An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (18 page)

Luca

I
bet Rose Dewitt-Bukater wishes she looked as good as my badass ballerina. For
this part of our adventure, my uncle has allowed me to borrow his office
situated within walking distance of the canal. He’s a private employee of the
Consorzio
Venizia Nuova
, the group of people responsible for overseeing the operation
to keep Venice from sinking. He’s a romantic at heart, like Papa. When I filled
him in on my plans, he was happy to volunteer to be my accomplice.

The
mini dress is stunning on her little body. Sage green fabric, created by using
silk imported from France, makes up most of the body. It took a lot of time for
me to design this dress because of the attention to details, such as a single
bow in the midsection and a scroll pattern etched into the cream-colored lace
on the bottom of the dress. Instead of making long sleeves, the way Rose’s
dress was designed in the movie, I made this one sleeveless with light green
chiffon attached to the shoulders, giving the whole early 1900s look Adriana
claims to love a modern day twist. The term “the devil is in the details” was
created to be a designer’s motto.

After
the way Maia stood up for me earlier, there isn’t any amount of detail, godly
or devilish alike, that could rival the worth of such a woman. I’ve been
planning this surprise ever since she agreed to come to Venice. What I hadn’t
expected was for me to find myself worrying more about whether my plan will be
good enough to impress her. I guess I’ll soon find out.

“This
is stunning. It’s almost exactly like the one Rose wore in the movie, but so
much better.” She turns around and gawks at her reflection, her happiness
making my chest swell with pride. Turning to me, she says, “You are truly a
master of shock. I didn’t think you’d go out and make this dress for real. Why
did you do this?”

“Are
you not worthy?” She’s staring at me with the strangest look in her big blue
eyes. “Was this a mistake?”

“Yes.
Wait! I’m so sorry. I mean no. This is great. Everything about this trip has
been wonderfully perfect. Simona. Your family. You ...” I get this look that’s
a cross between dreamy and curious. We’ve spent enough time together for me to
know when she has something on her mind. I’ve also learned she’s the type you
don’t push for answers. At some point, she’ll trust me enough to open up about
what happened in her past, the thing that makes her fall into these pits of
sadness. Until then, I wait.

Tapping
my chin, I study the way she looks. “We need one more itty bitty tweak.” The
hair in her face is the problem. The dress was designed with a sexy, confident
woman in mind, not a girl hiding behind hair hanging over her eyes, or bangs,
as Western civilization calls this style. I momentarily revert to designer
mode, the part of me that fires up before a big show.

Walking
over to where she stands, I use my fingers to comb back the hair out of her
eyes so now, I get the full impact of her gaze, blue gems highlighted by the
light green in her dress. With her hair piled loosely in the bun thing, she’s a
vision. I trace a path down either of her forearms, our eyes locked at first,
my cock hardening as I allow my gaze to travel down to her lips, parted the
tiniest bit. Then to her neck, and finally her breasts, pushed together by the
rubber support Black Butterfly uses in most of our designs, a little something
I thought to make the ladies more comfortable than the traditional underwire
that should be banned and burned.

“You
should never hide such beauty. The world waits at a princess’s feet, hanging on
her every desire and command.”

She
scrunches up her nose and gives me a side glance along with a slight smile.
“What does that have to do with my bangs?”

I
scoff and wave off her statement. Her innocence amazes me. She has no idea how
much her presence affects the people around her. “Don’t worry a pretty hair.
I’m going to change into something, er … different. And then we’ll go.”

“Don’t
tell me you’re hiding a pair of sexy Jack Dawson coveralls back there. I never
knew you had such … unique style, Luca Martuccio.” She’s holding back her
smile, her face blushing as she does so.

I
smirk. “Do I look like a cock rider? How hideous. My students at F.I.T. would
disown me if they caught me wearing such a monstrosity.”

“Cock
rider?” she asks, her smile widening.

“Yes.
There is no other way to describe those God awful straps holding the fabric of
a gent’s pants up. Looks completely uncomfortable. Therefore, we in design call
them cock riders,” I explain, raising my left eyebrow to emphasize my point.

Both of us burst out laughing. Her ability
to turn a shitty situation into something magical astounds me, intrigues me ...
and it’s the one thing that’s hooking me. I head into the back room and change
into dressier clothes. I chose black slacks and a royal blue shirt because the
color compliments my skin without making me look too pale; but mostly I
selected this combination because Adriana tells me my favorite shade of blue
makes my eyes stand out.

Since
when did this charade turn into a game of pleasing the girl instead of fucking
the girl? I’m not sure. I do know that for the first time in almost five years,
I’m willing to put aside my belief that all people are out to use you, to drink
every bit of your life’s essence, and toss you aside like an empty bottle of
Chianti that will sit and collect dust in the cellar of an old farmhouse.

The
water taxi I called arrives and we make our way to the pier of the gondolas
under the light of the Venetian moon. Although Adriana sits quietly in the seat
beside me, I feel her gaze on my profile more than once or twice. The way her
mouth fell open when I walked out in my suit, and the darkness of her gaze as
she took in every single part of my body, made me want to forget this trip, to
strip her bare and ravage her body right then. Morning wood is not something I
enjoy experiencing every morning, but epic things come to those who hold off on
sex for more than three nights. Either that will turn out to be true, or maybe
I’ll end my excruciatingly horny existence by jumping into the canal and
drowning myself.

