Winter In Venice (Escape To Italy Book 3) Read online

  In the morning Lucy located a caféand sat down for a lonely breakfast. The skies were grey with the promise of snow, much as they had been here this time last year.

  She ordered a cappuccino and biscuits and gazed out the window of the café. San Marco was twinkling with holiday lights; festive greenery hung from balconies and decorated windows and shop fronts. All along the canals glowing decorations were reflected in the water. Venice was well and truly ready for Christmas.

  Other tourists were enjoying the morning, gliding down the canals in gondolas or hoofing it on one of the narrow cobblestone side streets. Some were shopping, enjoying an early morning cup of coffee, and others had their heads down, chatting on cell phones and planning out their day. Lucy watched idly as they passed her by. There were people walking alone, but there were many couples or families out and about, too. It gave her a small pang to see so many carefree people happily striding by, when she herself felt so down in the dumps.

  She sipped her cappuccino and considered what she should do over the next two days. She truly adored Venice and would love nothing more than to spend more time exploring it, so she hadn’t booked her return ticket until Monday morning.

  That gave her plenty of time to hit the major sites—St. Mark’s Square, perhaps a concert at the Basilica—and maybe just float around the city a bit on a gondola, looking at all of the lights and enjoying the gentle chatter of other tourists. It would be a nice, relaxing, and well-deserved weekend break.

  Since the sun was peeking weakly through the clouds and the temperature seemed fairly moderate, Lucy decided to make her first stop the Piazza San Marco—St. Mark’s Square—for a refreshing stroll and some more people-watching. She didn’t fancy lingering outdoors in the cold but as she was bundled up in a wool coat and cuddly scarf, she thought a little walking about wouldn’t hurt. Besides, she wanted to get a closer look at the architecture of St. Mark’s Basilica. She and Dominic had briefly visited it last year, but one visit was not enough.

  Her memories of that visit with Dominic stabbed a bit. They had strolled through the square, surrounded by the cooing of pigeons and the lightly falling snow, admiring the cathedral but mostly admiring each other. Well, this time I’ll be alone, so maybe I’ll get a better look at the details, Lucy thought ruefully.

  And the Basilica was magnificent, even if she had no one to share the view with. The murals on the outside and the gleaming domes were beautiful. She stood for a moment on the stones of the piazza, contemplating the work that must have gone into planning and building such a magnificent structure.

  Other tourists nearby were talking about the cathedral and snapping pictures, and she amused herself by watching them, too.

  One couple in particular caught her eye. Something about them reminded Lucy of Dominic and herself on their prior trip; something about their cozy posture that said clearly“we’re head over heels in love”.

  The girl had red hair tumbling down under a knitted hat and was wearing a bright red pea coat that complimented rather than competed with her hair. The young man was clearly enamoured of her, though he also seemed a bit distracted. Lucy looked closer. Not distracted…nervous? Suddenly he slipped down to one knee in the crowd, and Lucy realised what he was about to do.

  A proposal! The romance of it touched her as much as it hurt, and she turned away quickly, partly to give the young couple their privacy, and also to spare her own feelings. She wouldn’t deny that when she and Dominic had visited the city, she’d secretly hoped it might lead to a proposal. Clearly, it wasn’t meant to be.

  Lucy decided to warm up a little by touring the inside of the Basilica. The interior was just as impressive; gleaming gold and bronze mosaics on the ceiling gave the cathedral a warm, shimmering appearance. Between the mosaics and the enormous paintings everywhere the eye could travel, Lucy had the feeling of being inside of a Faberge egg. It was incredibly beautiful and a little overwhelming. She found a pew away from other groups of tourists and sat down to admire the interior of the cathedral.

  She was still musing about Dominic when she had the oddest feeling of being watched. Turning, she glanced around the back of the pews, but it was so large and there were so many other groups of people that it was hard to tell if anyone in particular had been looking at her.

  Nonsense, she thought sadly. You’re so lonely that now you’re imagining you might bump into a friend, at least for the duration of your trip. Snap out of it!

