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

  Snow dusted the rooftops of Venice like powdered sugar. Holiday decorations could be seen strung in streets and along canals; here and there a brightly lit Christmas tree was visible. From up so high the people of Venice looked like brightly colored ants, rushing here and there in the streets. Scott’s stomach rumbled, and he realised it must be dinner time; many of those people below were likely rushing off to eat.

  With this in mind, he and Rachel descended the steep flights of stairs back to street level and set off in search of a restaurant.

  It wasn’t hard to find one, and once they were settled in and dining on appetisers of fried meatballs and calamari, waiting for their Secondito appear, Scott started to relax. This day certainly hadn’t lent itself to the perfect romantic moment, but it was only Friday afternoon; he had two more days to make it happen. He’d already sought out a charming restaurant and a gondola ride, both of which he imagined would be perfect settings for a proposal that would surprise and delight Rachel.

  The waiter arrived with part of their order, and she chatted to him in Italian. Scott sipped contentedly at his wine. Rachel was having a blast, and he had to admit that he was having fun, too. He just needed to be patient and wait for the right moment. In a city so famed for romance, surely it couldn’t be far away?

  Chapter Four

  Naomi woke slowly, stretching languorously. The winter sunshine was barely peeking around the curtains of their hotel room, and she snuggled deeper under the fluffy duvet. Max was still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the world, and she smiled to herself. Poor, dear Max. She knew he was probably dreaming of being back at home in England, where he didn’t have to travel by boat and where Frosted Flakes and tuna sandwiches were easy to come by. The fact that he would go to such lengths to treat her to a dream holiday in Italy when he was so clearly out of his element spoke volumes about how he felt about her.

  She stole a quick glance at the clock and bit her lip, feeling momentarily guilty for having not called before she went to bed for the night. What if Julia fussed, or had trouble sleeping, or wasn’t feeling well? What sort of mother didn’t check up on these things?

  Almost as if he could sense her consternation, Max woke beside her, stretching and groaning. Naomi smiled as she rolled over to face him. He always looked so rumpled when he woke up—hair sticking up in multiple directions, pillow creases on his face—and somehow she found it charming. He looked so relaxed and unassuming, much like he had in college when they had first started dating. She leaned over now and planted a quick kiss on his forehead.“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  “Morning.” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around.“Mmm. What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock, aka time to rise and shine and get some breakfast.”Naomi threw back the covers and raced to the bathroom for a hot shower. Max protested weakly from the bed, laughing.“Not fair. You had a head start.”

  Naomi laughed and pulled a fluffy towel down from the rack. Her guilt over not calling home was fading a little. Julia was in the most capable of hands, she reminded herself, and after all she had to admit spending time alone with Max was a luxury she’d sorely missed. She’d gotten so used to building her daily routine around the baby that she’d forgotten what it was like to spend a romantic evening with her husband and wake up slowly, on her own timetable, the next morning. It was rather a lovely feeling.

  Once they had both dressed for the day, in warm sweaters and coats, they set out to find breakfast. Naomi was thrilled to get a chance to experience a real Italian menu, though she could sense Max’s trepidation.

  To say he wasn’t big on trying new foods would be putting it nicely, but luckily a traditional Continental breakfast didn’t veer too far from what he was used to eating back home. At the cafénear their hotel they ordered frothy cappuccinos and plates of flaky pastries filled with sweet cream or chocolate. There was fruit, yogurt and muesli on the side, and hot chocolate. Max seemed pleasantly surprised, and Naomi found herself relishing her breakfast without having to worry about feeding the baby.

  After breakfast they set out to see the sights. Naomi had read plenty of guidebooks on Venice before they had left, taking meticulous notes in a small notebook to carry in her purse, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of the city.

  The narrow stone side streets felt almost like hidden passageways, beckoning to visitors with the promise that they might lead to some secret location. Even with the winter chill, the canals were a sight to see, with gondolas gliding past and colourfully attired gondoliers calling out to each other as they went. Everywhere there were strings of Christmas lights and oversized decorations for the upcoming festivities.

