Wedding in Venice

by Lucy Gordon

  "Signora," he protested, "you cannot go on hurling yourself into my boat whenever the mood takes you. People will talk."

  "If you'd waited I wouldn't have had to throw myself at you," she pointed out with impeccable logic. She was feeling light-headed and in good spirits. The crazy impulse had improved her mood.

  The barge swerved and with one hand he hastily seized the tiller, which he'd abandoned to clasp her. But he kept his other arm about her.

  He did not ask why she had done such a thing, nor did she explain. She would have found it hard to do that, even to herself.

  Although it was late, there were still lights on the banks of the Grand Canal. Their reflections glowed in the black water, shivering and dancing as the last boats went home.

  "Are you cold?" he asked, looking down at her bare shoulders.

  "Not at all."

  The night air was growing cool, but she was pervaded by warmth.

  Down the long curve from the Rialto Bridge to St. Mark's Square they glided until at last Riccardo pointed upward to a building with an ornate front, and the words Hotel Busoni in neon.

  "Mine," he said proudly. "At least, it will be when I've paid off the bank."

  "Shouldn't it be the Hotel Gardini?" she asked.

  I'll change the name when I feel a little more confident of success."

  That touch of diffidence surprised her. Riccardo had seemed confident enough for anything.

  He swung left into a tiny canal and tied the boat up at the landing stage. When he had climbed out with one box, she lifted the next one up to him.

  "You can't help me with this," he protested.

  "Yes, I can," she said firmly, hoisting up another box.

  There was a trolley by the landing stage. He piled the boxes onto it and led her down a narrow corridor to the hotel's rear entrance.

  It was late and only a few staff were about. The kitchen was empty. By now it was no surprise to Justine when he put on a large white apron and began unpacking the boxes.

  "This is something else that you do yourself?" she asked.

  "Night staff is expensive. When the last shift has gone home I finish up whatever there is to do."

  "You have to work late here every night, all alone?"

  "Yes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This is my best time, when I feel this place is most completely mine."

  She found another large apron and put it over her dress. He did not protest this time, but gave her a smile that was different from any smile he had given her before. It was no longer the "come-on" look of the pirate, but the secret signal of a conspirator.

  It welcomed her into his world. And she was beginning to feel as if that was where she wanted to be.

  While he emptied the washing-up machine of the load that had finished, she scraped plates and handed them to him to fill it up again.

  "There's still plenty left to do," she said, "so we'd better do them by hand."

  She got busy at the sink, working vigorously, until she looked up and found him regarding her strangely; not with a smile this time, but with a look that was half rueful, half wistful.

  "What?" she asked.

  "This is not how I planned our first evening alone together to be," he said.

  "But you told me yourself, you plan too much," she reminded him. "Sometimes it's better when things just happen."

  He nodded. "You are wise."

  Still he stood there, eyes fixed on her, until she said gently, "Would you hand me that plate, please?"

  "What plate?" He sounded dazed.

  "The one just next to you."

  He gave it to her. Justine turned back to the sink and got to work, but only half her mind was on what she was doing. The skin at the back of her neck and halfway down her spine seemed to have come alive with the awareness of him behind her.

  He was going to kiss her just there, she knew it. The hairs were standing up on her neck with the sense of him moving toward her.

  But nothing happened, and when she looked around, he was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Riccardo was back in a moment, carrying plates. Justine had returned to work at the sink, apparently unconcerned. But she was aware of him now in a new way. A moment had come and gone, and something sweet and indefinable had happened.

  She washed, he dried, and in about an hour they had finished.

  "Let me show you my home," he said.

  He took her hand and they wandered through the quiet building. It was a beautiful place, furnished in the eighteenth-century style and, apart from a man on the night desk, they were alone downstairs.

  "But up there, every room is full," Riccardo said, looking up to the ceiling.

  "When you said your home, does that mean you live here?"

  "Actually, I do, but I meant more. This building used to belong to my family. I was born here, but when I was six my father lost money on bad speculations and had to sell the house. That was when it became a hotel. Ever since, I've dreamed about reclaiming it, and in the end I managed to raise the money. Now I have to keep it."

  "Will that be very hard?" she asked.

  "Yes, but it's all I want to do."

  "So that's why you double as your own dogsbody? I suppose you live in an attic, too?"

  His eyes gleamed. "I live under the stars."

  It soon became apparent that Riccardo meant exactly what he said. His home was a tiny apartment at the top of the building, but on top of it he had built a square balcony.

  Brick pillars went up through the roof, supporting a wooden platform surrounded by a trellis fence on which roses flowered.

  "Here we are up among the stars," he said, "and all around us, Venice is sleeping."

  Down below she could just make out the sloping roofs, the little streets, called calles, where faint lights still glowed. Straight ahead was the softly lit bell tower of St. Mark's, the only other thing that rose this high. Beyond it, in the far distance, the faint glimpse of water glittering under the moon.

