14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I woke not with a start, but with a luxurious, deep-boned sense of calm. I had slept. Like, really slept. I grinned goofily as I stretched, an unladylike grunt sounding from my chest. And then I remembered I was not the only one able to hear it.
With my senses on high alert, I rolled onto my back, peering sneakily through half-closed eyes. But Emil was not by my side. Nor, indeed, in his own bed. My fingers curled around the sheet, pulling it up to my chest as I knelt forward to peek into the open bathroom.
Nothing.
I looked down and spotted a folded note on the nightstand between our beds.
I went to breakfast , it read. I will be there or close by outside when you want to join me.
A soft smile tugged at my lips as I set the note back in place. I jumped out of bed and stepped onto the balcony, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Already, tourists flocked the narrow streets below. Boats churned a foamy trail as they darted through the canals. The summer sun tickled my skin just before the humidity whacked me in the face. I spun back into the relatively cool room and snapped the doors closed, drawing the curtains, too, for good measure.
The tousled sheets reminded me of my nightmare, of the secret I’d shared, and falling asleep in Emil’s arms. I took a moment to collect myself, to shower off just a little of the mortification from last night down the drain. I towel-dried my hair roughly, threw on some mascara, and donned a flowy dress. Steam still clung in a sheen across my skin as I made my way downstairs into the simple, quaint dining room. One look around told me Emil wasn’t there. I piled together a plate of pastries at random, accepting an offer of espresso from the roving waiter. I scarfed it all down, suddenly eager to go out and explore.
I slung my bag over my body as I stepped out into the brilliant sunlight. It didn’t take long before I spotted Emil to my left. He was speaking with a family, a man and woman in their early forties, with two disinterested-looking, gangly boys in tow. I leaned against the edge of an alleyway, keeping out of sight to watch.
Emil’s face was set in that now-familiar expression, landing somewhere between concentration and curmudgeon. His head turned to follow the woman’s pointing as she clearly asked for directions. He gave a small shrug as he spoke, shifting from one foot to the other. Then he turned toward the smallest boy, who sported a bright green jersey. Emil pointed to it and the boy’s face lit up as he spun to show him the name on the back. Whatever they were chatting about—soccer, I assumed—relegated the woman’s request for directions to the background.
But the parents didn’t seem to mind. Their group all smiled and chatted until the woman gently ushered the boys forward. Emil gave them a genuine smile as they walked away, but it disappeared as he was left alone again.
He searched in the direction of our hotel, but didn’t spot me. He turned back and looked out across the water, his posture shifting from relaxed to stiff. His hands rested in his pockets as he eyed the gondolas parked as densely in the canal as the scooters were up on the street. As I made toward him, he moved in a small circle, wandering along the walkway at an unhurried pace.
He stopped abruptly, his shoulders loosening, and I paused, following his gaze to a scaffolded building. The fascination grew on his face as his head tilted, scanning up its side. Suddenly, his eyes dropped and whipped toward me, as though he finally felt he was being watched.
I blushed at being caught, covering my embarrassment with a smile and wave as I jump-started my feet again.
“Hi,” I said as we met in the middle, tucking a wild piece of hair back behind my ear.
“Hello.” He watched my fingers before his eyes studied my face. “How did you sleep?”
My stomach swooped. “All right. You?”
He nodded, then gestured toward the city. “What would you like to do first today?”
“Hmm, I know we talked about going to the church, the gondolas, all the touristy stuff,” I said, setting up the tease, “but if you’re going to get mistaken for a local, I don’t know that you’ll want to be seen with me.”
His mouth opened and closed for a moment, completely at a loss.
“I saw you with the family,” I gave in. “Nobody’s asking me for directions. I never pass under the radar!”
Understanding lit his face. “It’s the hair.”
“There are blonde Italians.”
“Then the pale skin.”
“Again, not all Italians are super tan.”
“And the clothes.”
My eyes shot down to my dress. “What’s wrong with what I wear?”
“Nothing.” The shake of his head clearly bemoaned “women” before he chuckled. “And then there’s your voice.”
“Well, that’s just going a step too far,” I said curtly. “How can you not appreciate my incredibile accento?” I spoke the last bit in my worst attempt at an Italian accent, accompanied with an over-the-top flourish, and received an eye-roll from a passerby.
