Chapter 18 #2
‘She doesn’t need to worry,’ Beth said, hoping to move her own thoughts on by speaking of something else. ‘It would take more than that to create a bad impression with me.’
‘I feel I did,’ Marco said, again being so direct it caught her off guard.
‘You? When?’
‘At the rowing club party. I know I change when talking of business. I know I often seem … difficult.’
‘I wouldn’t say difficult. Perhaps a little … corporate. But then, I suppose we all change when talking about our work. I used to turn into a different person when giving tours. I found it easier than trying to be myself. I’ve always preferred being behind the scenes.’
‘I know what you mean. Can I admit that I’m nervous about the masquerade ball?’
‘You? Why?’
‘I want Signora Cadora to work with me, and I worry I’ll get tongue-tied.’
‘You’ll be fine. And I’m sure she’ll be interested in meeting you even if she doesn’t agree to anything right now. The night won’t be wasted.’
‘No, it won’t.’ He glanced at her again, his words loaded with meaning she was almost too scared to think about.
She wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but Marco’s body pressed a little more against her own, and she found herself relaxing into the noise and mayhem behind her, her shoulders dropping.
‘We should go in,’ Marco said. ‘Ready?’
She nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
Sat around the enormous wooden table with Paola and Elio at each end, the family gathered around the middle.
Conversation flowed easily. The table was laden with dishes of baked pasta, a delicious-smelling leg of lamb, and several types of vegetables cooked in multitudes of ways.
Beth couldn’t imagine how long it had taken Paola to prepare it all, but her mouth was watering at the smell of artichokes, herbs, cooked meats and cheese-infused pasta.
Everyone included her in their discussions and were curious about the book barge and her change of career.
‘I’m grateful to Cesca and Marco,’ she said, glancing around the table as dishes were passed to her and she loaded her plate. ‘Cesca’s skills have been invaluable, and Marco’s contacts will really help me to offer something different. I hope I can make some money for his clients too, of course.’
Elio made a grumbling noise, and Paola shot him a warning glance. The temperature in the room dropped as though someone had poured a bucket of ice on the table.
‘It’s not always about money,’ Elio said in Italian, ignoring his wife’s pursed mouth and hard stare. ‘It is about the work and tradition.’
Beside her, Marco’s hand clenched around his fork, then dropped below the table and did the same in his lap. As discreetly as she could, Beth moved her hand on top of his and gently held it. He didn’t move, but she felt him relax slightly under her touch.
‘I understand,’ Beth began, answering Elio in his own language.
Elio’s eyes widened in surprise, a ruddy redness bringing two spots of colour to his cheeks.
For a second, Beth worried she should have kept her mouth shut.
But the grin Cesca was giving her and Paola’s delight in seeing her husband contradicted made her continue.
Marco’s eyes shot to her in utter surprise, the blue bright as he watched her. She continued speaking in Italian.
‘But PR isn’t a bad thing. All the great artists of the Renaissance had patrons, people to advocate for them and promote their work.
Titian had Emperor Charles V, Tintoretto had the physician Tommaso Rangone, and many artists acted as a sort of patron for the pupils they themselves taught.
It’s not uncommon in the arts at all and – well, actually – it’s been going on in Venice for hundreds of years.
The way I see it, what Marco does is just another, more up-to-date form of a time-honoured Venetian tradition. ’
Elio’s mouth was hanging open, as was everyone else’s around the table.
Even the children, who’d been annoying each other with shoves and kicks, or picking the bits of vegetables they didn’t like out of the pasta, had stopped and were watching her.
Beth’s neck prickled and it crept slowly up her spine.
Oh no. She should have kept her mouth shut.
She’d been invited into the di Rienzo home and had embarrassed Marco’s father.
She’d never be invited back here – that was for certain – and now, everyone would hate her.
Her only solace was that she was unlikely to see them all again.
‘That’s just my opinion of course,’ she added lamely.
After a silence that seemed to last for hours, Paola let out a huge, mirthful laugh.
‘You see!’ she said, slapping Elio on the arm. ‘This is what I’ve been saying for years. Marco does a good job. A necessary job.’
‘Hmm,’ Elio grumbled, his cheeks still pink. ‘Maybe. Maybe we should visit this book barge of yours.’ He scooped some pasta and chewed.
The table then erupted once more into life and the meal ended without Beth embarrassing herself any further. She had no idea how Marco had felt about it because his expression had remained unreadable, even now as they were readying to leave and he’d handed her coat to her.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ she asked Cesca.
‘Oh yes. I’m staying here tonight, but we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.’
Not least of which was her secret and that she had to say something for everyone’s sakes.
Marco slipped on his coat too.
‘When will you move back to Murano?’ his mum asked.
Marco rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know, Mamma. I like Venice.’
‘Murano is nicer than Venice.’ She tutted, but smiled as she kissed his cheeks, then Beth’s.
‘Thank you for inviting me for dinner.’
‘It was our pleasure. And—’ she leaned in and spoke quietly ‘—thank you for standing up to my husband. He is too old-fashioned sometimes. You’ve never brought a girlfriend home before, Marco. You should do this more often. I like her. A lot.’
‘She’s not my—’
Paola made shooing noises, and Marco gave up trying to argue, bundling them outside, but it was clear he thought she’d overstepped the mark.
The night was dark, and the stars were now visible in the sky, glittering like drops of fairy dust. A half-moon shone brightly, and as they approached the water bus, the silver light reflected on the deep black of the water.
The skyline of Venice could be seen in the distance and Beth felt a longing for her apartment.
She was tired after a busy day, and the evening had been more eventful than she’d expected.
Still not speaking, they climbed into the water bus, and it glided over the lagoon on the return journey.
