The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘Of course he doesn’t,’ she said, taking the dog in her arms again. ‘It’s not his fault. Is there anything special that you normally do for him when he has fits?’

  ‘No, just hold him and wait for it to pass.’

  ‘Then he just needs to know that he’s loved and protected, and he’ll come through it.’ She turned back to Toni. ‘Come on, my love. Hold on to me, and we’ll see it through together. There, then-it’s all right-it’s going to be all right, my darling.’

  At first he didn’t seem to hear, but gradually the thrashing quietened, and Toni lay in her arms, still shaking, but calmer as Ruth stroked his head and kissed his shaggy fur.

  ‘There, my love,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here-I’m here. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  She continued to soothe him, unaware that Pietro was watching her with a startled look in his eyes. A man who’d stumbled on buried treasure and feared to believe what he’d discovered might have looked like that. But Ruth didn’t see it.

  ‘Has he hurt you?’ Pietro asked at last, sounding oddly husky.

  ‘No, he didn’t break the skin,’ she said, looking at her wrist. ‘He didn’t mean it, did you, darling?’

  ‘He’s an Italian dog,’ Pietro reminded her. ‘If you talk in English he doesn’t understand.’

  ‘Of course he understands. It’s not the words, it’s the tone of voice. He knows I’m on his side, and I love him.’ She kissed Toni’s head again, murmuring, ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

  ‘Then I guess if he knows that-he knows everything,’ Pietro said slowly.

  He rose and backed away, his eyes fixed on the two on the sofa, enfolded together, content to be so. Toni’s eyes were closed and his breathing became more regular as he relaxed, trusting Ruth completely. Pietro waited for her to look up, but all her attention was for the vulnerable creature in her arms.

  It was a novel experience for Pietro to be ignored, and he gave a wry smile at himself as he made the supper. Ruth left the sleeping Toni, while she went to the table for the shortest possible time, and ate without taking her eyes from the dog. Afterwards she returned to the sofa and sat beside the dog, stroking his head.

  ‘Don’t you want to go to bed?’ Pietro asked.

  ‘No, I’m staying with him. He needs to feel safe. And we’re special friends.’

  ‘He certainly seems to think so. He isn’t usually so peaceful after a seizure. I’m afraid, after this, he’s not going to be satisfied with just me.’

  ‘Yes, he will. In his world you’re “the one”. I’m just passing through. When I’m gone, you’ll still be his rock.’

  ‘When you’re gone,’ he murmured.

  They were quiet for a while.

  ‘Listen to that noise,’ she said, turning her head to the window. ‘It must be raining in torrents.’

  ‘Well, you know plenty about storms in Venice.’

  She smiled suddenly and said in a teasing voice, ‘I wonder if there’s anyone standing out there, looking like a drowned rat.’

  ‘Want me to take a look?’

  ‘No, if she’s there, best leave her. She’ll only be trouble, and you know about that.’

  ‘The last one wasn’t so bad,’ Pietro said lightly.

  ‘Really? I heard she was grumpy and awkward.’

  ‘Definitely. Sharp-tongued, difficult and just plain contrary.’

  ‘The sort you could well do without?’ she urged.

  ‘I thought so at first, but she grew on me. Plus my dog likes her, and that goes a long way with me.’

  They laughed together. Toni stirred, grunting, and she soothed him. After a while she leaned back and closed her eyes, still holding him protectively. She dozed on and off for the rest of the night, and whenever she opened her eyes Pietro was there, watching her with an expression she didn’t understand.

  At dawn they were awoken by a nightmarish sound that lasted for ten seconds, stopped for ten, then blared again for ten.

  ‘That’s the sirens,’ Pietro said. ‘High tide’s on its way, and it’s going to be a big one.’

  Within seconds Minna and Celia were with them, running down the back stairs to start putting sandbags against the doors, to the accompaniment of the hideous squalling.

