Reunited with Her Italian Ex

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘It all happened again, didn’t it? When you came here I asked you the same questions the first evening.’

  ‘You said would a man turn up to drag me home?’ she remembered.

  ‘Yes, it sounded like the practical questions of an employer, but in fact I had this terrible need to know if there was someone in your life, just like the first time. It shocked me. I couldn’t believe it had happened again—’

  ‘With a woman you hated,’ she said gently.

  ‘I didn’t hate you. I told myself I did because I needed to believe it. That was my defence and I clung to it. But things change and—well—’

  ‘I wonder how much things change,’ she murmured. ‘Or do they only seem to have changed because we have changed?’

  ‘Maybe we’ve changed in some things but not in others.’

  ‘I wonder which is which.’

  ‘We might find that out in Venice.’

  ‘Mmm. So Sally thinks we’re a joke. Yes, it’s like fate played a joke on us. Sometimes I almost fancy I can hear laughter echoing from the heavens at the way we fell for it.’

  ‘We didn’t fall for it,’ he said, drawing her close. ‘We won. Fate lost. When Sally sees us together she’ll understand that we’re having the last laugh.’

  ‘You really want me to come to Venice with you?’

  ‘I think it’s important that we go back there together.’

  She understood. By returning they would confront their memories and that would help to show them the way forward.

  ‘Everything that happened there looks different now,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed gladly. ‘So different. So much happier. The sooner we go the better. Then we can have a few days before the christening.’

  At once he called Venice again, to say they would be arriving that evening. Then he stopped, regarding Natasha uneasily.

  ‘Sally says one room or two?’ he said. ‘What’s your choice?’

  She was suddenly struck by inspiration. ‘I’d like the same room I had last time.’

  ‘That’s a single room.’

  ‘Perhaps we should be a little discreet.’

  He seemed about to protest, but then understanding dawned and he turned back to the phone. At last he hung up.

  ‘She’s fixing it.’

  ‘Does she think I’m crazy?’

  ‘No, she said it made a lot of sense to put the clock back. I don’t need to ask what that means, do I?’

  ‘I don’t think you do.’

  ‘Let’s get packing.’

  *

  Not long after, they bid farewell to Giorgio and set off for the Verona railway station to catch the train. It was just over seventy miles, and an hour and a half passed before they found themselves on the causeway that led over the water from the mainland to Venice.

  She remembered the last time she had made this journey, leaning out of the window to see the beautiful buildings grow closer. How excited she’d been during that journey, how thrilled at the thought of spending time in the magical city.

  At Venice station Mario hailed a water taxi and soon they were on their way to the hotel on the Grand Canal.

  ‘There it is,’ he said, pointing forward. ‘Remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ she breathed.

  It was a magnificent building, a converted palace that seemed to sum up everything that was glamorous about Venice. As soon as they entered Damiano and Sally came to meet them. Damiano and Mario slapped each other on the shoulders in brotherly fashion, while Sally embraced Natasha.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you again,’ she said. ‘And Pietro has really looked forward to your return. He says when you were last here you used to talk to him about football.’

  ‘That’s right. And last night England played Italy.’ Natasha chuckled. ‘Luckily, Italy won.’

  Pietro appeared. He was in his early teens, already looking strikingly like his father, and full of beans.

  ‘Did you see the match?’ he challenged at once, after which perfect communication was established between them.

  ‘How’s Toby?’ she asked, meaning Pietro’s spaniel, who had helped bring Damiano and Sally together.

  ‘Here he is,’ Pietro said eagerly, drawing his furry friend forward.

  She greeted Toby, received his welcoming lick and looked up to find Mario watching them with a pleased smile, as though everything was working out as he’d hoped.

  Then Sally took them to see the two children she’d borne her husband—little Franco, nearly three years old, whose birth had nearly cost her life, and Elena, the little girl she’d borne recently.

  ‘Supper’s in half an hour,’ Sally said.

