by Vivien Vale
I take the gondola to get there. From the gallery, the hotel is also within a gondola ride. I mean if you’re in Venice, you simply must make use of these watercrafts.
Venice is definitely not the city to visit if you don’t like water or have a fear of boat rides.
Personally, I love being on water. It has a calming effect on the mind. It’s almost meditative for me to be on water.
When I get to the Punta, I check my phone yet again, still nothing from Ryan.
Should I worry?
I take a deep breath and decide that it’s a little early to start worrying. There’s more than a day to go ‘til the wedding, plenty of time for the bastard to get here.
Maybe he’s just making the most of the last few hours of his single life.
Why anyone would want the shackles of marriage around their dick is beyond me. Why have just one when you can have several?
Thinking about marriage sends a little shiver down my spine. It would take one very special lady to drag this man down the aisle. I doubt such a woman even exists.
Freedom.
Single life brings plenty of freedom with it. And I’m not only talking about the freedom to choose pussy. No, sir.
There are other freedoms, more important ones; like watching what I want on television, listening to the kind of music I want to listen to and when I want to listen to it, and visiting whatever art gallery I want to visit.
As I pay the entry fee, I grab a brochure. It talks about the extensive and elaborate renovations carried out on this ancient building. Apparently, it was a combined effort.
Japanese architect Tadao Ando was responsible for the renovations, funded by French billionaire Francois Pinault.
“Enjoying the art, signore?”
I turn around and find myself facing an attractive gallery attendant.
Quickly, I look her up and down. She’s got black hair, delicious looking red lips, and the darkest chocolate eyes I’ve ever seen in a woman. Her lips are curled up a little at the corner into the tiniest hint of a smile.
“I’ve only just started,” I reply and go to walk on.
With the imminent call or text from Ryan, I decide now isn’t the time.
Like a lost puppy dog, she follows. She’s clutching a clipboard to her chest. I notice her tight white blouse gape at the button just above the gap between her breasts.
Briefly, my eyes linger there before they travel back up to her eyes.
“Signore staying long in Venice?” she asks with a thick Italian accent.
I smile and shake my head. If it weren’t for the sign attached to her blouse stating her name and job as gallery attendant, I’d be inclined to think she was in another line of work.
“A few days,” I reply and stop in front of a tiny replica of a balloon animal.
“In those few days, you may need to have special entertainment?” she blinks suggestively at me as she says this.
Resisting the temptation to burst out laughing, I choose to ignore the invitation.
Sure, she’s pretty enough, but not my type.
And I’m not in the mood. Ryan’s sudden wedding, I hate to say, has left me rattled. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.
Sure, in my heart, I know it’s not unusual for a man to start thinking about settling down with one woman, but for this man to be Ryan is hard to swallow. Out of our group, Ryan is the last person—besides myself—I would’ve picked to be the tie-the-knot type.
“If you’re interested, I could show you something special out the back?”
Her hand with blood red nail polish rests on my forearm.
Wow.
Was she really offering to give me a quickie at the gallery?
“Let’s see,” I evade, giving her a direct brush off.
I don’t like to be rude. And you never know what might happen as we meander through the gallery. My eyes move from her to the artwork on display in the room I’ve just entered.
The piece of art intrigues me. Before I can flick through my art guide to read about it, my uninvited guide offers her explanation.
“You’re privileged enough to see here an original Dan Flavin work of art. He’s an American artist.”
I cough to hide my laugh.
Either this woman hasn’t been given any training, or she’s an imposter.
“Unfortunately, I have to correct you there,” I start and consult my brochure to be sure. “You see this is a piece from Jeff Koons, not Flavin. Both are American artists, though.”
I get no further. The young lady’s eyes have zeroed in on another solo male tourist.
With a shake of my head and a little chuckle to myself, I continue on my own. It’s just as well. If she had not decided to leave me to it, I would’ve had to give her the brush off.
A couple of hours later, I leave the gallery.
There’s still no word from Ryan. Bastard. At the very least, he should have the decency to fill me in on his movements.
It occurs to me I’ve only checked for message on the phone, not my emails. But this mistake is quickly fixed. There are plenty of new emails, and none of them are from Ryan.
As I wait for a gondola to take me to the hotel, I wonder what the fuck was going on.
At first, I mentally double-check all I know.
Ryan had sent me a message that says I have to be at Venice the day before Carnival starts. The reason was his upcoming wedding.
So today was the day before Carnival, check.
And I’m in Venice. No doubt about it.
I jump into the gondola just pulling up alongside the footpath and tell the gondolier where I want to go.
What if the bastard changed his mind already? I mean what other reason could he have for not being here yet?
As far as I can tell, there are only three possible explanations for his absence.
The first is death. If he’s dead, he won’t be here, and he wouldn’t be able to send me a message.
Second could be a serious injury, and again, he might be so badly hurt, he can’t use his mobile.
The third—and the most likely, is he’s changed his mind.