At
the pier, I scan the hundreds of black gondolas attached to their respective
posts until we come to the one I’m looking for, a gondola unlike any of the
others that flood the market since personality and flamboyance, in the form of
color and decoration of Venice’s most intriguing way to travel, were outlawed
decades ago. The red gondola.

Adriana
gasps as we walk up to it. “Oh my! Is that ... That’s a kick ass gondola and it
has a canopy on it.”

The
way she overuses American idioms amuses me. “Told you Jack Dawson has nothing
on me,” I remind, smiling as we link arms and head toward the man who will be
our driver. The red gondola belongs to one of the water millionaire clubs based
in Veneto. The designs of these historical artifacts are inspired by a time
when kings and queens used to roam the seas between Italy’s cities. I used our
influence in the city—the sons of papa’s friends still know him as the
gondolier with the golden voice and lyrical prose—to arrange a night time ride
through the canal.

“Ciao.
I’m Jack, and this is my wife, Rose,” I state, pulling Adriana up against my
side. She plays along by turning her body in toward mine and wrapping her arms
around my waist. I glance at her. “Say hello, my love.”

“Hi.
So very nice to meet you,” she says, mimicking the way a woman of high society
would speak, reminding me that that’s exactly where she belongs.

The
gondolier frowns, his gaze passing back and forth between Adriana and me, a
disbelieving look on his dark face. “Right. I am Pateri, and this ain’t the
Titanic.” He speaks excellent English, which probably comes in handy when
dealing with the thousands of tourists who fight for a ride on the red gondola.

“Si.
Got it. But I am Luciano Martuccio, the one who contacted you about renting
this gondola.”

His
expression brightens at once. Night time rides cost much more than the standard
touristy ones. Especially on this gondola; it has been nicknamed the Queen
Elizabeth by the club that restored it because of the fancy canopy that’s large
enough to hide two people inside.

“I
cannot believe you did all this for me,” she gasps, her wild eyes taking in
everything.

“Believe
what you see. For it is all true, my lady,” I say, taking her hand and kissing
the knuckles, watching the way the loose strands of hair blow in the wind. I
lead her to the gondola. We take a seat and set off on our ride toward the
Bridge of Sighs at almost ten o’clock at night, Pateri smiling as he begins to
navigate the waters with ease.

I
move the chiffon curtain back so we have a clear view of the city. Adriana
points at everything; at night, the moonlight hits the same structures as the
ones we rode by during the day, turning the facade of each building into an
artful play of color and shadows.

“Here
comes the star of our show, little Maia.” I point toward the
Ponte dei Sospiri
, the Bridge of Sighs, the
lights shining on the façade giving the bridge a glow that makes it seem larger
than anything, living or dead, as we move closer to the structure. I move my
head close to hers so I can whisper, “They say the souls of a thousand
prisoners watch the lovers who pass through here.” Call me superstitious, but
after experiencing the joys of being the object of one ghost’s infatuation, I
have no desire to awaken any others who might be waiting in the wings to take
that one’s place.

“Do
you think they can see us?” she murmurs, her eyes widening as she glances at
me, our gazes locking and her cheeks flushing. “I mean, we’re not really lovers
or anything. But … but you know what I mean, right?”

She’s
so adorable when she gets all flustered this way. “Of course I do.” Staring
into her eyes, I lean closer toward her, wanting to do the one thing I’ve
fantasized about since we came here. All thoughts of ex-girlfriends and
traitorous brothers evaporate on the wind blowing around us.

 “Who’s
Leona?” she asks so quietly that I almost miss the question. I sigh deeply.
“I’m sorry. Guess I’m somewhat of a killjoy, huh?”

“Maybe
a little,” I answer truthfully. So much for my previous thoughts. “I’m only
kidding. There’s not a vicious bone in your body. I don’t think you’ll be killing
my joy or anything else. Leona is a dead girl. At least, she is to me.”

“Did
you love her?” I fight an urge to go on the defense. Should we even be
discussing this? Why are we talking about stressful things right now? Still, a
small part of me aches to tell someone about what happened between Giovanni and
me five years ago.

“I
thought I was in love. What did I know at twenty? She hurt both me and my
brother. I gave her the deepest depths of my heart. Do you know how hard it is
for a man like me to do something like that? In return, she gave me betrayal.”

“Did
she cheat on you?”

“No.”
I’m finding this a lot harder to discuss than I thought it would be. However, I
force myself to continue. For some reason, Adriana makes me want to do what I
can to make her smile. If that means talking about my fucked up past lives,
then so be it. “She used Giovanni to make me jealous. What can I say? It
worked. I had to have her. I didn’t want to see her with anybody else, even my
own brother. I was reckless, wild, and stupid after Papa died. Numb. Didn’t
give a shit about anyone besides myself. Eventually, my conscience started
gnawing at me. Looking into Mama’s eyes was the worst feeling. As children,
Giovanni was always the one who kept Rafe from teasing me. He was my savior. In
the end, I wasn’t there for him. A couple of years later, he moved to New York,
claiming he wanted to be a fashion designer.”

“What?
I thought he does the MMA thing?”

“He
does now. it is his new obsession. He reinvents himself every couple of years.”
Here comes the fucked up part.

“So
… um, what happened to your relationship with Leona?” she asks, her tiny hands
cupping mine. I didn’t even see her when she took mine in hers.

“She
did something I couldn’t forgive myself for allowing to happen. And Giovanni
never recovered from it, either. Hell, my brother swore off women for a while.
He even thought he was bisexual. And no, I will not tell you the things I’ve
heard he has done.”