  She looked back up to the religious paintings on the ceiling and resolved to put the feeling behind her. If someone could put so much effort into a project of this scale, I think I can manage the very tiny project of rebuilding my love life, she thought resolutely. And with that notion, she decided to put Dominic out of her mind for the rest of her trip.

  She would enjoy herself, unlock that padlock, and fly home again ready to start over fresh and enjoy her newly single life.

  Outside the cathedral Lucy had to make a decision about what tourist site to visit next. The Basilica tour guide had recommended the Doge’s Palace, across the Square, but she wasn’t altogether interested in another tour of rooms and historical artefacts.

  Instead she decided to take a boat tour. She’d heard that the slow-moving vaporetto on the Grand Canal offered a great water tour of the San Marco, and somehow she and Dominic had never gotten around to taking one last year. It would be nice to see the city during the daytime, when she could really peer at the sights.

  She bought a ticket and a hot chocolate and took her seat, with her guidebook at the ready. The views were pretty decent: she could see the bridges on the main canal and the side streets, including Rialto Bridge, which was decorated with festive lights for the season. Gradually she stopped thinking about everything she saw in the context of whether she and Dominic had seen it the year before; she was simply enjoying the colourful buildings and festive displays as they slid by, simply because they were beautiful—not because they evoked any particular memories.

  The water bus ran around the city for about an hour. Finally Lucy collected her guide book and empty cup and stepped off to plan the next part of her day. She fancied going out to Murano Island to visit a glass-blowing studio, and since the next water bus wasn’t leaving for nearly an hour, she decided to grab a quick bite of lunch first.

  There were plenty of cafes and small restaurants offering both traditional Italian lunches and more standardised tourist offerings, like miniature pizzas. Lucy chose a hot sandwich and another frothy cappuccino and watched the tourists around her while she ate. She’d always enjoyed people watching, and it helped to distract her from the fact that she herself was alone.

  Finally it was time to board the water bus and head out to Murano. Lucy was happy to see that there weren’t quite as many tourists out here; the island was in fact much quieter by comparison to San Marco, though there were still some tourists here and there exploring on foot. She wandered the streets until she found a quiet glass-blowing shop that appeared to be open, and ducked inside.

  The man in the workshop was skillfully blowing and molding glass before the delighted eyes of a few other tourists. Lucy watched with wonder as the man shaped the molten glass into a vase. The tourists broke into applause, and the man smiled. Lucy lingered on for a while to listen to him explain his craft, the history of glass-blowing in the city, and the time that went into crafting each piece.

  In display cabinets there were glass vases, abstract sculptures and glassware for the kitchen; Lucy marvelled at the work that went into each piece. Ultimately she left without purchasing anything; she certainly didn’t need anything for herself and she was terrified of something breaking in transit back to Dublin. Maybe another time, she thought wistfully, giving the colourful, fragile pieces one last look before exiting into the street.

  Almost before she knew it the sun was setting over the island and it was time to take the water bus back to San Marco. By the time Lucy reached her hotel, she was famished, and she was happy to pop into
a small trattoria down the street for her evening meal. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the food here, she thought as she dug into a fragrant bowl of pasta and washed it down with a glass of wine.

  By the time Lucy returned to her room and crawled into bed, it was fully dark in Venice, and the city was slowly quieting down as people returned to their homes or hotels for the night. Somewhere in the distance Lucy thought she could hear Christmas carols playing in Italian.

  “Goodnight, Venice,”she mumbled sleepily, burrowing deeper into her blankets. For the first time in weeks, she was looking forward to the coming weekend.

  Chapter Three

  Scott checked the pocket of his coat for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  Still there. He patted his pocket and zipped up his coat, stepping out of the hotel lobby into the brisk December air.

