Chapter 17 #2
For a moment, she hesitated. It was time to work, not play.
But no one had ever anticipated her needs like this before, or knew she needed a little bit of prodding sometimes.
It reminded her of Daisy and Elsa’s relationship.
One she thought was perfect. Did it mean that if things were different they would be perfect for each other?
She immediately chastised herself for being fanciful and letting her imagination run wild.
But her new life in Venice was about balance, going with the flow and enjoying being her own boss.
If she couldn’t close up for an hour to go and have lunch herself, what was the point?
Besides, if she was staying forever in Italy, she had to act like an Italian and they always prioritised food.
It was time she embraced their more laid-back culture.
‘All right then,’ Beth said, grabbing her coat and keys, a smile pulling at her face.
She left a small window open for Polo to get in should he deign to return while she was out, and Marco helped her secure the outside bookcases.
After she’d locked up, she asked, ‘So where’s the best place to watch the Carnevale fun? ’
‘St Mark’s Square of course. Come on.’ For a second it was almost as if he was thinking of offering her his hand, but then he stuffed it into his pocket and instead, made an awkward gesture with his elbow, which made him look like he was pretending to be a teapot.
Beth repressed a giggle, but despite seeing the funny side, she wished he had taken her hand.
She could imagine his strong fingers wrapping around her own.
She placed her own hands in her pockets, flexing her fingers as though she could rid herself of her imagined feelings.
They followed the sound of the music, loud voices and general noise as they made their way to St Mark’s Square.
The square was always breathtakingly beautiful with the Doge’s Palace, the Basilica and the tower dominating the view.
But today, these historic gems were all but hidden behind troupes of performers, covering every inch of the piazza.
Some were dancing, some performing, their actor voices projecting over the din.
There were mime artists, and one troupe must have been acrobats from the way they were tumbling and throwing each other around.
Everywhere she looked there was colour: the elaborate medieval-style costumes, lace, ribbon and masks.
Performers were on the water too, in gondolas in the lagoon and in the canals winding through the city.
She loved the way the water was such a part of Venice, central to its existence for thousands of years and would continue to be well into its future.
Then there was the music: old-fashioned, medieval tunes mixed with drums, loots and lyres.
She felt like she’d stepped back in time, but that all time periods were happening at once.
Her senses felt overloaded, but she could still pick out the rich scents of freshly cooked tomatoes and garlic drifting on the air from the nearby restaurants.
Her mouth watered as she realised how hungry she was.
As they wound their way through the crowd, Marco turned and held out his hand.
Beth released hers from her pocket, allowing his long, strong fingers to intertwine.
It felt unaccountably intimate, even amongst all these people, and the warmth of his skin travelled through her own, up into her heart, quickening its beats.
‘This way,’ he said, guiding them towards a side street and down to a small restaurant away from the hustle and bustle of the tourists.
Beth had to admit she was grateful for the peace and quiet.
As they moved away from the crowd, she’d expected him to let go of her hand, but he hadn’t yet and a smile formed on her face.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and found he was already watching her.
He smiled and focused on the building ahead, motioning with his other hand at their destination.
‘I didn’t know this place existed,’ Beth said, then added, ‘But to be fair I didn’t know any places existed outside of my walk to and from the galleria.’
‘You were married to your work,’ Marco replied as his hand finally left her own to open the door for them. She noticed its loss immediately, needing the weight of it back.
Though the weather was bright, it wasn’t quite warm enough to sit outside, and Marco pulled a chair out for her at a table by the window so they could still hear the music from the piazza.
Beth undid her coat and shrugged it from her shoulders, placing it on the back of her chair. ‘It’s a cliché, but I was. I tend to get sort of laser-focused on things. I like goals I can head towards and ultimately achieve.’
‘Like with the book barge?’
She laughed as Marco slid into the seat opposite her. ‘No, the book barge was the opposite of something I’d normally do. If I’d ever thought of doing such a thing it would have taken me years of planning. No, that was very much a go with the flow, take a chance kind of thing.’
‘And how do you feel it’s working out?’
The waitress came over, making eyes at Marco, and a stab of jealousy forced Beth to sit back and relax.
He was here with her, she reminded herself.
Albeit as friends. The word seemed to form differently in her brain as though she hated thinking it.