  ‘I know,’ Pietro said as Ruth put her hands over her ears. ‘But it’ll wake everyone in Venice, and that’s the idea.’

  Before they left home he told Minna what had happened to Toni, and she promised to watch him carefully.

  ‘He won’t have another fit because he never has them two days in succession,’ he told Ruth as they walked away. ‘But he’ll be happier if they look in and talk to him.’

  Aqua alta was clearly coming in, although it had only just begun to inch over the stone banks of the Grand Canal. When they reached St Mark’s the water had risen to eight inches and the boards were in place so that they could walk over it.

  Ruth was struck by the calm cheerfulness of the Venetians. To them this was a normal, if unwelcome, part of life. The shops around the piazza were built several steps up from the ground and, for the moment, the water had not reached them.

  ‘But it soon will,’ Pietro predicted.

  ‘Do we put sandbags against the shop door?’ she asked.

  ‘Certainly not. If we blocked the door how would our customers get in?’

  ‘Of course,’ she mused. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  Mario was already at work, bringing out boards that he set up just above the water so that customers could come in and shop as normal. Now Ruth began to understand that the place had been designed with this in mind. Display cabinets were on high stilts, electric plugs were set halfway up the walls. For Venetians this was just how things were.

  Trade was down that day, but not as much as she would have expected. When she expressed surprise her two companions laughed at her.

  ‘That’s the English for you, Mario,’ Pietro said. ‘One little drop of rain and they collapse.’

  ‘One little-?’ Ruth began to say, aghast. But then she joined in their laughter.

  To her relief Pietro closed early and they splashed their way home. As Mario had warned her, it was hard to keep balance on the boards.

  ‘The trouble is, everyone’s going home at the same time,’ Pietro said. ‘Hold on to me.’

  But he was too late. Somebody cannoned into her from behind, and the next moment she was in the water, lying flat on her back. Pietro was immediately beside her, hauling her to her feet, leaving them both soaked to the skin.

  ‘The sooner we’re home, the better,’ he said, putting an arm firmly around her waist.

  ‘I don’t think we can get back on that board,’ she said. ‘It’s too crowded.’

  ‘Then we’ll wade home. It’s not far. Come on. Hold on to me.’

  Clinging to each other, they splashed through the foot-high water until they reached the Riva del Ferro, which ran alongside the Grand Canal, and finally the side door of the palazzo.

  ‘How are we going to get inside?’ she cried. ‘As soon as we open the door the water will pour in.’

  ‘We’re not going to open the door,’ he said. ‘I told you, we’re prepared.’

  Taking a key from his pocket, he reached up and opened a window on the ground floor, about four feet from the ground.

  ‘You first,’ he said, lifting her in his arms so that she could climb in, but she fell clumsily, landing on one knee and crying, ‘Ouch!’

  He followed at once, locking the window behind him, and shivering.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I just banged my knee. You go on up ahead.’ She limped to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘There’s no time for that,’ he said, lifting her bodily. ‘Just let’s get in the warm.’

  Holding her high against his chest, he made the stairs in double quick time.

  ‘How come I keep getting soaked?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve barely been here three weeks and this is the second time.’


  ‘Maybe Fate’s trying to tell you something,’ he suggested.

  ‘Like “grow fins”?’

  ‘You can have the first shower,’ he said, setting her down in the apartment and fending off the dog, who tried to trip them up in his eagerness.

  ‘Thanks. Hallo, Toni, have you been all right? Oh, yes, you look better.’

  ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘Yes, it was just a little knock. I’ll be fine when I’m warm.’

  It was bliss to get under the hot water. She would have lingered except that she didn’t want him to freeze waiting for her. In a few minutes she was out, wrapped in a bath robe.

  ‘It’s all yours,’ she told him.

  But instead of dashing straight in he frowned, looking at her knee, where a mark showed clearly.

  ‘You’re going to have a nasty bruise there,’ he said. ‘Let me look.’