  Wandering through the streets and over the stone bridges that crisscrossed the canals, Naomi felt like she was melting away into another time and place entirely. Shop windows with signs in Italian and English advertised blown glass, Venetian masks, and leather goods. They stopped to browse in a few shops and when Naomi admired a hand-blown glass Christmas ornament, Max promptly bought it for their tree back home. She eagerly pressed her face to the windows of other shops, admiring the handiwork within even though she couldn’t decipher most of the signs.

  There were plenty of other tourists about, but as she strolled hand in hand with her husband, Naomi was starting to feel like it was just the two of them. Max seemed happy to find plenty of streets that could be walked rather than toured by boat, and he was starting to relax.

  Italian music drifted from shops and trattorias as tourists entered or exited, holding the doors open just long enough for the sounds and smells within to escape onto the street. There was an intoxicating blend of spices, perfumes, leather, food, and wine in the air, and it fueled Naomi’s excitement at seeing the city.

  According to her guidebooks one of the must-see attractions in the city was the Piazza san Marco, or St. Mark’s Square, which was bordered by several attractions: St. Mark’s Basilica, the Doge’s Palace, a historic clock tower, and a bell tower of impressive height, the tallest building in the city. Naomi had planned ahead and booked a multi-attraction ticket and tours, so they could take in all of the sights in one day. She had no intention of missing out on anything so magnificent; after all, who knew when they might be able to take a trip like this again?

  As it turned out, the tours were every bit as amazing as promised online. The Square was packed with tourists and with flocks of pigeons; Max snapped a few shots of Naomi trying to coax one onto her outstretched hand, laughing as it flew away, disgruntled, because it realised she didn’t have a snack for it. They lined up with other tourists for the trip through the Basilica and were rewarded with hearty neck cramps from gawking at the mosaics and paintings inside.

  “When we get back to the hotel, I’m wrapping a hot towel around my neck,”Naomi said with a laugh. Max wrapped an arm around her as they moved leisurely across the Square to the clock tower, where their next tour awaited.“Maybe the front desk could recommend a spa or something? You know, one of those places that does couples’massages?”

  “You’d be up for that?”Naomi looked at him in surprise. Normally any mention of a new activity would have him wrinkling his nose in suspicion. But he nodded.“You’d enjoy it. And I would…try to enjoy it!”

  Naomi nestled closer to him as they joined the line for the Doge’s Palace. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d been able to do something like this—well over a year ago, she supposed, before the late stages of pregnancy and then the baby left her essentially housebound. She was startled to realise she was truly enjoying herself, not worrying about Julia. She snuck a quick glance at Max, who only smiled. She smiled back a little. Was he thinking the same thing—that they were long overdue for this kind of date? As if to answer her question, he pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss.

  Their guide was enthusiastic about her subject, and gave them a richly detailed rundown of the history of the Palazzo Ducale. Even Max looked interested as she explained that t
he Palace was the hub of political power in Venice from the ninth century onwards, and its proximity to the Basilica was no accident, but rather a result of the intertwining of church and state in Italy at that time. Gothic arches and an impressive array of sculptures, paintings and frescoes covered the inside of the palace. The tour wound through multiple floors, through state rooms, criminal courts, cells, cramped administrative offices, and finally outside to the Bridge of Sighs.

  “Why is it called that?”asked one of the tourists, and the guide explained that the bridge connected the interrogations rooms of the Palace to the outside world. Built in 1600, the bridge earned its name from Lord Byron centuries later based on the somewhat romantic notion that it offered convicts their last view of Venice before entering their cells; prompted by the beauty of the city, they would sigh over their city.

  “Of course,”she added, tapping on the stone bars on one of the bridge’s tiny windows,“there wasn’t a lot to back up that notion. By the time the bridge was built, there wasn’t a lot of criminal traffic going in and out of the palace. And with the small windows and the roof, there wasn’t much you could see of the outside city. But it makes for a very poetic name, in any case.”

