me? People will talk!"

She... intervened, her voice unexpectedly nervous. "This is the signor Casanova everyone's talking about."

"You have the look of a manual worker about you, Casanova. What's your profession?"

"I'm a..." what was he exactly? Irrelevant. Giacomo needed to show him exactly how much of a fool he was. It was an internal necessity. Undeniable. "... spy."

"How do you mean, a spy?"

"Spy. I spy. That's me, the spy." Oh yes, she looked down, the corners of her mouth quivering. She was suppressing her mirth. Giacomo wanted to hear her laugh again. Extract her laughter where Grimani couldn't. "'course, being a spy I shouldn't say I'm a spy, or a spy-by-spy." Now she couldn't hold it in anymore. Face turned away from Grimani, her eyes were up at his in an 'how can you be so absurd? I love it!' expression. One that he didn't want to go away anytime soon.

"I suppose you can prove it?" The sneering voice didn't stop him, or even slow him down.

"What, you want me to spy on something? Um... look, there's a canal. I spied it! Look, still there. Ooh, and again!" She coughed a laughter. That, and not the man's puzzled glare, nor sneer, kept Giacomo going. As he'd told her earlier... Men did not matter.

But they were a very good practice for sharpening one's wit on! And she could appreciate it, just like him.

Why her?

"I take you are laughing at him?"

The small beat let him know exactly what she was laughing at, whether Grimani liked it - or got it - or not. "Absolutely!"

"Excuse me, but I haven't actually been introduced to the lady."

"Henriette." She swallowed. "Henriette Marianne Dalbotas." Grimani raised her hand and kissed it with the words that cut Giacomo to the core. "My fiancée."

The talk after that did not matter. It wasn't addressed to him anyway, except for ways to snub at him and those petty stabs didn't matter at all.

Henriette.

Belonging to the one man in Venice he had managed to begin hating already.

She turned to him again and again while Grimani carried her away, elegantly on his arm, secure in his possession.

Casanova couldn't help but notice every expression in those dark eyes, each time she looked back at him. He couldn't help but notice the elaborate hairstyle. The way her walk had changed, with her fiancé.

He couldn't help but notice, because he could not take his eyes away from her.

Why her?

Muse: Henriette
Fandom: Casanova (BBC 2005)
Word count (excluding the quotes): 764