Wedding in Venice

Riccardo was back in a moment, carrying plates. Justine had returned to work at the sink, apparently unconcerned. But she was aware of him now in a new way. A moment had come and gone, and something sweet and indefinable had happened.

She washed, he dried, and in about an hour they had finished.

'Let me show you my home,' he said.

He took her hand and they wandered through the quiet building. It was a beautiful place, furnished in the eighteenth-century style and, apart from a man on the night desk, they were alone downstairs.

'But up there, every room is full,' Riccardo said, looking up to the ceiling.

'When you said your home, does that mean you live here?'

'Actually, I do, but I meant more. This building used to belong to my family. I was born here, but when I was six my father lost money on bad speculations and had to sell the house. That was when it became a hotel. Ever since, I've dreamed about reclaiming it, and in the end I managed to raise the money. Now I have to keep it.'

'Will that be very hard?' she asked.

'Yes, but it's all I want to do.'

'So that's why you double as your own dogsbody? I suppose you live in an attic, too?'

His eyes gleamed. 'I live under the stars.'

It soon became apparent that Riccardo meant exactly what he said. His home was a tiny apartment at the top of the building, but on top of it he had built a square balcony.

Brick pillars went up through the roof, supporting a wooden platform surrounded by a trellis fence on which roses flowered.

'Here we are up among the stars,' he said, 'and all around us, Venice is sleeping.'

Down below she could just make out the sloping roofs, the little streets, called calles, where faint lights still glowed. Straight ahead was the softly lit bell tower of St. Mark's, the only other thing that rose this high. Beyond it, in the far distance, the faint glimpse of water glittering under the moon.

'Wait here,' he said, and disappeared back down through the trapdoor that led down to his apartment.

Left alone, Justine looked about her at the dark blue night, with its faint lights winking like jewels against velvet, and marveled at so much beauty. In the distance she could hear the echoing cries of gondoliers going home, calling warnings to each other as they approached corners. It was an unearthly sound, like the music of the spheres. After a moment Riccardo returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

'I think we've earned this,' he said.

She sat down on one of the seats he indicated, and found that it stretched back to become a recliner.

'I often go to sleep out here,' he said. 'On warm summer nights it's the best place.'

'I can imagine,' she said, sipping the champagne he offered her. 'It's so perfect – almost too perfect.'

'Why do you say that?' he asked quickly.

'Well, nothing is ever as perfect as it seems, is it?'

'Perhaps it is, once in a blue moon. But even if not, shouldn't we enjoy the illusion of perfection while we can?'

'I think that's dangerous,' she said quickly. 'Why store up disillusion for yourself?'

'Why deprive yourself of all faith in beauty?' he countered. 'Or don't you believe in beauty, either?'

'Of course I do. How could I do my job without it? I believe in it but…I suppose I don't trust it.'

She walked to the railing and stood sipping champagne, looking out into the blue and silver night. Now words felt like an intrusion. She wanted only to let the night, and the beauty, take possession of her.

She sensed him coming to stand behind her. This time, she knew that he would not go away unless she told him to. He laid his lips softly against the back of her neck, and the feeling shivered through her.

He kissed her there for a long moment, while she stood quite still, savoring the sweet sensation, the pleasure and the happiness.

She drew a long breath. The situation was slipping out of her control, and of all feelings that was the one she dreaded most.

Somehow she must be strong enough to leave him now, or it would be too late. Or perhaps it was already too late. She turned to face him.

Chapter Eleven

It was Justine who turned the embrace into a kiss, putting her arms about Riccardo's neck, so that he could be in no doubt of her intentions.

'Justine,' he whispered, 'Justine…'

Everything he wanted from her was in his voice. He wanted her, in every way, and at this moment she would have given him all that she was, if only -

If only she was a different person, a woman who wasn't afraid to give her heart, afraid of her own self, her own feelings.

Dulcie had said to her, 'When are you going to throw caution to the wind?'

But she had learned that caution over a lifetime, and it was too late for her now.

He murmured her name again against her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that was part plea, part demand. She responded fiercely, longing for the moment when emotion and sensation would take over.

But it didn't come. Try as she might she could not force her heart to rule her head. The knowledge made her want to cry out in despair, but she couldn't change anything.

'What is it?' he asked, sensing her inner struggle and loosening his grip. 'Have I misunderstood? You do not feel as I do?'

'I don't know how I feel. How can I know so soon? How can you?'

'I do know.'

'You can't,' she said desperately, trying to make it true by the force of her assertion.

'Don't tell me how I feel,' he said quietly.

'But we've only known each other a few days, and we've hardly talked at all.'

'Perhaps it's as well. Talking is when people make mistakes about each other. I have made no mistake. I know what I feel about you. But if you wish, I'll wait a little while before saying it.'

'And then I'll be gone,' she said, suddenly wistful.

'You must not go before I tell you that I love you.'

She surveyed him wryly. 'That's very clever,' she said. 'Very subtle. Very Venetian.'

'What do you know of Venetians?'

'I'm learning fast. You're great talkers.'

'And you think it means nothing?'

'It means whatever you want it to mean at the time, and then tomorrow it means something else.' She attempted a teasing tone. 'You can tell me you love me tonight, if you want to.'

'Can I indeed?'

'Yes, except that I won't take it seriously. By tomorrow everything will change. But tonight is fine.'

'Do you think I need your permission to love you?' His voice was still quiet.

'Hey, lighten up,' she said, still trying to turn it all into a joke. 'We've got the moon and the stars and Venice. Why spoil it by getting serious?'

He didn't answer, just looked at her strangely, like a man trying to comprehend a baffling enigma.

Justine went very deliberately to the recliner, sat down and reached out to him in invitation. After a moment he came to her and took her hand, then knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms.

Now it would happen, she promised herself. Now the attraction that had drawn them together from their first glimpse outside the airport would take over so completely that she could forget caution.

He kissed her slowly, one hand beginning to trace a path from her face, down her neck to her throat. Excitement leapt in her like fire, sending its message in all directions, to her very fingertips, to the heart and depths