“I don’t think that’s right.”
“Shut up, it’s incredibile!” I tried again, managing to sound even worse.
“Incredibly bad,” he chuckled. “But honestly, I don’t think it’s any of those things. Well, maybe the accent.”
“What, then?”
“Americans, you have a”—he paused, trying to put his finger on it—“a certain attitude about you. It’s easy to see.”
“Attitude?” I wrinkled my nose. “A bad one?”
He gave a soft sigh. “It depends on the person. You? No…but still obvious.”
I lifted my hands, resigned. “So be it.”
“Just don’t start wearing long white socks with sandals, and we’ll be okay,” he said, his voice playfully dark.
I snorted. “Not on your life.”
We moved toward the centerpiece of the area, the Rialto Bridge. I glanced in either direction as we walked up its arch. From atop its vantage point, Venice sprawled invitingly, ripe with possibility.
“It’s beautiful.”
Emil rested his forearms against the ledge. “More bridges,” he commented.
I chuckled. “I have a feeling there’s quite a few more to come.”
“In a city full of canals?” he joked. “They wouldn’t dare.”
As we stared out at the city considering our options, the rising call of a man perched at the stern of a boat caught our attention. His powerful voice carried up to us, his English heavily accented.
“Visit the beautiful Venetian islands. Only a few seats left. You don’t want to miss this day at sea!”
I nudged Emil with my elbow, pointing toward him. “What about that?”
He followed my finger, listening to the man’s sales pitch. “Sure,” he agreed .
We hurried down the slope to the other side of the canal, slowing our pace as we neared the boat. Emil held out a hand, warning me with a look. He led the way in front of me, his tall frame earning the attention of the man.
He leapt up at our approach. “Signore, welcome. I am Capitan Zanetti.” He bent into a theatrical bow. When he straightened, his gaze shot past Emil toward me with a devilish grin. “Take the bella signora out with us and win her heart.” He spoke in a pointed, loud whisper to Emil, his ploy obviously meant to include me. I ducked my head to hide my smile.
Emil’s chin jutted. “How much?”
The man feigned surprise. “Could you really put a price on her affections?”
“Try me.”
The captain’s jaw tightened, then he curled a finger to bring Emil in closer. Their harsh whispers bit the air as they spoke under breath. Emil sighed, looking at me as if to question whether I was worth it. I cocked an eyebrow and, hidden from the captain, Emil winked before turning his serious expression back on. With a solemn frown, he shook the man’s hand.
“Come aboard, signora!” Zanetti called, jovial once more. He took one of my hands while Emil held the other. The boat’s deck was slippery, but I wasn’t so much of a dunce as to fall into the sea just yet, especially with the boat still securely moored.
“Well, did you get what you wanted?” I whispered in Emil’s ear as we took our seats alongside a handful of other passengers.
Emil kept his face unreadable as the captain readied the boat. “I would have taken his first price, so we did well.”
“Kudos!” I congratulated him, holding up my hand for a high five. He clapped it as Zanetti gracefully slid out into traffic and steered to the mouth of the canal.
Our initial stop was the island of Murano. The group rapidly dispersed from the boat, feathering out along the main canal or side streets as Zanetti shouted out at us, “Be back by eleven o’clock!”
“Any preference?” Emil offered, glancing left, then right.
“Not really.”
We followed one another, exploring aimlessly, at ease. Well, at least I was.
Emil’s hands were once again stuffed in his pockets, walking close by my side.
“What’s wrong?” I finally prompted.
“Hmm?”
“You’re all…” I waved generally at him up and down.
He followed my hand, looking himself over. “I don’t…”
“You’re all stiff, like a robot. We’re literally walking around one of the most drool-worthy locations, one that people have on their once-in-a-lifetime bucket lists, and you’re acting like you’re on the way to get a prostate exam.”
His eyes flew wide with shock before he laughed, his shoulders drooping. “I’m not used to this, I guess.”
“Being in Venice? Yeah, me neither.”
“Not just Venice. Being somewhere…”
I spotted the problem immediately.
“Other,” I finished for him.