Of course, I wouldn’t blame him one bit.
I mean I can’t see myself marry, ever.
Chapter 3
Nicole
I can hear music.
Is it Vivaldi, Rossini, or Puccini? It’s difficult to say with certainty. It’s so faint I can barely recognize anything other than that it’s classical.
Briefly I close my eyes and revel in the breeze caressing my face.
As violin and cello tones drift my way, I open my eyes again and stare into the water. Okay, so it’s a little murky, but that doesn’t detract from the overall beauty of the place.
The golden rays of sunlight hit the water’s surface, and millions of crystal-like reflections bounce off it. I imagine being one of the crystals, floating weightless through the air, seeing and hearing everything.
I really should be visiting the Opera while I’m here. Darn, there are so many things to do in this romantic city, and yet, so little time. Perhaps Ryan will change his mind once he’s here and come on some sightseeing trips with me.
What use is it, getting married in Venice and then not being able to visit any of these must visit places?
I’ve studied the tourist guides, browsed the websites, and made several lists of the top fifty must visit places whilst in Venice.
As the sun tickles my nose, I sigh. I run my right hand through my long hair and pull it out of my face.
“Not too late, not too late,” Allison chants as if she can read my mind.
I shake my head. She was impossible.
“Favorite color?”
With a scrunched up face, I shrug. “He doesn’t have one.”
“Favorite book?”
“Not fair. You know Ryan’s a busy man and doesn’t have time for reading.”
Instead of a reply, she rolls her eyes.
“Face it, girlfriend—
he’s a dickhead, and you deserve better.”
I put my fingers in my ears.
“Not listening,” I tell her and pretend to sing.
“Just remember—I’m here for you when you change your mind.”
“Still not listening.”
Someone gliding past on their gondola, swearing, makes us both laugh.
“What’re we going to do once we check in?”
There are so many things I want to do, it’s difficult to pick just one or two.
“I’d really like to get something to sketch with,” I say and brace for a further verbal onslaught from Allison. But it doesn’t come.
Either she’s ignoring me, or she’s gone back to studying the muscles of our gondolier.
I take the moment of silence to send a text message to Ryan. First, I pull out my phone and take a photo of a passing gondola.
Then, I secretly and quickly type my message.
Hey Ryan, as you can see, we’ve arrived. Missing you and wishing you were here. I also thought it might be nice to include some special sightseeing after the wedding what do you think?
Love, N xx
After I press send, I wait for my phone to confirm it was ‘delivered’ before I keep staring at it, almost willing it to change to ‘read’. But nothing happens.
Dark clouds build up in the pit of my stomach, and I notice my hand start to shake a little.
Has something happened to Ryan? Is he alright? Or is he lying dead in the morgue with no one able to identify his body? When would I get the call to ask me to come and identify him?
My thoughts get gloomier and darker by the second.
A sudden thud against our gondola unbalances me, and as I try and steady myself—but then my phone drops onto the wet ground.
With a shriek, I leap forward to retrieve it. As I dive onto the floor of the boat, there’s another thud, followed by shouting.
All I care about right now is getting my mobile before it slides into the puddle of water. It seems to be heading right for doom and destruction. I mean, we all know what water will do to a mobile phone.
With one mighty lunge forward, I grab it and hold it up triumphantly.
Yes! Touchdown.
Now I can turn my attention to the loud voices, which are only getting louder.
It seems that someone, another gondola has run into ours. Allison is watching open mouthed as the two gondoliers are gesticulating and shouting at each other in Italian.
The language is truly a romantic language, and I can see why Opera is written in it. Even these two shouting at each other sounds pleasing to the ear.
Words like ‘accidenti,’ ‘madonna,’ ‘dio santo’, and ‘porco cane’ fly past my ears as I try and understand why everyone is shouting.
Allison sits and watches.
“What’s going on?”
She chuckles.
“The gondolier of the other gondola wasn’t watching where he was going and ran into us. I think he was checking out the blonde on his boat, hence the moment of inattention.”
She has to stop because now, she’s laughing.
“But nothing happened?”
Allison nods.
“I think our gondolier is milking it to show off to us.” She throws me a sideways glance. “Okay, he’s showing off to me. And you know what? This is better than television.”
After a few more insults, we move off again. For the first time since we’ve slowed right down, I look around.
There seems to be a steady stream of gondolas waiting to unload passengers at the Aman hotel, hence the delay. I’m not sure, but it looks like we’re in some kind of queue and are waiting for our turn.
With the tumult died down again, I turn my attention back to my mobile. Luckily, it’s no worse the wear. It seems to have sustained no visible damage, and the display is still lit up. But there’s no message from Ryan.
Best as I can I quash those rising fears again. The picture of his pale dead body with the identification tag tied around his big toe won’t go away. Try as I might, I see the morgue clearly in my mind. The way the man clad in blue pulls out a large silver drawer with Ryan’s dead body in it.