  As promised, Natasha had the same room as before which, at first, gave her a slightly weird ghostly feeling. But it soon faded against the different, happier, reality of the present. Mario’s room was just a few feet along the corridor, and soon he appeared to escort her downstairs to Damiano’s private dining room.

  It was clear to Natasha that she was being welcomed into the family. During the meal that followed she was toasted as an honoured guest.

  ‘Wait till you see the church where we’ll have the christening,’ Pietro said. ‘It’s where Mamma and Papà got married.’

  ‘That was quite a ceremony,’ Mario recalled. ‘Toby was there too, practically one of the witnesses.’

  ‘I’m sure he performed his role perfectly,’ Natasha said.

  As she spoke she tickled Toby’s head and was rewarded with a woof!

  It was a happy evening. A sense of peace came over her as she realised yet again the true purpose of this trip: to put right the mistakes and misunderstandings of the past.

  Only Sally’s brother Charlie was missing, which Sally explained with sisterly frankness. ‘Out making himself objectionable again.’

  ‘What kind of objectionable?’ Natasha asked, laughing.

  ‘Women, gambling—you name it, he can do it. Mind you, he’s not as bad as he was. Mario helped reform him a bit.’

  ‘Me? Reform?’ Mario squeaked. ‘That’s practically an insult.’

  ‘Well, Damiano told me you had a “guardian angel” side, and you did keep Charlie on the straight and narrow—more or less. Time for bed, anyway.’

  The party broke up. Mario announced that he and Natasha wanted to take a walk. The others nodded in perfect understanding and slipped away.

  ‘A walk?’ she queried.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

  ‘What was the idea—?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure of being alone with you. Let’s have a coffee. Not here—in the restaurant.’

  It was almost closing time and most of the restaurant tables were empty. At once she knew why he’d brought her here. There in the corner was the table where she’d sat at their first meeting. He led her over, showed her to a seat and sat beside her. A waiter brought them coffee.

  ‘You were just here by the window,’ he said. ‘I watched you for a few minutes, trying to believe my eyes, rather like that guy over there.’

  He pointed to a young man standing just inside the door, his eyes fixed on another table just a few feet away from them, where sat a young woman in her twenties. She was beautiful, and she was alone.

  ‘I can guess what he’s thinking,’ Mario said. ‘He’s working out a good excuse to approach her.’

  ‘You can’t know what he’s thinking.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can. When I look at him I see myself. In fact, I see every guy trying to summon up the courage to approach a woman he knows is going to matter more than any other. Look, there he goes.’

  As they watched, the young man approached the girl and gestured to ask if anyone was sitting with her. She shook her head and he took a seat.

  ‘Does he work here?’ Natasha asked.

  ‘No, he’ll have to think of another excuse. He doesn’t seem to be doing too badly.’

  Amused, they watched the couple for a few minutes. Then Mario said with a touch of unease
, ‘There’s something I keep wanting to ask you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He hesitated, then said, ‘What happened to you after we parted? I know you worked hard and Jenson gave you a bad time, but was there—anything else?’

  ‘You mean another man? But I’ve already told you about that.’

  ‘You’ve told me you’re not married, you haven’t settled down with anyone, but that’s not what I meant.’

  She gave a gentle chuckle. ‘You mean am I secretly yearning for someone? Take a guess.’

  ‘No, I can’t see you yearning for someone who didn’t return the feeling. But surely in the last two years you must have had some sort of romantic interest.’

  ‘No. Apart from the horrible Jenson I’ve been alone. Which is a kind of freedom,’ she added wryly.

  ‘I know exactly how that feels.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been alone,’ she teased. ‘Every woman who passes gives you yearning looks.’

  ‘But what matters is to be wanted by the one you yourself want,’ he said. ‘The others don’t count.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said softly.

  ‘So you’re telling me there was no other man?’