  Sitting her down on the sofa, he dropped down before her, and examined the injury, which was turning an ugly red.

  ‘I should have climbed in the window first and helped you in,’ he groaned.

  ‘Will you stop blaming yourself? It was an accident. Nobody’s fault. Go into the bathroom and get dry.’

  ‘No, let me-’

  ‘Pietro, please go,’ she said in a suddenly strained voice. ‘I don’t want your pneumonia on my conscience.’

  ‘But that should be looked at-’

  ‘Go,’ she said fiercely. ‘I have to get dry.’

  He rose quickly, almost snatching his hands from her skin. When he’d gone Ruth crossed her arms over her chest, trying to blank out the awareness of him that had gone through her like lightning, taking her totally by surprise. It had been the briefest possible moment, but it had been enough to show her the intimacy of their life in a new light.

  Friends. Brother and sister. She’d asked for no more. But his touch had reminded her that she was naked beneath the towel robe. There had been a flash of excitement, an insidious sweetness that threatened her before she could control it.

  But she was in control now, she assured herself. And life had enough complications without adding another.

  Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to Pietro again that evening. She wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with the memory that had nearly come to her a few days ago when she’d been talking to Mario.

  ‘Venetian dialect,’ she murmured now. ‘We were saying-something about-what was it? And why does it trouble me now, even though I don’t know what it is? Why can’t I remember?’

  Because you’re afraid to remember, warned a voice in her head. Because once you’ve remembered nothing will ever be the same again. And you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  R UTH couldn’t face an evening in Pietro’s company. If he noticed her agitation he might guess the reason, and that would be worse than anything. Calling through the bathroom door, she told him that she needed an early night and was going straight to bed. By the time he emerged she had gone.

  She lay awake for a long time, wishing her seething brain would grow calmer, but she was still restless when she finally fell asleep. And in that uneasy state, the memory she’d been seeking came back to her.

  It was happening again; she was clasping him, whispering ‘Te voja ben’, kissing him again and again. But it wasn’t Gino in her arms, not Gino’s mouth she had kissed with such passion.

  ‘Lie back, you’re safe now.’

  When she’d heard his voice she’d known it was true. She was safe. She had opened her eyes and seen Pietro.

  No, she thought in urgent self-defence. She could not have kissed Pietro and not known it.

  But his mouth was a different shape from Gino’s, wider, stronger, more mobile. She felt it now against her own as surely as if he were there with her, and she knew which man she had kissed.

  Shocked, she opened her eyes. It was still there, real, sharp-edged, horrifying. It had been Pietro all the time.

  Not by a word or a look had he given her a sign in the days since. He understood, of course. He hadn’t blamed her, had refused to embarrass her. But it had happened, and she couldn’t escape it.

  And now, appalled, she remembered something else. When he had first brought her in from the storm he had undressed her completely, holding her naked body in his arms after he stripped off her wet clothes, then replaced them with dry ones.

  He had done it as impersonally as a nurse. She trusted him well enough to believe that. And yet as she thought of it heat began to spread through her body. He seemed to be there with her, holding her steady while she kissed him frantically with kisses that were meant for Gino, and vowed her love again and again.

  She groaned, dropping her head into her hands, wondering how she could ever face him again.

  ‘He must never know that I’ve realised,’ she whispered. ‘I’d die of shame. I will never, never let him guess.’

  It was easy to say, harder to do. When she went out next morning Minna was already there, pouring coffee, which was a relief as it would surely make things easier. But then Pietro smiled at her, and his mouth was the one she had pressed to hers in her delirium. For a shocking moment she could feel the firm shape of it. And then she knew that nothing was going to be easy.

  ‘It’s not like you to sleep late,’ he chided her good humouredly.

  ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’d rather stay here today if you can manage without me.’

  Something uneasy in her voice made him come to stand in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, saying gently, ‘What is it, Ruth? Aren’t you well?’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she said quickly.