  Following the tour of the palace Max and Naomi joined the line leading into the Torre dell’Orologio clock tower. The stairs inside the clock tower were steep, and Naomi marvelled at the idea that for years someone had actually climbed the tower on a regular basis to wind it up. Thank goodness for the modern marvel of electricity.

  If she thought that tower was steep, however, the Campanile bell tower was even more staggering. The guide explained the story of the tower’s 1902 collapse and rebuilding, and pointed out the view of the Dolomite mountains in the distance. Naomi sighed with delight as she leaned on the railing, surveying Venice below. It looked to her like one of those miniature Christmas towns that people assembled on their mantels in December, complete with tiny people, glowing shop windows, and snow-powdered rooftops. She could almost picture the spot where a tiny horse and carriage would travel, laden with packages to be delivered to homes in the city. Her mother loved to create such miniature cityscapes in her home every Christmas; she was probably setting one up now, or shopping for new pieces with baby Julia in tow.

  The thought of her daughter made her start suddenly. She looked quickly at her phone. Time to call and check in! She slipped the phone back into her bag and joined the crowd of tourists edging their way slowly down the steep stairs.

  Night was falling in Venice, and while another city might have quieted down with the dying light, San Marco seemed even more beautiful now as the Christmas lights blazed to life. The Basilica was gloriously lit up, and everywhere Naomi looked festive displays were being lit up in the darkness. The city looked like a romantic postcard at night.

  Unfortunately, the dying daylight also meant the temperature was dropping, and Naomi and Max hastily moved on from the Square to find a restaurant. Naomi hadn’t realised her stomach was growling; now she realised they had skipped lunch in the excitement of the tours. It didn’t take long to find a little trattoria that wasn’t too crowded and sit down to order their dinner.

  Max let Naomi take the reins in ordering, and she found it hard to pick just a few dishes. There was calamari, a favourite of hers already; pumpkin risotto and seafood risotto; seafood dishes she’d never even heard of, including squid ink and cuttlefish; and of course plenty of tempting noodle and vegetable dishes, often with seafood in the mix. Max visibly paled at the mention of the squid ink but bravely ordered a tamer seafood dish with crab meat and vegetables. Naomi finally settled on her order and also asked for a bottle of wine for the table; the waiter produced one with a flourish, along with two very generously sized wine glasses.

  The concept of lingering over a meal at a restaurant had always seemed a little odd back home since Julia, but somehow here in this ancient and magical city it seemed that hurrying through the meal would be an affront to Venice itself.

  Max and Naomi ate slowly, talking about everything they had seen during their tours. By the time dessert had been served, they drank the last of the wine, paid the bill and got ready to leave, they had been at the restaurant for nearly three hours.

  It was only once they had returned to their hotel room that Naomi realised she hadn’t called her parents to check in on Julia. While Max brushed his teeth in the bathroom, she guiltily dialled her mother’s cell phone.

  She answered after several rings.“Naomi! How is Venice?”

  “Beautiful,”she answered truthfully.“Amazing. We’re seeing so much. And the food is incredible.”

  Her mother chuckled.“And how is Max coping?”

  Naomi laughed a little, remembering her husband’s face as they perused the menu at the restaurant.“Well, he’s a little alarmed by some of it, and he doesn’t like the boats. But he’s having fun. How is Julia doing?”

  “Oh, she’s as perky as ever! We’re out shopping for Christmas decorations now.”

  “You remembered to bundle her up?”Naomi immediately thought of a dozen other things to ask: Did you pack her favourite stuffed animal? Do you have an extra soother in case she loses hers? What about a bottle? What about…did you…what if…

  But her mother seemed to anticipate the questions.“She’s wearing her favourite teddy-bear coat, I packed Mr. Hippo in her diaper bag, she has an extra soother and a bottle of formula, and she ate and got a clean nappy on before we left the house. And we’ll be home in plenty of time for a little pre-dinner nap. Don’t worry, Naomi, she’s doing fine! Concentrate on enjoying yourself. Your weekend will be over far too soon.”

