'No, I don't forget. But I don't think you committed yourself to that marriage, otherwise you wouldn't have cast it aside at the first hurdle.'
'You know nothing about it,' she cried, on the defensive again.
'Then tell me. Show me that I'm wrong.'
'I don't have to explain myself to you.'
'Not to me, but to yourself. Have you ever tried to do that, beyond believing that all your prejudices had been proved correct?'
'I don't have to listen to this.'
'Fine, run away.'
Justine looked all around her. Water everywhere.
'Well, I can't, can I?' she seethed. 'I'm trapped out here now.'
'Ah, yes! I never thought of that.'
'Like hell you didn't.'
He grinned.
'Will you please start this engine and take me back to Venice?'
'I've got a better idea,' he said. 'Why don't we go below and have something to eat?'
For a moment she glared at him, then relented. 'All right, but it's under protest!'
'Of course. You'll find the smoked salmon tastes just as good under protest.'
She aimed a friendly punch at him. It was too glorious a day for anger.
The picnic hamper was full of the very finest from the hotel. As she unpacked and they reclined against the cushions, she asked, 'How is it you were able to take the day off?'
'I did well out of those catering assignments, so I could hire some extra help for a few days. This is more important.'
As he'd promised, the food was exquisite. For once she forgot about healthy eating and indulged herself. Afterward she was suddenly sleepy, and when he drew her back against his shoulder she nodded off at once.
She awoke to find him watching her and had a sudden conviction that he'd been doing that all the time.
'Now tell me about yourself,' he said. 'I want to know everything.'
Chapter Seventeen
Held in the safety of Riccardo's arms, Justine struggled with memories that usually she tried never to think of.
'Until I was eight years old I thought I had a happy home. I knew my parents loved each other more than they loved me, but there was love to spare for everyone, or so I thought.' Justine let out a sigh. It was difficult for her to talk about this.
'My mother used to say that being in love was the most important thing in the world, and nothing mattered more than being true to your heart.
'But then she fell in love with another man, and
Justine gave a little wry smile. 'She had to be true to her heart, you see. Well, she was. She made a fine romantic heroine, giving up everything for love. But one of the things she gave up was me.'
Riccardo was watching her with shocked intensity. 'She didn't take you with her?'
'But how could she?' Justine asked in a rallying voice. 'Romantic heroines can't have eight-year-old kids in tow.'
He gave her hand the smallest squeeze, as if to show that he understood her irony.
'So you stayed with your father?' he asked.
'For a while. Then he dumped me on one of his sisters while he went out on the town. He didn't want me cramping his style, either. In due course he fell in love again.
'They sent me to boarding school for a while. Then there was some mix-up about who was supposed to be collecting me for Christmas. In the end, neither of them did. I spent Christmas in the care of the Social Services.'
Riccardo swore violently. Justine didn't understand the words, but from his tone she guessed it was a profanity. She felt vaguely comforted at the fierceness of his empathy.
'I never lived with either of my parents again,' she went on. 'Neither of their new marriages lasted. My mother is currently being true to her heart in South America with a man ten years younger. We don't keep in touch.'
'So that's why your views are jaded,' Riccardo said. 'And who could blame you?'
'As far as I'm concerned love is just an excuse for selfishness.'
'In selfish people, yes. But love doesn't make us what we are. It merely reveals the truth about us. Selfish people love selfishly, generous people love generously. Your parents were spoiled brats, but don't blame love. It didn't make them that way.'
'It gave them the excuse,' she said stubbornly.
'But you were married. Didn't you love him?'
'So much that it scared me.'
'Ah. I see.'
'Don't say that. You don't see anything. I wanted our marriage to work, but – I can't explain -'
She could never explain the fear that had pervaded her. Too much happiness, she had thought. One day it would be snatched away. Watch for that moment, be ready for it, go to meet it with a smile, and don't let anyone know you care. Never, never let them know that.
No, she couldn't put these things into words.
But then, looking at Riccardo's face, she knew she didn't have to. He understood everything. He'd seen into her soul with eyes of love and seen the turmoil of rage, bitterness and misery that was insidiously driving out everything else, until the best had all gone.
'He wanted a child,' she said abruptly. 'I didn't. Not then, anyway. Who am I to be a parent? So we started to quarrel. One day – one day, I realized that the quarrels were destroying us.'
'So you quarreled harder, to drive him away,' Riccardo said. 'You reckoned that would be less painful than waiting for the breakup to occur naturally.'
She stared. 'How did you know that?'
'It's not magic. Attack sometimes seems the best form of defense. But it leaves you with nothing.'
'I can cope with nothing,' she said desperately. 'It's what I'm used to. What I can't take is believing in something and then learning all over again that it's an illusion.'
'I know,' he said gently, tightening his arms and drawing her against him.
In the comfort of his embrace it was easy to fall asleep again. When she awoke it was night, and they were speeding back across the lagoon.
'Where are we going now?' she asked, coming to stand beside him at the wheel.
'Home,' he said.
She didn't ask where he meant. A few minutes later they had stopped in the small canal that ran by the hotel, and were climbing up to the stars.
Chapter Eighteen
The dawn came softly and quickly, ushered in by the bell of St Mark's campanile. Justine stood on the balcony on top of Riccardo's apartment, and marveled at the beauty of the morning.
She had spent the night in his arms, not making love, but enclosed in safety. Instinctively he had known what she needed, and had given it to her. A generous man, loving generously.
He came up through the trapdoor, bearing a cup of hot tea.