  ‘You don’t sound fine. Has something happened to upset you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said, wishing he wouldn’t stand so close.

  ‘You’d tell me if it had, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Pietro, I’m telling you it’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep, that’s all.’

  If only he would remove his hands from her shoulders, she thought desperately. Didn’t he realise that his nearness now caused a fierce reaction to flow through her that she didn’t know how to handle?

  But of course he didn’t know. And he must never know.

  Having reached its peak, aqua alta began to recede. Within a day the level was normal and the Venetians began the all-too-familiar job of erasing it from their city.

  Ruth helped Mario sweep the last of the water out of the shop, and soon nobody would have known that anything was wrong. It was a point of pride to recover as soon as possible, refusing to let the crisis make a difference.

  But there were some for whom this wasn’t possible. Late that afternoon the door of the shop was flung open and Barone Franco came flying in as fast as his bulk would allow. He was almost in tears.

  ‘Disaster!’ he cried. ‘A terrible tragedy. Where is my friend Pietro?’

  ‘Right here,’ Pietro soothed him. ‘Whatever has happened, Franco?’

  ‘My palace is ruined, destroyed.’

  Pietro calmed him down and managed to draw out the details. It transpired that the house on the island had suffered grievously from the high tide. While not actually ruined, it was in no state for the glamorous ball that was planned, and for which so many expensive tickets had been sold.

  ‘Franco, I warned you that you didn’t protect that place properly,’ Pietro said gently. ‘When you did it up you skimped on the safety features.’

  ‘There was no time. It would have taken several more months. Serafina set her heart on this ball. Now it’s a mess. There’s only a few days to go, and there’s no time to put it right. Serafina is devastated. I must find somewhere else, but everywhere suitable is already taken for other things. Pietro, my friend-’

  ‘No,’ Pietro said at once. ‘Forget it, Franco.’

  ‘But who else can I ask? Pietro, I beg you-you have that great building standing empty. You wouldn’t have to do anything. My own people will co
me in and get it ready. You won’t be troubled.’

  Looking at Pietro’s face, Ruth could tell that this was far from the truth. The thought of strangers invading his peaceful home was horrible to him. But Franco couldn’t see this. He continued pestering while Pietro listened, a withered expression on his face and his hand clenching and unclenching out of sight. Only Ruth noticed this and it gave her a strange feeling, as though the two of them were apart from the rest of the world.

  ‘The trouble with you,’ Franco burbled, ‘is that it’s been too long since you enjoyed yourself. You ought to get out more, give a party.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t agree-’

  ‘Of course you can. It’s not good to shut yourself away. You don’t really mean to refuse me.’

  Ruth regarded the insensitive oaf with something close to hate. She was consumed by a fierce protectiveness towards Pietro. His wealth, his grand status were suddenly nothing, and all she could see was how alone he was. She wanted to scream at Franco, For pity’s sake shut up! Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?

  But she stayed silent, knowing that, in his defiant solitude, Pietro would resent any attempt to rescue him.

  Franco burbled on, oblivious. ‘You’ve hidden away too long. Now it’s time to snap out of it. Lisetta wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve for ever, and this will be the perfect way to come back to the world. Besides, think of having to send back all the tickets.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ Pietro said in a tight voice. ‘By all means let us have the ball in the Palazzo Bagnelli. How shrewd of you to appeal to the businessman in me.’

  Franco beamed, taking this at its face value. But that wasn’t the reason, Ruth knew. Pietro had given in because he was on the rack, and it was the only way to make Franco shut up.

  ‘I knew you’d see sense,’ he chortled. ‘Why don’t we go back there now and-?’

  ‘Tomorrow would be better,’ Pietro said quietly.

  ‘But I’m here now. Let’s get going.’

  Pietro’s hand clenched on a piece of decorative wood and his voice was very controlled, alarmingly controlled, Franco would have thought if he were more perceptive.