I shiver.
Stop being silly, I tell myself and rummage around my bag. My fingers search for a pen and a scrap piece of paper. All I can find is the boarding pass.
I start making a rough sketch of the gondolier perched at the end of our gondola holding the oar. As a backdrop, I pick one of the tiny alleyways. As my pen moves swiftly across the scrap piece, the monkey of my mind is calming down a little.
It’s silly, really, to imagine the worst. Ryan was just busy and would get here when he did. And he would no doubt contact me when he finally got some time.
Then, when he arrives, we’ll have a magical time together.
“Wow,” Allison’s staring at my sketch. “That’s great. I don’t understand why you don’t—”
“You know why,” I cut her off.
I don’t want to talk about the reasons for me not drawing openly and more often right now. Right now, I want to enjoy Venice.
“Looks like we can finally check out where we’re staying.” I point to her left.
The gondolier has brought us alongside the landing pier of the hotel.
I feel a lump in the back of my throat as I take in the magnificence of this architectural masterpiece.
No wonder the Clooneys chose this place as their wedding venue.
Allison grabs our bags and suitcases and hands them to the gondolier who expertly unloads them. She follows nimbly.
I take another moment to inhale the true beauty of this place.
Without paying attention, I start to walk toward the edge of the gondola. By now, all I can think about is my wedding and the reception. The magic is enveloping me.
I take another step and move my upper body forward to grab the outstretched hand of the gondolier. And then, it all happens very quickly.
Instead of finding solid ground under my right foot, there’s nothing—and with the right foot having no traction, the inevitable happens.
For the briefest of moments, I float through the air.
It’s a wonderful, weightless, and magical experience.
Then the world goes black, and cold assaults my senses.
I gasp. I hear someone yell my name—and then everything’s quiet.
Nothing.
Panic sets in, and I throw my arms around me wildly.
Seconds later, I surface again. I splutter and cough and gulp for air.
Disoriented, I try and turn my head and work out which way to go.
Fear grips my heart as I wonder if a gondola will run over me, when suddenly, strong hands take a hold of me.
“Don’t worry, love,” a melodic deep baritone voice says into my ears. “I’ve got you now. Don’t fight me. You’ll be alright.”
And before I really know what’s going on, I’m being hoisted onto dry ground.
My rescuer follows, and I take a look at him.
He’s drop dead stunning. So good-looking, in fact, I feel myself go weak at the knees.
I start to shiver.
“Here we go,” he says as he wraps me up in a blanket. His hands rub my back, and I feel the world spin around me.
“A strong drink over here,” he calls, and any protest dies on my lips.
Someone hands me a crystal glass with amber liquid in it.
“Drink it,” the handsome stranger urges. “It’ll make you feel better.”
As soon as the whiskey runs down my tongue and throat, fire ignites within me, and I cough and splutter again.
“Thank you,” I finally croak and am surprised to find I’m starting to feel better.
“You should watch getting out of those gondolas in future. The canal’s not exactly the place you want to go bathing in.” He winks, and I feel like I might drown in those eyes of his.
I smile, but can’t find anything to say.
“I’m Dante, by the way
,” he says.
I try and make sense of where I’ve heard the name before.
Chapter 4
Dante
Okay, I admit it. I’m taking full fucking advantage of the situation.
Who wouldn’t?
The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen was about to drown in the river. I jumped in and rescued her, and now I just need to make sure she’s fine.
I mean, falling into the canal in Venice can have long-term consequences. Not to mention I put my own safety in jeopardy.
Millions of bugs are probably attached to me right now, waiting to plan their next move and to attack any vulnerability they find in me.
But I won’t give them a chance. No fucking way.
I’m fighting fit, and as soon as I’ve got this exquisite creature in my arms sorted out, I’ll head straight to my room and take the longest fucking shower to wash every last bit of scum off me.
With any luck, she’ll give me her number and invite me for a thank you drink at the bar. Once we’ve had our first drink, who knows where the night will end. I can feel movement in my wet trousers already.
“You’re Dante?” her gorgeous eyes are boring into me. It’s as if she’s trying to look right into my soul.
I nod.
At the same time, I keep rubbing her back with one hand, while the other is strategically placed around her waist. A little compensation for the effort of risking my own life.
“The Dante?” her eyes seem to grow even larger as she asks the question.
Naturally, the question throws me. What does she mean the Dante? How many are there?
“Sorry,” she mumbles before I get a chance to say anything. “I’m Nicole, and this is my best friend, Allison. We’re here.”
Now it’s my fucking turn to interrupt.
“Ryan’s bride? Ryan McCready’s bride?”
The second she nods, I let go of her. I can’t be touching Ryan’s bride.
Man, oh man. What are the chances? I take a step back and look at her a little closer.
Ryan’s never shown me a picture of his bride-to-be. As I take in her beauty, I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. This is one hot chick my best friend had caught himself.
