Chapter 15
Marco dropped her heavy suitcase on the living room floor and rotated his shoulder.
‘If there was one thing I’d change about Venice it would be that cars could be used in exceptional circumstances.’
Beth lowered a suitcase. She knew his one was even heavier as it contained mostly books, but she hadn’t wanted to say so. ‘Ah, but then the buildings would get covered in black pollution and it would sink even lower.’
‘That is true, but it can make life awkward. Do you mind if I sit?’ He motioned to the small sofa.
‘No, please do. Would you like a glass of wine?’
Earlier, while Marco was taking a bag to her new home, she’d gone to the local shop and bought some crostini, good wine, ready-made panzanella and garlic and rosemary focaccia.
She’d already invited Marco to stay. It was the least she could do.
Now, her stomach was rumbling, and she couldn’t wait to dive in.
Neither could Polo who’d been retrieved from the book barge and was currently circling her feet waiting to be fed.
‘Will it be a large one?’ Marco asked, cheekily.
She laughed. ‘It definitely will. And here, Polo. You greedy cat.’ She placed his food down on the floor in the corner of the kitchen she’d decided was his space.
The small kitchen was already beginning to feel like home and thanks to being fully furnished it had everything she needed.
Finding two glasses and arranging the food on several plates, she brought them over and placed them on the small coffee table in front of the two sofas arranged in an L-shape.
With the gorgeous beams overhead that ran through the entire apartment, it really did feel special. It was small, but perfect for her.
They’d opened the windows to air it but as they sat, they didn’t feel the chill wind after their exertions.
Beth could hear the water lapping against the building and enjoyed its soothing sound.
Sometimes she forgot how water was everywhere in this city – its lifeblood – and reminded herself never to take being here for granted.
She could never have planned to have achieved the things she had, or if she had been imaginative enough to plan this course, it would have taken her months to bring it to fruition.
Her tendency to consider all options and think through every possibility would have delayed her progress.
It went to show that sometimes, taking chances and acting on instinct (or should that be impulse?) wasn’t the worst thing to do.
‘I’m excited for Marcella’s lace,’ she said as they both settled back into their seats. Her body ached from the busy day, but her soul felt at peace as some of her worries lifted. ‘She’s incredibly talented.’
‘She is. We’ve been able to raise her profile, so designers are contacting her, asking her to make lace for their designs. Sometimes she has to turn them down she is so busy.’
‘And that’s thanks to you?’ she asked, trying to eat the delicious focaccia at a reasonable rate and not stuff it all into her mouth in one go, as it was too delicious to resist.
‘It’s thanks to her talent,’ Marco replied, helping himself to some of the food.
‘But I’m sure you helped a little,’ she teased.
‘Maybe a little.’
Suddenly, Beth realised how much the deal he’d just brokered had helped her rather than Marcella.
She’d be the one truly benefiting from the sales; Marcella didn’t need the money if she was turning down work from big-name designers.
Hope sprung in her chest. Did that mean something?
That he’d done it only for her? Her fingers tingled and she watched him as he continued speaking, her heart beating louder in her chest.
‘She should think about expanding, but she won’t let anyone else make the lace.
Not if it has her name on it. I just wish my father would let me do the same for our business.
He likes the old ways and no matter how much I prove myself he won’t let me help.
’ Polo jumped up and snuggled next to him. Marco smiled.
‘Is it struggling?’ Beth asked, surprised at his honesty. Was it tiredness forcing his guard down?
‘No, but it could do better. My father doesn’t want to see it that way though. He thinks as long as we are doing fine, that’s enough.’
‘But it isn’t for you?’
She sat back, sipping her wine, and again, waited for a brisk change of subject but instead he said: ‘You have to understand, it’s not about the money.
Yes, I would like my parents’ retirement to be secured, for the business never to have to worry about cash flow and my brothers to pass it on to their own children, but it’s also about telling others about this amazing gift – this amazing history – my family has. ’
‘I understand,’ she said quietly as he reached for his glass.
Again, he pushed his hair back, scrunching it in his fist at the back of his head.
She was beginning to realise it was almost a nervous gesture.
Did that mean he’d been nervous when he said she looked beautiful and wasn’t just forced to say it?
Heat rose in her chest, and she sipped her wine to calm herself.
‘What made you turn to PR in the first place?’
‘I—’ He stopped, and she looked up, food halfway to her mouth. She lowered her hand as his eyes clouded, and he rubbed the small spot of scar tissue on his wrist. Beth prepared herself to be brushed off.
‘There was an accident when I was younger,’ he said, and Beth softened.
‘I’m sorry. Please, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’ll respect your privacy; you don’t have to say anything.’
He looked at her, his ice-blue eyes piercing hers. Her breath hitched a little.