The chill evening wind sent goose bumps over her skin as it wound its way inside her coat and up her sleeves.
She shivered and Marco pushed back the fluttering strands of his hair before grabbing the back of his head – the nervous gesture she’d come to know.
He unwound his scarf, gently draping it around her neck.
‘Here, have this.’
‘Aren’t you cold?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed your father,’ Beth said, staring at her fingers.
To her surprise, Marco laughed. ‘You didn’t. It’s about time someone told him that what I’m trying to do isn’t sacrilege.’
‘Then why were you so quiet? You’ve barely spoken to me since dinner. I thought I’d humiliated you or something.’
‘I’m sorry. I – I was in my own head, that’s all. Thinking of something.’
‘What?’
His gaze pierced hers as he studied her face. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ After a second, he added, ‘My mother likes you.’
‘Really? I was worried I was going to get kicked out of dinner. Is your dad always so … sombre?’
‘Only when I’m around. Did you see him with his grandkids?’
Now she thought of it, she had seen him laughing and joking with them, being silly and tossing the littlest ones into the air and catching them again, making them giggle. ‘Is it all because of your career choice?’
‘That and no longer blowing glass and moving away from Murano. He likes to have his family close.’
‘But you aren’t far! Only a—’ she motioned to the water ‘—a vaporetto away.’
‘We’ve grown apart since I started working with other artists.
Perhaps he sees it as a betrayal of the family.
I don’t know.’ The hurt on his face made her reach out again and cover his hand with her own.
He didn’t move away, and Beth’s stomach somersaulted.
‘Your point was well made.’ His voice was gravelly as though he were struggling to speak. ‘And in Italian too. Thank you.’
‘I thought—’ Her voice was as husky as his, almost inaudible. ‘I thought he might take it better that way.’
As she turned to him, his head moved slightly towards her and she wondered if he were about to kiss her, but she couldn’t be sure if it was just the swaying of the boat.
As they moved over a choppier wave it forced them apart and both of them looked towards the Venetian skyline. The moment gone, the spell broken.
The rest of the journey was taken in silence and when they climbed onto dry land he offered to walk her home.
‘Oh, you don’t need to do that.’
‘I’d like to.’
Delight surged through her and their hands gently brushed as they hung by her side, a tingling electricity shooting up her arm. He made no attempt to hold her hand but the longing for him too pounded in her heart.
‘Even though I’m nervous, I am looking forward to the ball,’ he said as they strolled through the quiet, deserted streets towards her apartment.
The moon shimmered off the quiet canal water, lapping against the houses, and the silence of the night surrounded them. The day’s Carnevale activities were over and the city was once more asleep.
‘Me too. I was working last year so was so busy making sure no one was leaning against any of the paintings or drunkenly falling into them. I didn’t really get to enjoy it.’
‘I hope you will this time. I can’t believe it’s only a week away.’
Beth paused, almost falling over her own feet. ‘What did you say?’
‘Have I got the date wrong?’ Marco began swiping at his phone. ‘Next Saturday, yes?’
‘Is it?’ Beth pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I thought it was further away than that. I don’t even have a dress!’
Marco laughed. ‘Please don’t panic. There are so many shops in Venice, you’ll find something to wear. Can’t you wear what you wore last time?’
She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration. ‘Of course I can’t! Everyone will know and this isn’t just any old do, this is the galleria’s masquerade ball. Okay,’ she said to herself. ‘Don’t panic. I’ll sort something out.’
‘I’m not panicking. Beth—’ He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. She suddenly realised how close he was. ‘You will look lovely in anything. You always do.’
He stared at her for a second too long then began walking towards her apartment, saying he’d meet her at seven for a morning row.
Beth followed and at the door, he kissed her gently on the cheek as he said goodbye.
Like the night she’d moved in, she could feel his lips long after he’d left, and she resisted drawing her fingers to the spot to see if she could feel the tingling in her fingertips.
But then, something happened. From somewhere inside her, the voice telling her to go with the flow took over and she called Marco’s name.
He turned, only a few steps away and led by some invisible force, pulled by some invisible string that seemed to have thrown them into each other’s paths, she took a step forward.
Her heart beat frantically in her chest, pounding against her ribcage, her lungs, and echoing in her brain.
Now barely an inch apart, she lifted her head to meet his gaze.
Excitement rather than fear filled her body as he tilted his head towards hers, drawing closer to her.
The perfect Cupid’s bow met her lips, sending a shockwave through her body, and what started as a gentle, tentative kiss grew fiercer as his hand slipped around her waist, drawing her close while another threaded into her hair.
Beth had no idea how long they were lost in each other, but then they separated, Marco’s cheeks pink and Beth knew her own were too. They smiled.
‘You are a very surprising woman, Beth.’
‘That’s probably a good thing, isn’t it?’
He laughed and kissed again, gently. ‘This has been a good day.’
‘It has.’
‘But I should say goodnight.’ With another final kiss, plus one on her hand, which made her want to melt, he left, wishing her goodnight.
As if controlled by a robot, or some kind of magic, Beth went inside, turning on the television just to hear some noise.
She needed a few minutes to clear her head.
Trying to sleep was going to be hard enough after the dinner and that amazing, incredible, gorgeous kiss, not to mention his compliments about her looking lovely in anything.
And how had she forgotten the masquerade ball was coming up in a matter of days?
She’d be spending an entire evening with him and there’d be champagne and dancing.
Just the thought of his hands on her waist sent her heart thudding against her chest again.
She tried to focus on the television as she changed into her pyjamas, trying to control all thoughts of Marco, but no matter what, there he and his kiss lingered, and she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.