  ‘Hmm!’ She appeared to consider this before saying gently, ‘I suppose I could always say that it’s none of your business. How about that?’

  ‘It’s certainly one response.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I could go and bury myself under the bedclothes because I couldn’t cope with you snubbing me. Or I could get blind drunk. Or I could say that your lovers definitely are my business. And always will be. So now what?’

  His eyes met hers, gleaming with a mixture of humour and intensity that struck her to the heart.

  ‘My lovers,’ she mused. ‘I wonder just what you’ve heard.’

  ‘Not a thing. After you vanished I tried to hunt you down for a little while, but when you never made contact with me I thought—well—’ He gave a slight shrug.

  ‘You thought, “To hell with the silly English girl! If she wants to play it like that let her go and jump in the lake.”’

  ‘Well, maybe once or twice, but I didn’t mean it,’ he said, colouring.

  ‘Oddly enough, I did end up in a lake shortly afterwards. It was a pleasure trip and the boat collapsed.’

  ‘What? Were you hurt?’

  ‘No, I just I got wet. Hey, I wonder if you made that happen. Strange to think we were in touch all that time and didn’t know it.’

  ‘Possibly. You were never off my mind.’

  ‘Nor you off mine. And I did some cursing of my own.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to know about that,’ he said with a grin. ‘It could give me nightmares.’

  ‘If we’re asking about each other’s lovers—what about yours? You must have had plenty.’

  ‘Not lovers,’ he said. ‘Girlfriends, perhaps. I won’t deny that I’ve enjoyed the company of a certain kind of woman because that way I could briefly forget the way you threw me overboard. But there wasn’t anyone that I loved, even for a moment. It was always you, even when I most desperately didn’t want it to be you.’

  ‘Couldn’t get rid of me, huh?’ she teased.

  ‘No matter how hard I tried.’ He gave a warm laugh. ‘You’re a pesky woman. I told you a hundred times to get out of my heart but you just said, “Nope. Here I am and here I’m staying.”’

  ‘That sounds like me.’

  He looked up suddenly. Following his gaze, she saw the other couple rise from the table and depart, hand in hand.

  ‘I guess he got lucky,’ Mario mused.

  ‘Or maybe she did.’

  ‘I didn’t get lucky. Damiano called me to look after another customer and when I returned you’d gone. If only you could have heard me cursing.’ He drained his coffee. ‘Let’s go.’

  Upstairs, he came with her as far as her door.

  ‘Remember last time?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, we said goodnight at this door. I went inside and you went away.’

  ‘I didn’t really go away. I stayed out here in the corridor for ages.’

  She opened the door and stretched out a hand to him.

  ‘No need for that this time,’ she said.

  He took her hand at once, eagerly letting her draw him inside, then going into her arms, which she opened to him. It was she who drew them to the bed, he who followed her lead, but slowly, as though aware that they were rewriting history. Once they had wanted each other without satisfaction. Now they embraced satisfaction eagerly, joyfully.

  There was physical pleasure in their caresses, but more than that was the joy of rediscovering each other. To retread the road, each seeing the other with new eyes, exploring new diversions, making wonderful discoveries; these were things they had never dared to dream of.

  Afterwards, as they lay together in each other’s arms, Natasha gave a sudden soft chuckle.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘What did I do that makes you laugh?’

  ‘Don’t get defensive. You could make me laugh and still be “macho”.’

  She laughed again and he frowned, demanding, ‘So what is it?’

  ‘It’s what Sally said about you having a “guardian angel” side. That’s the last thing I’d ever have suspected about you. A rebel, a pain in the butt, a pesky clown—any of them. But a guardian angel? Or any kind of angel. I doubt it.’

  His annoyance faded and he kissed her forehead. ‘Thanks. I see you really understand me.’

  ‘You don’t mind being called those things?’

  ‘Not at all. I’d have minded being called an angel. That would have been insulting. But I think “pain in the butt” rather suits me.’