How well I’d known that feeling. But while the same notion had excited me, I’d been prepared for it, planned for it, counted on it, in fact. The idea of this trip had been sprung upon him. It didn’t matter that he’d admitted to wanting to travel. Dreaming about something and walking those steps were two entirely different things, and he’d had no time to mentally prepare for what it would be like.
The crowds, new smells, unfamiliar languages…they were still culture shocks, even in their beauty. Whether coming from sleepy Blackthorn or peaceful Mostar, the hustle and bustle of the sheer quantity of tourists, the boisterous Italian locals, and the strange settings were a lot to take in.
“I get it,” I finally said out loud. “But you didn’t seem so worried this morning when you were with that family.”
“No,” he admitted. “I was distracted.”
“So I just have to distract you, huh?” I toyed, my tone devilish.
He raised an eyebrow. “That won’t help.”
“No?” I said, pouting, then dropped the sugar-sweet voice and laid a hand on his muscled forearm. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
He shook his head with exasperation. “Said the tiny American girl.”
“But you forget,” I said. “I’ve got attitude .”
“I didn’t say it was the kind that would make people afraid.”
“Do I scare you?” I teased.
His body tensed again as my fingers brushed up his skin, goosebumps appearing in a trail left by my touch. But then he swallowed and held his arm out to me. I linked mine with his, and he shot me a grin before responding, “Constantly.”
We wandered past shop after shop displaying dazzling glass, from giant sculptures to delicate figurines set among the glassware and shimmering vases. At one bend, I noticed a group enter a building through a pair of sliding doors. Looking in, I spotted a master in action and crept into the workspace. The cavernous room was dim except for where a skilled glassmaker worked his craft with deceptive ease. People sat on benches lined around the room, transfixed, as though they were watching a stage play. Emil settled by my side as the man pulled here and cut there, the molten glass radiating like a miniature sun.
I couldn’t be sure how long we stared in awe, but four pieces later, I felt Emil shift next to me as he glanced down at his watch and flinched. “We need to go,” he whispered urgently.
I checked my phone. We had five minutes to get to the boat.
I muttered a curse and ducked out after Emil. The sunlight burned across my skin. In retrospect, I probably should have packed my tube of sunscreen.
“Which way was it?” I twisted on the spot, nothing looking familiar now that the crowds had grown exponentially .
“Here.” Emil guided me to the left, and we set off in a hurried walk. The town had come alive with both tourists and locals. Now we were crammed in like sheep with the rest of the flock. Ahead of me, Emil looked back, his expression worried.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” he called above the thrum of the crowd.
“They won’t leave without us,” I scoffed.
He looked at me with an arched brow. “Take my hand.” I did as he said. For a brief moment, my skin tingled pleasantly. Then, I was being yanked forward in what seemed to have become a pattern.
“Emil,” I complained as he wove a sharp path through the thick sea of people. A few threw angry glares at the back of his head before turning them on me. Eventually, I gave up tugging and let him pull me along. At least I was tall enough to peer over people’s heads when the boat came into view.
“See?” I called. “They haven’t gone anywhere.”
Which was when they began towing in the ropes.
“Oh, I see all right,” Emil said, smugness still managing to seep into his anxious voice. Suddenly, he dropped my hand. “Run!”
Competitiveness flooded my body, triggered by some animalistic need. With a laugh, I pumped my arms, legs working double time, each of us picking our own line through the crowd.
“Last one there’s a rotten egg!” I called as I came up on his left side. His look of surprise lasted an instant, allowing me precious seconds for a head start. But his long legs moved in fluid, graceful strides, quickly gaining any lost ground. Visitors now ducked out of our path with equal parts annoyance and amusement on their passing faces.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d run just for the fun of it. I was flying. The hot air turned cool with the breeze of my speed. My feet pounded a sure, steady rhythm beneath me, my equivalent of the flap-flap of wings. I chanced a look over my shoulder as the mob thinned, but Emil was already right there. He tossed me a sly grin before turning his attention back to the boat.
“Wait!” he shouted, waving his hands overhead.
“Wait for us!” I joined in, but my voice didn’t carry like his. The pinch in my chest eased when a fellow passenger pointed out our ridiculous spectacle and turned to someone out of sight.
We sped around the corner, still at full speed, Emil cutting it finer and gaining an extra foot at the last second. His hands slammed against the hull where the annoyed captain waited to help us on board. He muttered under his breath in Italian, shaking his head.