‘It’s okay. Everyone tells me it wasn’t that bad really. That no one died. But I – I slipped when I was blowing glass as a teenager and Cesca got hurt. I got hurt too but … She pretends like it was nothing, but she won’t blow glass now and neither will I.’
That explained a lot, not just about him, but about Cesca, and the tensions between father and son.
‘If it was an accident you can’t blame yourself, and it sounds like you were young too.’
‘I was a teenager. I probably shouldn’t have been doing it anyway, but you start young when it’s in your family.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But thank you for saying so.’
‘You don’t believe me,’ she replied, tilting her head.
‘I don’t believe anyone who says that, and they’ve been saying it for years.
Now—’ He took a crostini and chewed, following it with a drink of wine.
Beth drew her eyes away from him, worried she might stare.
Was there anything more attractive than a man being vulnerable?
And a truly handsome man at that? ‘How do you feel about opening properly?’
‘I’m excited. And—’ An idea had just occurred to her and this was the perfect opportunity to ask. ‘Umm, Marco …’
He looked up, panzanella stacked on top of a piece of focaccia almost falling to the tabletop as he paused with it halfway to his mouth.
‘I was wondering, umm … you remember Marcella talking about the masquerade ball?’
‘Mmm hmm.’ He pressed a hand to his mouth as he chewed.
‘Well, I was thinking, you’ve done so much to help me already and this might be a way I could pay you back a little.’
‘What could? You’re already paying me back by paying my clients commission.’
‘I know, but, let’s be honest, while I hope it’ll make them some decent money, it probably won’t for a while.
Not until people really know where I am and I start to build the business up, but in the meantime, I was thinking …
’ It was now or never and if he turned back to business and refused, she’d have to face that embarrassment.
‘Why don’t you come with me to the ball?
There’ll be a lot of artists attending, maybe some you can convert into clients, and there’ll be people from all the galleries and museums coming too.
You could form some useful links, I think.
I mean, I know you have lots already, but I just thought—’
‘I’d love to,’ he replied, before she’d even finished speaking. Their eyes met and they smiled at one another.
Happiness flashed in his eyes and he seemed truly excited. ‘There is someone who goes to the ball every year who I’ve never been able to sign to my agency despite my best efforts.’
‘Oh, who’s that?’
‘A woman called Signora Cadora. She’s a famous mosaicist. She doesn’t really need PR but if I could represent her it would be a big coup for my business.’
‘Great!’ Beth said, her nerves vanishing.
‘But Beth,’ Marco said kindly. ‘I normally try to keep my personal and professional lives separate, but you didn’t have to convince me; I’d have been delighted to go whether it helps my business or not.’
Beth’s breath hitched as their eyes met and the words seemed to carry far more weight than anything else he’d said. ‘You would?’
Marco’s eyes stayed on her a moment too long and in that moment, all the air seemed to be sucked from the room and replaced with a heavy, electric atmosphere. Something stirred deep inside her body, sending her nerves tingling with anticipation.
‘Yes. We’re … friends, yes?’
‘Yes!’ she replied a little too loudly. ‘Friends. Umm … great. That’s … great. I’ll—’ Why couldn’t she form sentences? Was it happiness that he’d said yes or disappointment that he saw them as just friends. ‘I’ll umm, send you all the details.’
Still watching her in a way that made her chest fizz, his gaze finally fell away, and he drank the last of his wine. ‘I should probably go. You must be exhausted from today and I understand from Cesca that you have a lot of work to do tomorrow.’
‘I do,’ Beth replied with a laugh, feeling back on firmer ground. ‘I’ve been slacking with the painting and I’ll have some catching up to do.’
‘Then I’ll say goodnight. I’m still talking to my clients so if another wants to meet, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’ She stood too and, unexpectedly, Marco took a step towards her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. His lips touched her skin so lightly she was surprised at the burning sensation it left as her mind imprinted the sensation in her memory. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ she managed, her words barely more than a whispered mumble, her senses thrown into a tailspin.
He began to walk towards the door and with the heat of his lips still on her skin, she found herself glued to the spot. She heard the door close softly and the sound of his footsteps fading through the open window.
Coming to, her cheek was still tingling as she tidied up their plates.
Why had she ever agreed to keep Cesca’s secret?
She felt like the worst person imaginable.
Marco was being so kind and helpful, and now he’d agreed to go to the ball with her, which sent tingles down her spine.
She was attracted to him, and not just physically.
She liked him. Really liked him. She felt wretched.
But despite her guilt, knowing they’d soon be spending an evening together made her happier than ever that she’d stayed in Venice, and as she spent the first night in her new home, the worry and doubt of the morning couldn’t have been further from her mind.
Still, as she readied for bed, the creeping guilt that she knew something Marco didn’t, something that Cesca thought would upset him, something that might ruin her chances with him, if those chances even existed, tinged the night with worry and frustration. Cesca had to tell him. And soon.