  ‘Definitely,’ she said, kissing him. ‘Now, I’m going to sleep. You’ve exhausted me for the night. Goodnight, “guardian angel”.’

  She snuggled against him and in a few moments she was asleep.

  Guardian angel, he thought. That’s almost funny, considering how I hated you only recently. But somehow things took a different turn.

  He rested his head against her and in a few minutes he too was asleep. After several hours he awoke to find her eyes still closed and her head on his shoulder. When he ventured to move slightly her arms tightened, as though even in sleep she needed to keep him close.

  He clasped her back, offering her the embrace she needed for reassurance.

  Romeo’s words drifted through his mind again. It is my lady…oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were.

  But she does know, he mused. If she knows anything by now, it’s that I love her.

  He kissed her gently, murmuring, ‘You are my lady. You are my love.’

  She sighed and nestled closer, smiling as though she’d heard him and been reassured. He leaned against her, happy and willing to sleep again, but then a noise from his phone disturbed him.

  ‘Curses,’ he muttered. ‘My mobile phone. Where is it?’

  Undressing hastily, he hadn’t noticed it fall to the floor. Now he eased himself gently away from Natasha and leaned down to pick up the phone. Connecting, he found a text from an unknown number:

  You’re taking a bigger risk than you know. She’s mine. Get lost.

  For a moment he was simply bewildered. Who could the message be from? But then the answer came to him like a clap of thunder.

  Elroy Jenson. The man who’d vindictively destroyed Natasha’s career because she’d dared to defy him. The man who’d spied on her from a distance, watching where she fled to escape him. The man who still had his claws in her, and would deepen them if he could.

  He was swept by such rage that his head was dizzy and the whole world seemed to turn black.

  ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘She’s not yours. She’s mine. She’s mine. She always was. And she always will be.’

  Behind him, Natasha stirred, murmuring, ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Go back to sleep. Nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all. Your guardian angel will dea
l with it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘HOW ARE YOU enjoying Verona?’ Sally asked Natasha at breakfast next morning.

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘And Verona loves her,’ Mario said. ‘She’s doing a great job for our hotels.’

  ‘Perhaps she can come here later and do something for Venice hotels,’ Damiano said.

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ Natasha said. ‘I’ll take a stroll around Venice this morning.’ She glanced at Mario before saying slowly, ‘Just to remind myself what it’s like.’

  He nodded.

  After breakfast they slipped out into the narrow alley that ran by the hotel.

  ‘You walked this way alone the first time,’ he reminded her. ‘But I wasn’t far behind you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You know? You mean you knew it then?’

  ‘Yes, I told the receptionist where I was going, and you were nearby. When I came out I heard your footsteps behind me.’

  ‘So you always knew I was following you?’

  ‘No, but I hoped you were. I went into a shop to give you a chance to catch up. But you didn’t.’

  ‘I was tempted. When you stopped I worked out a plan to go into the shop casually and just “happen” to meet you. But I lost my nerve, so I waited a bit.’

  ‘Lost your nerve? You?’

  ‘You have that effect on me.’

  ‘I’ll remember that. It could be useful.’

  ‘Be honest. You already knew that you scared me stiff.’

  Laughing, they went on their way.

  At last they came to the Grand Canal, the great S-shaped stream of water that wound through the city. Boats of every kind filled it. Just coming up was a vaporetto, one of the great water buses that transported passengers all over the city. Small water taxis were everywhere, but also the boats that everyone came to Venice to see, gondolas. Natasha looked eagerly at the slim, elegant conveyances, propelled by a man with one oar.

  ‘You were standing here when you saw your first gondola close up,’ he remembered.

  ‘And I couldn’t think how a gondola could go straight when it was only being rowed on one side,’ she said. ‘You told me that that side bulged more than the other, so the water took longer to slide past. I didn’t understand, so you said I should take a ride in it. You hailed the gondolier—like you’re doing now.’