  "Wait here," he said, and disappeared back down through the trapdoor that led down to his apartment.

  Left alone, Justine looked about her at the dark blue night, with its faint lights winking like jewels against velvet, and marveled at so much beauty. In the distance she could hear the echoing cries of gondoliers going home, calling warnings to each other as they approached corners. It was an unearthly sound, like the music of the spheres. After a moment Riccardo returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  "I think we've earned this," he said.

  She sat down on one of the seats he indicated, and found that it stretched back to become a recliner.

  "I often go to sleep out here," he said. "On warm summer nights it's the best place."

  "I can imagine," she said, sipping the champagne he offered her. "It's so perfect – almost too perfect."

  "Why do you say that?" he asked quickly.

  "Well, nothing is ever as perfect as it seems, is it?"

  "Perhaps it is, once in a blue moon. But even if not, shouldn't we enjoy the illusion of perfection while we can?"

  "I think that's dangerous," she said quickly. "Why store up disillusion for yourself?"

  "Why deprive yourself of all faith in beauty?" he countered. "Or don't you believe in beauty, either?"

  "Of course I do. How could I do my job without it? I believe in it but…I suppose I don't trust it."

  She walked to the railing and stood sipping champagne, looking out into the blue and silver night. Now words felt like an intrusion. She wanted only to let the night, and the beauty, take possession of her.

  She sensed him coming to stand behind her. This time, she knew that he would not go away unless she told him to. He laid his lips softly against the back of her neck, and the feeling shivered through her.

  He kissed her there for a long moment, while she stood quite still, savoring the sweet sensation, the pleasure and the happiness.

  She drew a long breath. The situation was slipping ou
t of her control, and of all feelings that was the one she dreaded most.

  Somehow she must be strong enough to leave him now, or it would be too late. Or perhaps it was already too late. She turned to face him.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was Justine who turned the embrace into a kiss, putting her arms about Riccardo's neck, so that he could be in no doubt of her intentions.

  "Justine," he whispered, "Justine…"

  Everything he wanted from her was in his voice. He wanted her, in every way, and at this moment she would have given him all that she was, if only -

  If only she was a different person, a woman who wasn't afraid to give her heart, afraid of her own self, her own feelings.

  Dulcie had said to her, "When are you going to throw caution to the wind?"

  But she had learned that caution over a lifetime, and it was too late for her now.

  He murmured her name again against her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that was part plea, part demand. She responded fiercely, longing for the moment when emotion and sensation would take over.

  But it didn't come. Try as she might she could not force her heart to rule her head. The knowledge made her want to cry out in despair, but she couldn't change anything.

  "What is it?" he asked, sensing her inner struggle and loosening his grip. "Have I misunderstood? You do not feel as I do?"

  "I don't know how I feel. How can I know so soon? How can you?"

  "I do know."

  "You can't," she said desperately, trying to make it true by the force of her assertion.

  "Don't tell me how I feel," he said quietly.

  "But we've only known each other a few days, and we've hardly talked at all."

  "Perhaps it's as well. Talking is when people make mistakes about each other. I have made no mistake. I know what I feel about you. But if you wish, I'll wait a little while before saying it."

  "And then I'll be gone," she said, suddenly wistful.

  "You must not go before I tell you that I love you."

  She surveyed him wryly. "That's very clever," she said. "Very subtle. Very Venetian."

  "What do you know of Venetians?"

  "I'm learning fast. You're great talkers."

  "And you think it means nothing?"

  "It means whatever you want it to mean at the time, and then tomorrow it means something else." She attempted a teasing tone. "You can tell me you love me tonight, if you want to."

  "Can I indeed?"

  "Yes, except that I won't take it seriously. By tomorrow everything will change. But tonight is fine."

  "Do you think I need your permission to love you?" His voice was still quiet.

  "Hey, lighten up," she said, still trying to turn it all into a joke. "We've got the moon and the stars and Venice. Why spoil it by getting serious?"

  He didn't answer, just looked at her strangely, like a man trying to comprehend a baffling enigma.

  Justine went very deliberately to the recliner, sat down and reached out to him in invitation. After a moment he came to her and took her hand, then knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms.

  Now it would happen, she promised herself. Now the attraction that had drawn them together from their first glimpse outside the airport would take over so completely that she could forget caution.

  He kissed her slowly, one hand beginning to trace a path from her face, down her neck to her throat. Excitement leapt in her like fire, sending its message in all directions, to her very fingertips, to the heart and depths of her.

  As his hand began to drift lower she took a slow breath, eagerly yielding to her sensations.

  And then, just as the world began to dissolve, leaving behind only him, it was all taken away. She felt him freeze, then withdraw from her.

  Reluctantly Justine opened her eyes and found him looking at her tensely. His breathing was harsh and uneven, and she could feel the strain that racked his whole body.

  "What is it?" she whispered. "What's the matter?"

  "The matter is that this is not right," he growled.

  "How can it be wrong if it's what we both want?"