Her feelings for Marco were certainly growing, perhaps more than she’d allowed herself to realise.
They ordered a coffee each and a light lunch, Beth opting for cicchetti with different toppings and Marco a salad.
‘Are you looking forward to dinner tonight?’ Beth asked as she sipped her coffee. The Italians really knew how to make a good cup. The bitter liquid softened by the sweet, frothy milk.
‘Yes, I am. I always like to see my family.’ She couldn’t quite read Marco’s tone and when he shuffled a little, Beth worried it was her presence at the family meal that was making him uncomfortable.
But then he spoke again and she realised with a wave of relief, it wasn’t.
‘You know things can be difficult sometimes, but I do like seeing my brothers and their wives and children. And Mamma. I think you’ll like her.
I should warn you my father might be a little … ’ He struggled to finish the sentence.
‘Are things still difficult between you?’ Beth asked gently.
Marco sighed. ‘Always. I tried to convince him to let me contact a new shop opening in Milan. They’d love to sell our Murano glass, but he’s determined not to see this as a good thing. He thinks if people want glass from Murano, they should be willing to travel to Murano to get it.’
‘What?’ Beth couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.
‘I know.’ He rolled his eyes dramatically and both smiled. ‘But what can I do? I cannot start another argument. It isn’t worth it. He thinks I would appreciate the craft more if I got back into the workshop, but I’ve told him, I cannot. It isn’t for me.’
Her eyes drifted to the small scar on his wrist, almost covered by his shirt cuff.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, his tone brighter. ‘All my brothers will be there with their families tonight too and they’re looking forward to meeting you. Has Francesca warned you it will be very noisy?’
At the mention of his sister’s name, Beth grew tense, the guilt of the secret she was keeping from him growing heavier in her stomach.
Her bond with Cesca had been formed first, but there was undoubtedly a bond between her and Marco now.
Something sizzled between them and whilst they remained friends at times it seemed so much more than that.
She’d speak to Cesca again She had to convince her to tell him the truth, if no one else.
‘She hasn’t actually, but that’s okay. I thought it might be. And I like being around kids.’
‘But you don’t want any yourself?’
The question was so direct and so surprising, she didn’t know what to say.
Marco’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he winced. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. Stupid. I should not have overstepped.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ Seeing his face flame with embarrassment that made him so deliciously vulnerable she wanted to kiss him instantly, she took pity on him.
‘It’s actually nice to have someone to talk about it with.
No one ever seems comfortable broaching the subject because it’s the opposite of what’s expected.
And you’re right. I like being around kids, especially when they get old enough I can talk to them about art and history, but …
no.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t want any myself. Does that shock you?’
He shrugged so casually she wondered if he was faking. ‘No. You’d be surprised how many people feel the same way.’
What did that mean exactly? Did he feel the same way?
Their food arrived and the topic seemed to have come to a natural conclusion, though she couldn’t deny she was curious to know more.
They ate discussing Marco’s artists, ideas he had of other people who might be interested in displaying on the book barge and his plans for an early morning row the next day.
‘Won’t you be too full of wine and good food from dinner?’ she joked.
‘My mother’s wine and good food is exactly the reason I’ll need to go.
If I was still living at home, I’d have to row full time to stay in shape.
But I was wondering—’ He wiped his mouth with the napkin and Beth felt her eyes follow the movement of his lips.
She turned away as soon as he looked up, not wanting to be caught staring. ‘Would you like to join me?’
‘Oh—’ She hadn’t expected him to ask that, and the question floated in her mind as her body reacted to the invitation with instant longing. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Great and shall I pick you up to go to Murano tonight? I’m in Venice all afternoon with meetings; we could catch a water taxi together?’
‘Yeah, that’d be great.’ Beth congratulated herself on the casualness of her tone, though inside it was like fireworks going off.
‘I’ll meet you at say six-thirty?’
‘Can’t wait.’
Marco’s eyes met hers and from the enthusiasm in her reply, she’d clearly lost the coolness of moments before.
Neither of them moved, the moment too loaded with expectation and feeling, words unsaid dancing between them.
Their hands were on the table, almost touching and Beth felt, rather than saw, Marco’s fingers inch towards hers.
They brushed hers gently and she looked up, his eyes pinned on her.
A second later, he cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the napkin.
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for dinner.