Prologue #2
‘Me too. Kind of. I’m actually here with a mate, but he’s got one hell of a hangover and refused to leave the hotel this morning, so I’m exploring the city on my own. We’re only here for a couple of days and there’s so much to see. I don’t intend to waste it.’
The waiter reappeared, bearing an assortment of bruschette, the toppings held in place with toothpicks. Gosh, Rocco has a good appetite, Giselle thought in astonishment.
‘Oops, it seems I’ve ordered too much,’ he said.
She narrowed her eyes. There was no ‘oops’ about it. He’d known what he was doing, but the food looked delicious, and she was too hungry to care, even though it was eye-wateringly expensive.
‘Help yourself,’ he urged.
So she did, and as she lifted a piece of bruschetta onto her plate he said, ‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘Not much to tell,’ she replied. Her life was boring compared to her sister’s.
He tried again. ‘What are you studying?’
‘I’m not a student.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, I thought—’
‘That because my sister is at uni, I am too?’
‘It’s a reasonable assumption. So, what do you do?’
‘I’m working in a bar at the moment.’ If she sounded defensive, it was because she felt it.
‘Not decided what you want to do when you grow up yet?’ he asked.
Some of the tension seeped out of her shoulders. He wasn’t judging her. ‘Not yet.’
‘Any leanings towards one thing or another? Not fashion, I take it?’
‘Because I’m not dressed like a Venetian model?’
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his expression adorably dismayed – until he realised she was teasing, and he raised his glass, acknowledging that he’d been had.
‘Anything arty, really,’ she said. ‘Painting, textiles, pottery… You name it, I’ve tried it. But I haven’t found my passion yet. Not like my sister. Isadora – Izzy – has always loved fashion.’
‘Maybe you’ll find it in Venice.’ He smiled, and her heart did a somersault.
‘Maybe.’
As they finished their meal, she found herself telling him that Izzy was her very different non-identical twin, that she loved history, nature and wild places, and she also loved romance and wanted to visit Paris at some point. But first, there was Venice.
‘What have you seen so far?’ he asked.
‘The Doge’s Palace, the Grand Canal and lots of little backstreets.’
‘Fancy exploring together? It’ll be more fun.’
She studied him, debating whether to refuse. But she didn’t, and as the afternoon turned into music-filled evening and then hot sultry night, she was glad she hadn’t because she didn’t want this day to end.
When he finally took her in his arms to kiss her, and she kissed him back with a passion that matched his, she hoped it didn’t have to.
Sunlight flooded into the room through the gently moving voile
curtains, and the sounds of the city drifted up from the narrow street
below.
Giselle stretched luxuriously and turned her head to find Rocco watching her. He was lying on his side, his sun-tanned skin dark against the white sheets. Desire flared in his eyes.
‘I’m hungry,’ she announced.
‘So am I.’ The growl in his voice did something exciting to her insides.
Last night had been magical. To experience that degree of intimacy for the first time, with such a gorgeous man and in such a beautiful city, was beyond her wildest expectations.
It had been so romantic. The only thing lacking was love, that deep emotional connection Giselle yearned to experience someday. But not yet.
She had too much life to live, and she was also under no illusion that she would see Rocco again. They weren’t soulmates. They weren’t destined to be together, and she was fine with that. She wasn’t in love, but she was probably in lust. Rocco was a very moreish kind of guy. Breakfast could wait.
Eventually, though, it was time to leave the pensione. Venice called, and Giselle heard the city’s siren song. There was still so much more to see before she journeyed back to Milan this evening.
Still, she didn’t want to leave Rocco just yet. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye…
‘What time is your train?’ he asked.
‘Eight thirty this evening.’ It was slightly later, but she wanted to make sure she arrived at the station in plenty of time.
‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he murmured, wrapping her in his arms.
‘You have to; we need to check out soon.’
‘We have all day. If you want.’ His gaze was sombre, intense. He’d had his wicked way with her, but he wasn’t going to love her and run. She appreciated that, even though she’d been fully prepared for it. Hell, she’d been considering doing that very thing herself.
‘Do you have anything in particular in mind?’ she asked.
‘Glass blowing.’
She raised her eyebrows as he continued. ‘Venice has been making glass for hundreds of years. The city is famous for it.’
‘I read something about that. Isn’t it made on an island?’ She’d seen loads of shops selling the most exquisite glass yesterday, all of it well out of her price range.
‘Murano,’ he confirmed. ‘There are about a hundred glass factories, apparently. My grandmother told me about them.’
‘Then that’s where we’ll go,’ Giselle stated.
A few more hours with Rocco would be wonderful. She had an image of one final passionate kiss on the station’s platform. Oh yes, Giselle was definitely a romantic…
The vaporetto, or water bus, took around fifteen minutes from San Zaccaria near St Mark’s Square to reach the island of Murano.
It was another warm day, and the breeze on the open water was welcome.
But the growing heat as midday approached didn’t prepare her for the furnace temperature of the glass blowing demonstration, and her dress, already limp from yesterday’s wear, now clung damply to her.
She was glad to slip inside the air-conditioned museum afterwards, although she did her best to avoid the shop and temptation, despite that she’d dearly love to take a physical memento home with her to go with her fabulous memories.
She thought Rocco was being careful with money too, because he suggested buying a snack for lunch and sitting on the steps of Faro di Murano, the thirty-five-metre-tall lighthouse, next to where they were to board the vaporetto.
Perching on the sun-baked white stones, facing out to the Adriatic, Giselle and Rocco ate their food, letting the chatter of people in the cafe behind wash over them, and listening to the waves lapping on the jumble of rocks below.
After they’d finished their picnic, Rocco stood up, wiped his hands on his black jeans and peered down at the water.
‘Fish!’ he cried, and Giselle leant forward to look.
They were small and lithe, darting and diving.
Rocco clambered down onto the rocks, and as she heard the crunch and skitter of pebbles under his feet, she wondered if he was allowed to be there, so near to the clear water.
Feeling content and replete, she propped her back against the lighthouse and turned her face to the sun.
Pink, red and orange flared across her eyelids, a rainbow of warmth.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ he said.
She opened her eyes, squinting up at him.
He was holding out a red-coloured stone in the shape of a heart.
No, not stone. Frosted glass? Then she realised what she was looking at – sea glass! She’d seen similar when they’d lived on Skye, before the family had moved to East Kilbride. She’d loved Skye and had been desolate to leave it. Izzy had been overjoyed.
Rocco handed the piece of sea glass to her. ‘There’s more,’ he said, bending to sift through the pebbles, and she watched him indulgently.
He reminded her of her sister – bubbling with life and enthusiasm, a foil for her own quieter and more reserved nature.
Scattering a selection of sea glass on the hot stone step, he sank down beside her, and Giselle picked up each piece to examine it one by one.
‘Beautiful,’ she murmured. Each was different in shape, size and colour, and as she rearranged them, a picture began to form.
Suddenly, a flame ignited within her, and she stared at Rocco in wonder.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘For what?’
‘For today.’ And possibly for the rest of her life. Because she now knew what she wanted to do. She might never see Rocco again, but as her palm closed around the little red heart, she knew she would never forget him.