  “I suppose you’re right,”Naomi said, giving her“I love you”s and hanging up. Max emerged from the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed.“Oof. I’m worn out from all that walking. How’s Julia?”

  “Apparently she’s doing great,”Naomi said, fiddling with her phone. She felt torn—on the one hand she was obviously glad to hear that her daughter was doing well, but on the other she still felt bad for being so far away. And yet, she’d truly enjoyed her day, and knew this entire trip would have been impossible with a baby in tow.“You’re still up for more sightseeing tomorrow?”

  “Of course,”he said quickly, trying to look alert and failing utterly. She leaned down and kissed him.“Get some rest. There will be plenty of time to make plans in the morning.”

  Max fell asleep almost immediately, and Naomi slipped under the blankets. For a moment she debated leaving the phone on in case her mother tried to call, but then she resolutely turned the ringer to the“silent”mode. Mum’s right, she thought sleepily, pulling the blankets up to her chin. This weekend will be over in a heartbeat. I’m going to enjoy it while I can. With thoughts of decadent desserts and twinkling lights still filling her head, she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Lucy woke on Saturday morning feeling strangely refreshed. She wasn’t sure what had changed overnight, but somehow as she stretched and stood in front of her window, gazing down at the canal below, she somehow felt lighter, brighter, and full of excitement for the rest of the weekend.

  She chalked it up in part to the delightfully fluffy mound of blankets and pillows on her bed—a good night’s rest always made her feel so much better about things—and partly to her visits to the Basilica and Murano the day before. She couldn’t exactly explain why, but seeing something so magnificent made her feel a little better about her own small problems. Even if her relationship had crashed and burned, there was still so much beauty to enjoy in the world, so why should she mope? She felt ready to get out and enjoy herself.

  She hummed a little to herself as she dressed, pulling on warm black pants and a black turtleneck sweater with her boots and coat. She slightly regretted not bringing anything more colourful with her; she’d been in a bit of a funk when she packed. She pulled her blonde hair up into a French twist and added her everyday diamond stud earrings. On impulse, she popped down to the front desk and a
sked for the nearest chemist.

  Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the glass window of the shop, surveying her reflection as she applied red lipstick from a freshly purchased tube. She looked over her appearance with a small amount of satisfaction. The lipstick seemed to make all the difference in the world. She no longer saw a sad post-breakup woman in the mirror; now she saw a sassy single gal out to have a fun holiday weekend in a foreign city. Just this thought excited her.

  She had a new sway in her step as she popped into a small coffee shop for a frothy hot coffee and biscotti. The only Italian she knew was“grazie”but she grinned nonetheless as she thanked the girl at the counter for her food. Sipping the coffee and munching on the crunchy-sweet biscotti, she set off down the street to the nearest dock to catch a vaporetto.

  Lucy made it a point to visit museums and art galleries in any city she visited, and her main destination today was the Gallerie dell'Accademia—an amazing collection of artwork that spanned back over centuries, and included work by the sixteenth century Venetian painter Titian—followed closely by a trip to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, which boasted a dazzling array of more modern art by American and European artists alike, including Picasso and Jackson Pollack. She was certain the museums would hold her for most of the day. After that, she could spend her Sunday doing a bit of leisurely souvenir shopping—what better Christmas gifts to bring home than genuine Italian stuff from Venice? Then, she thought sadly, she would return to the bridge and do what she came here to do.

  The Gallerie proved every bit as involved as her guidebook had promised, and the hours flew by as she toured the various rooms. The tour was guided, but the group that day was fairly small, and so she was able to linger and enjoy the various pieces of art. At one point she thought she saw a man who reminded her Dominic in one of the adjoining rooms, and for a moment she wished he could be there to share the tour with her, but she quickly pushed that thought aside. Today is for me to enjoy the present, not linger on the past.