Chapter 36
For one wild second, I think Veronica won’t notice anything different about the floats. They’re moored tight together and the light is draining out of the sky, leaving behind a grey-blue dusk. Mostly, though, it’s because she’s looking at us, not the boats, checking we’re still all in one piece.
I step squarely into her eyeline, blocking her view as casually as I can.
But Fulvio steps closer, finger already pointing.
Veronica catches the movement. ‘What are you playing at, Fulvio? The parade’s about to start and I have to get back to Silvia and the sponsors.’
I hadn’t realized I’d been hanging on to Leo’s arm, but I grip it harder now. I might want to throttle Fulvio most days, but …
‘It’s not his fault, Mamma,’ Leo says, echoing my thoughts. ‘I’m the one who suggested making some adjustments to our display.’
‘Me too,’ I add quickly.
‘Me too,’ Nadia, Alessandra and a few other students chime in.
‘Adjustments?’
The way Veronica’s eyes widen as they sweep along the boats would almost be funny, if it weren’t for the look of betrayal that settles over her face. She removes her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose.
‘Leonardo … what are you doing?’
‘Taking a risk, Mamma. Showing the sponsors the real me. And sometimes that means breaking rules – even the ones we respect. I think you know what I mean.’
She frowns, still lost. So Leo pulls up the photo on his phone. Veronica’s old watercolour glows on the screen.
‘I know you studied classical art, but you did other things too, before Papà’s career took over … before the school. I’m asking the artist who painted this to trust us. Just let us try.’
Veronica shakes her head. ‘Your father …’
‘I’ll tell him it was me,’ Leo cuts in quickly. ‘I’ll take the blame.’
Veronica stills. I’m sure she’s going to shut us down. Cancel everything. Then she exhales, long and slow.
‘No, Leonardo. This is my responsibility.’ She gestures at the floats rocking in the canal. ‘I’m sorry. I clearly haven’t been listening to you. To any of you.’ Her hand brushes his cheek, softer than I’ve ever seen her. ‘We’ll talk later.’
Leo and I exchange a shocked look. She’s letting us do this.
Hands steady me as I climb on to my float, but I concentrate on the people lining the fondamenta, waiting for our parade to begin. I can still track Veronica’s red hair, a flare of colour bobbing through the press of people. I can’t believe what just happened. She actually gave us the go-ahead.
And then she stops, phone pressed to her ear as she twists round, eyes locked on mine. She waves frantically like she wants me to get off. I have no idea why, but it’s too late now.
The boat is already moving.
A spotlight blasts across the water, catching me full in the face. I blink hard, half-blinded. Then the audio kicks in – low, rumbling notes that thrum through my body.
Our parade blazes to life.
People cheer from the sidelines and by the time I refocus, I’ve lost sight of Veronica entirely. Was the call about me? The thought sends my stomach on a spin cycle.
I concentrate on Leo just ahead of me, looking like the picture-perfect boy from his painting – serious, composed. Then he bends, grabs a spray can, and grins that grin that changes his whole face.
I don’t see more than the first hiss of paint across the canvas, because it’s my signal to begin. I clutch the controller and start the sequence of digital overlays.
La Bella glows, then transforms – her eyes flare lagoon-blue, slicks of seaweed drip down her hair. And while I can’t see it, I know a horse’s tail is swishing angrily over the side, a trail of silver hoofprints projected in our wake.
My kelpie girl, risen from the depths and reimagined for Venice.
Light and colour erupt from the other floats – Nadia’s scraps of glass and plastic flashing jewel-bright, while Alessandra’s paper-lace flutters in the wind, making it look as though her figure is dancing on the water.
The crowd’s delight rolls over us in waves, a rising rush of voices as phones lift, recording every second.
Then, at the very back, the exception: Fulvio’s float. Stiff, untouched, a perfect classical portrait of himself – laurel crown, velvet robes, frozen in Venice’s Golden Age. His boat trails at a distance like it doesn’t want to be part of the same parade at all.
Pride bubbles up inside me. This performance … our different styles, my digital layers coming to life on the canal – there’s so much more to art than I’d realized, so much more to discover.
Our boats slow at the final point near the bridge, where the crowd is thickest. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. We did it. We actually did it.
Leo catches my eye. He’s grinning too.
And then I hear a shout to my left.
‘Evie?’
I freeze. Because I’d recognize my dad’s deep voice and strong Scottish accent anywhere.