  "Is it? Can you look me in the eyes and say that you truly want me, as I want you? Or are you saying to yourself, I've gone too far to turn back now? Tell me the truth, Justine. I need to know."

  Chapter Twelve

  Riccardo's words made Justine feel as if he could see right into her. She couldn't bear that scrutiny, and closed her eyes. Understanding everything in that gesture, he rose sharply to his feet and moved away from her.

  "This is not how it must be between us," he insisted.

  "Why do you have to analyze everything?" she cried. "Leave the inside of my head alone. What happens in there is nothing to you."

  "If you were just a brief fling that might be true. But you matter. I want to make love to you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, but it has to be all of you, your heart and your mind, as well as your body."

  "Maybe I don't have all that to give. Why can't you be satisfied with what there is?"

  "Because you're worth so much more," he said simply.

  He went to the trapdoor and held out his hand to her. "Come."

  "Where?"

  "I'm taking you home."

  There was nothing to do but agree. The night was suddenly dead. On the way down he collected one of his jackets, and slipped it about her shoulders.

  "Where are we going?" she asked, for he didn't turn toward the landing stage.

  "It's only a short walk. The boat brought us almost in a circle, and now the palazzo is just a few streets away."

  "How quiet everything is," she said, listening to their feet echoing on the flagstones.

  "This is the best time," he said, "when the people have gone in, and the ghosts come out."

  "Ghosts?"

  "Venice is full of ghosts. They haunt the corners and the little alleyways in the twilight. But don't be afraid. They're friendly ghosts. In Venice they have known love, and been happy, and now they cannot bear to leave it."

  She tried to be sensible. It would be easy to become drunk with the words of this charming dreamer. But being sensible didn't really seem very important any more.

  What was important was to stroll through these narrow alleys, letting him weave magic spells around her. There would be time for common sense later.

  After a while he fell silent, but the magic continued in the unearthly quiet of a city where there were no cars.

  His arm was around her shoulders, drawing her close so that she was intimately aware of the warmth of his body. The stress of the evening fell away, and a blessed calm fell over her. Desire had passed into tenderness, giving her a space that she badly needed.

  "Here we are," he said at last.

  "Where?"

  "The Palazzo Calvani. This is a side door. You must ring the bell, but not just yet."

  He stroked her face with gentle fingers.

  "When the weddings are over, promise me that you will not leave without seeing me again."

  "I promise," she whispered contentedly.

  After the evening's stormy, unfulfilled passion, he now kissed her like a boy on his first date, lips caressing hers almost uncertainly, if such a word could be associated with this man.

  She relaxed into the warmth and tenderness that he offered, not wanting it to end.

  It was he who drew back. "Good night," he murmured.

  "Good night," Justine whispered back – with just a hint of wistfulness.

  He rang a bell by the door.

  "The porter will let you in. Good night."

  He moved away swiftly and was out of sight before the porter admitted her. Justine hurried up to her room.

  At the turn in the stairs there was a half-open window that looked out over the street where they had said goodbye. She could see the place where they had stood together, and wondered where he was now.

  Then she saw something that might have been a shadow, standing by the corner. She
blinked, and the shadow vanished, only to reappear. Surely it was her imagination? For a moment she had thought the shadow was familiar, and that he was gazing directly up at the window, as though reluctant to leave her. But when she looked again, he was gone, as elusive as a ghost.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Guido's cousin Marco arrived from Rome, bringing his English fiancée, Harriet.

  Marco was one of the most handsome men Justine had ever seen, but, while perfectly civil, he had a distant air.

  "Harriet and Marco are rather cool for an engaged couple," Justine observed to Dulcie. "They're not like you and Guido."

  "It's not precisely a love match," Dulcie said. "Harriet is the granddaughter of his mother's oldest friend."

  "You mean they're not in love?"

  Dulcie chuckled. "They think they aren't."

  The last one to arrive was Leo, Guido's half brother, an amiable young giant whom Justine liked immediately. He arrived in Venice direct from Texas, where he'd been visiting a ranching friend, enjoying himself riding and "fooling around" as he put it.

  Justine gathered that he'd also met Selena, a rodeo rider who'd made more of an impression on him than he wanted to admit. Dulcie and Harriet promptly settled down to grill him about her, until he grinned sheepishly and escaped.

  "I'll swear he was blushing," Justine chuckled.

  Dulcie nodded. "I don't think we've heard the last of Selena."

  She seemed to be floating to her wedding on a tide of serene happiness. Liza, by contrast, was in a state of nerves, suddenly declaring that she needed help with the food.

  "But she wouldn't hear of it the first time," Justine protested.

  "I know," said Dulcie, "but she liked Riccardo, so I think it's an excuse to send some more work his way. Also," she added with a significant glance at Justine, "I think she may be doing some matchmaking."

  "I can't imagine why," Justine said stiffly.

  "Well it's your own fault. If you will hurl yourself into a boat driven by a ludicrously attractive man, spend the night with him -"