As I lead the way to two empty seats, I caught the eye of the person who had spotted us and gave them a grateful wave. I still couldn’t speak as I sat and gulped for air.
“So, what do I win?” Emil asked as he slid down next to me, drawing in long, slow, steady breaths. Was he trying to rub it in, or was I just that hopelessly weak?
“The glory,” I managed to wheeze.
“Hmm.” His lips pressed into a line as he judged his prize dubiously, but he quickly let the facade drop, leaning against the railing as we pulled out again to sea.
Soon, the candy-colored buildings of the island of Burano were greeting us with a smile. Capitan Zanetti, on the other hand, turned a scowl on me and Emil for an extra beat as he reminded the entire group of our next departure time. I grinned innocently, pushing Emil ahead of me off the boat.
“Would you mind?” I asked, holding out my phone to Emil for a picture.
He took it, glancing around. “Where?”
I led him away from our slowly dispersing group to the bright-green backdrop of one building, which perfectly contrasted my dress. I couldn’t help my grin. Everything was so cheerful, even me.
After Emil had taken a few, I said, “Okay, your turn.” I held out my hand for his phone .
He hesitated. “No, it’s okay.”
“C’mon,” I pressed. “You have to have some photographic evidence. Otherwise you won’t have them to look back on when you go senile.”
He snorted. “Nice.”
“Honest,” I countered. “Now give it over.”
“The camera on my phone doesn’t work,” he admitted.
“Oh no,” I murmured, letting my hand drop.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Asja has been after me to get a new one, but everything else still works. And I never did use the camera much, anyway.” As he spoke, he pulled an ancient flip phone from his pocket, turning it over thoughtfully in his hand.
“Emil,” I laughed, “I think you are due for an upgrade.”
“Maybe,” he agreed halfheartedly, “but I believe in a certain value of things. Too much is disposable these days.”
It was commendable, though it didn’t help in this current predicament. He couldn’t go the whole trip with nothing.
“Okay,” I said, my voice stern. “Stand over there.” I pointed in the opposite direction from where my picture had been taken, this one with an ocean backdrop to complement the sunny yellow and deep-blue buildings along the canal’s entrance.
“No, really, it’s fine.” Was that embarrassment flushing his cheeks?
My hand rested stubbornly on my hip. “You might as well give in now, because I won’t stop.”
His grimace was not unlike a kid facing their most hated food.
I shooed him toward the spot. He slouched over, hands awkwardly linked behind his back, but his wince didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Playing along, I frowned and called, “Smile!”
As soon as the corners of his mouth lifted, I clicked the photo.
“Perfect!” I said as he slunk toward me. “One down, a million to go.”
He sighed heavily, but I detected a flicker of gratitude.
That he hated having his picture taken was clear. Not uncommon, but the last look he’d tried to hide told a different story.
I grinned. “Come here.”
He stood up straighter, moving closer to me with a little less reluctance. “Another?” he asked, a pleasant lilt in his voice.
“Your arms are longer than mine,” I said, pretending to struggle to hold the phone out far enough for a selfie. “Could you?”
He took it and twisted the angle just right. His other arm curved around my shoulder, his fingers light on my heated skin. “Ready?”
I snuggled into his side and, at the last second, squished him in close. “Now!”
At my sharp command, he snapped the photo out of pure reflex.
I pulled away, holding out my hand expectantly. He handed my phone over, and I brought up the image. My heart squeezed. By catching him off-guard, there was an innocence to his face I’d never seen there before. His smile was full, surprise brightening his eyes. He appeared younger, lighter.
“Can I see?” He looked over my shoulder, and his mouth opened ever so slightly.
“Keeper?”
When he looked away from my phone, his expression was warm. “It’s perfect."
The rest of the afternoon was full of exploration and delicious bites—pastries, sampling a variety of cheeses and meats, and gelato. Always more gelato. I found myself buying little knickknacks, touristy trinkets to treasure as mementos. We even made it back well within the time limit for the boat, much to the relief of the captain.
The lazy return ride to Venice grew choppier as the light crested toward the horizon. The captain kept eyeing the sky with worry. I followed his gaze, but the few puffy clouds seemed innocent enough.
I was sorely mistaken.