  Rachel was waiting for him outside. Her red hair was gleaming under a knit cap and she was wearing a red woolen pea coat that made her look as though she belonged on a Christmas postcard. Scott stood back for a moment, silently admiring his girlfriend as she chatted to an older woman in fluent Italian. Rachel was obsessed with Italy—the language, the art, the food, everything—so of course when everyone else chose to study Spanish or French in high school, she picked Italian. She’d even spent a college semester abroad in Italy as an exchange student. Her efforts were paying off now; she’d been eagerly chatting to everyone she met since they’d touched down from New York on Thursday night. She seemed to be having the time of her life.

  Everything is going according to plan, Scott thought with relief. After all, when your girlfriend is obsessed with all things Italian, what better place to whisk her away for a romantic vacation…and a Christmas proposal?

  He’d spent nearly six months planning everything out. Step one: find the perfect ring, a combo of diamonds and emeralds that would appeal to Rachel’s non-traditional tastes. Step two: book the perfect hotel in Venice, a five-star affair with a gorgeous view of the Grand Canal. He wanted their long weekend in the city to be one of utmost luxury; nothing less would do.

  Step three: choose a romantic site for his proposal. Venice had such a reputation as a romantic city, he was sure he’d have no shortage of memorable spots to choose from, so he planned to take Rachel on an extended tour of the city and just wait until the mood felt right. They had plans to visit the Basilica, have a romantic dinner or two, and perhaps tour the canals, so he was confident the perfect magical setting for a proposal would present itself in no time.

  But first, they needed to get breakfast. A small cafénear their hotel offered piping hot cappuccinos, pastries and more for a tasty Italian breakfast. They sat at a small table by the window, looking out at the festively decorated streets, sipping their coffee and chatting about their plans for the day.

  “Where do you want to go first?”Scott asked, still absentmindedly fingering the ring box in his pocket.

  “Oh, I don’t know.”Rachel nibbled at a pastry, her eyes alight with happiness.“There’s so much to see! Did you have a preference?”

  “I was thinking St. Mark’s Square,”he said casually.“It’s pretty mild today, so it’s a good day to be outside. And after that we could tour the Basilica, since you did say you wanted to go there.”

  “Oh, I’d love that.”Rachel gestured expressively with her hands when she was excited; just like an Italian, Scott thought. “We should go to the sung Mass there on Sunday. I hear it’s amazing.”

  “We will,”he promised. They finished breakfast and went outside to navigate their way to St Mark’s Square. Scott hoped he was keeping his excitement under wraps; he didn’t want Rachel to have a hint of the surprise that was waiting for her.

  They were able to zigzag their way to the Square on foot, crossing small canals via ancient stone bridges and finally emerging into the crowded piazza. It was full of tourists and pigeons, exactly as it had looked in hundreds of postcard-worthy pictures that Scott had seen online. Weak winter sunshine peeked through the clouds to illuminate the masses taking pictures of the Basilica or each other.

  The Basilica was an impressive sight even to Scott, who knew little enough about the history of the place. The sheer size of the structure and the murals on the front of the building were enough to make anyone pause for a second look. Rachel was fairly glowing with excitement, rattling off a steady stream of facts about the architecture and construction of the cathedral. Scott looped an arm through hers as they walked, meandering slowly through the crowd. He loved her intelligence and enthusiasm for the world, and was happy to listen to her talk.

  Rachel trailed off and leaned her head on his shoulder, smiling. Scott gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.“What are you thinking about?”

  She snuggled closer to him.“How nice it is to be here with you.”

  “Yeah?” He gave her an affectionate squeeze, and she grinned up at him.

  “Yeah. I love it here. This is the best Christmas present ever.”She stood up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss.

  He kissed her back, not caring about the crowds of tourists around them. For a moment it was as if everyone and everything else faded away, and it was only the two of them, arm in arm in this romantic city. Rachel’s eyes sparkled as she turned away with a contented smile, gazing at the spires of the Basilica.

  The perfect moment…

  “Actually, there was something else…”Scott started to say, kneeling down on the cobblestones and feeling for the ring box in his pocket.

  Splat! Suddenly he felt something wet land on his head.

  Horrified, he quickly stood up as Rachel turned back to him. He touched one hand to his hair and stared at the white smear on his fingers in disgust.

  “Ew!” Rachel exclaimed, quickly pulling tissues out of her coat pocket.“Is that…”

  “Stupid pigeons.” Scott wiped at his head and looked around the square for the offending pigeon in question, but they were all busily cooing at tourists trying to get scraps of food.

  “Come on,”Rachel said, already tugging him toward a caféon the edge of the piazza,“you can duck in the bathroom and get cleaned up, and I’ll get us something hot to drink. It’s kind of cold out here anyway.”

  “Okay,”Scott said reluctantly, fingering the box in his pocket. He let her lead him across the crowded stones through even more flocks of pigeons. In the cafe, he popped upstairs to the tiny bathroom and quickly cleaned up, mortified and irritated in equal measure. So much for a romantic moment!

  When he emerged Rachel had ordered two hot coffees to go. They headed back out into the piazza, and Scott hopefully slipped an arm around her shoulders, but the earlier magic was lost.

  It was late morning now, and St Mark’s Square was filling up with winter tourists taking pictures and talking loudly in a mixture of languages. It was difficult to have an intimate conversation with all the noise and bustle, and Scott soon gave up trying.

  When they had finished their coffees they entered the Basilica, and for a moment left the hustle and bustle of the outside masses behind. Stepping into the cathedral was an experience that Scott could only classify as otherworldly; the paintings stretched up the walls and all over the ceilings of the domes above, combined with swirling mosaics and inlays that made the entire interior seem to spring to life.

  Rachel pointed out several of the paintings.“St. Mark’s Basilica was constructed in the eleventh century,”she whispered.“The paintings and mosaics were constructed and touched up over the centuries. Very little of the original mosaic tiling on the ceiling is left—probably only a third—due to restorations over the centuries. If you look up to the roof you can see scenes depicting the life of Christ and the lives of the patron saints of Venice.”

  Scott admired the scenes overhead. Every available nook and cranny of the walls and the ceiling was covered in some Biblical scene or another—some that he recognised, and some that he didn’t. The press of tourists meant that they had to move fairly quickly through the church interior, an
d soon they were back out in the Square.

  Rachel hooked her arm through Scott’s and laced their fingers together.“So, where to next?”

  “You’re the tour guide,”he said, and she grinned a little.“True. How about a tour of the clock tower? One should be starting soon. We can get a good view of San Marco from up there.”

  “Sounds good to me,”Scott said, wondering if the clock tower would provide him with a good spot for a proposal. Surely a quiet spot overlooking all of the city would be romantic enough for that?

  Unfortunately, the stairs were steep and crowded with tourists, and their tour guide kept up a brisk pace as he told them about the history of the construction of the piazza, the Basilica, Doge’s Palace, and the clock tower itself.

  “The clock tower, Torre dell’Orologio, was designed by Maurizio Codussi and took a period of ten years to complete, beginning in 1496 and ending in 1506. The wings were added later on, perhaps by Pietro Lombardo. You can see the original workings of the clock, which was wound manually until 1998; now it runs off of electricity.”

  The tour ended on the roof, with a magnificent view of St Mark’s Square. Scott didn’t regret the tour for a second, but with all of the people, there was no way he could propose. Rachel was clearly enjoying herself though, even if she was distracted by all of the chatter around her. She conversed for a moment in Italian with their tour guide and turned back to him.“He says that if we love the view here, we should go to the Campanile. It’s the tallest building in the city.”

  “Off we go, then.”Scott let Rachel lead the way as they completed the tour and bounded away to the Campanile, where they climbed yet more steep stairs to reach the top. The view, however, was reward enough: at 325 feet tall, the bell tower offered them an amazing view of the city, even more so than what they had seen from the other one. All of Venice was visible from here, and even Rachel stopped talking long enough to be enchanted by the sight.