Midnight in Venice (15 page)

She nodded.

He leaned across the table, his lips brushing her ear. “If you were pretending back in the hotel room,” he whispered, “I'll live with it.”

She almost gasped at the memory of it, and he kissed her ear. “See, I didn't think you were pretending. I've had my share of gold diggers. And I know you're not one of them. Now finish your dessert. The carriage has been called, and we have just enough time to see Paris at night from the Eiffel Tower before our plane takes off.”

She hadn't expected an actual carriage pulled by two horses, but after the rest of the day, she wasn't too surprised. “Warm enough?” Alessandro asked, tucking a blanket around her more securely before putting an arm around her shoulder. She nodded, laid her head against his shoulder, and stifled a yawn. As wonderful as the day had been, she was getting sleepy—the cognac had probably been the last thing she needed.

“Will you last?” he asked. “Do you want to go back to the plane now? I can kiss you on top of the Eiffel Tower another time.”

“No, I don't want to wait for that. I'll be fine.” They passed Notre Dame Cathedral and were on the bridge crossing the Seine. “What are all those rusty barnacle things on the railings?” she asked.

“Padlocks,” he said. “There was a popular Italian movie where two lovers locked a padlock to a bridge as a sign of their love. As you can see, it's caught on. I know people think it's romantic, but the weight of all that metal threatens to break the railings off. I've seen the occasional lock on the Accademia Bridge. I'm really concerned it's going to catch on in Venice too.”

“Perhaps you should sponsor an awareness campaign,” she said. “As a philanthropic venture.”

“Good idea. I like how you think. Can you think of an alternative that would still be romantic but not harmful to the bridges?”

“How about blowing a kiss over the Seine and making a wish for true love?”

“Like this?” he said, blowing a kiss out over the water.

“Yes,” she said.

“Will I get my wish?”

She could see he was waiting for an answer. “Yes,” she whispered. “If you want it.”

“Oh, I want it,” he said, his voice barely a whisper as his mouth closed over hers, and whatever there was to see between the bridge and the Eiffel Tower she would have to see another time, because the kiss lasted the whole trip.

 

It was smart of him to take her to Paris today. But now there's a Plan B. It's risky, but it just might work. Though what if he never lets her out of his sight once they get back to Venice? There's only one thing that'll make him drop his guard—the ace up our sleeve. There'll be serious fallout, but I'll deal with that later.

 

 

“
Pronto
,” Alessandro whispered sleepily into his cell. It had been set to vibrate, and he was surprised he heard it. Years of being alert to it, he figured. Careful not to wake Olivia sleeping soundly beside him, he slid up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard.

“Sorry to call you so early, Alessandro.” It was Pamela.

“What is it?” He raked his fingers through his hair, already knowing by her tone this couldn't be good.

“Dino's talking,” she said, her words low and urgent. “Called his lawyer at seven this morning.”

He looked at his watch. Nine now. “I'll come in.”

“I'm already on my way to you. I'll be there in thirty minutes. I have to talk to you first.” That was when he noticed her voice was shaking. Pamela was the most level-headed person he'd ever known—she kept her cool in situations that could reduce the toughest men to tears. If her voice was shaking, he knew “couldn't be good” wasn't even going to come close to describing what she was about to tell him.

“What is it?” he whispered.

As he listened to Pamela, he looked at the morning light filtering through the white silk curtains.
I'm in a nightmare
, he told himself.
Any moment I'll wake up and discover none of this is real
.

No, he was awake. Very much so.

God, she's beautiful
, he thought, gazing down at Olivia, his heart nearly breaking with the realization of just how much he loved her. The curve of her arm over the cover, the soft circle of her breast above the sheet. Soon she'd wake and look at him with those gorgeous violet eyes. What was he going to say?

“Did you hear me, Alessandro?” Pamela was asking.

“Yes,” he whispered. Olivia stirred in her sleep, instinctively moving closer to regain the contact they'd shared all night. Her cheek came to rest against his hip. He should be making love to her, waking her slowly and gently.

But he didn't. Couldn't. Not with what he was hearing. What if he set down the phone and pretended he'd never heard anything? Asked Pamela never to repeat it to anyone?

“She's with you now, isn't she?” Pamela asked.

“Yes.” Still whispering.

There was no going back now. Not now that he'd heard it.

And there was more. He listened to Pamela as he stared at the violet beads around Olivia's neck. The only thing she was wearing.

They'd taken the elevator up the Eiffel Tower. It had been still. No wind, even at the top, a thousand feet above Paris. Regardless, it had been cold. Their breath came out as little white clouds hanging in the lights of the observation deck. They were alone, the tower closed for the evening to tourists. It isn't hard to arrange a private tour when you're a billionaire.

Almost anything could be solved when you're a billionaire—except what Pamela was now telling him. Why now? It was as if the gods of happiness had aligned themselves against him.

He and Olivia had walked around the tower, his arm comfortably draped over her shoulders, hers around his waist, sliding up under his jacket. He could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt. With the City of Light spread out beneath them in all directions, he kissed her. Not lustfully this time, but with gratitude that he'd found her. He had resolved to never let her go and protect her to the end of their days.

She fell asleep on the way to the airport and again in the plane. His race car was on the track where they'd left it only fifteen hours before, and feeling a bit like Rhett Butler in
Gone with the Wind
, he carried her up the curved staircase to his room.

She awakened long enough to let him remove her dress and kiss him goodnight. She fell asleep in his arms, and he tried out the words for the first time: “I love you.” He hadn't said them before, afraid the memory of his wife would come between them. But he did believe them. He'd never believed in anything more. He repeated them again: “I love you.” And he knew, had she been awake, she would have answered him with the same words and without hesitation.

He still believed them, but now he thanked God he'd waited until she was asleep to say them. It would make it easier for her in the long run. Because if he was certain of one thing, it was that never again would he wake up and see her next to him.

“I love you,” he whispered, even softer this time.

“What was that?” Pamela said.

“Nothing,” he said. “Text me when you get to the gate.” He clicked off the phone and gently pulled the sheet over Olivia, trying not to think this was the last time he'd touch her. He wanted to kiss her, but if he did that, he'd never be able to do what he had to do next.

“What is it?” Olivia asked sleepily, not opening her eyes but instinctively reaching for him again. He moved before she touched him.

“I have to get up,” he whispered, the words sticking in his throat. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“It doesn't matter. You didn't go to bed until four in the morning.”
You
, he'd said. Not
we
. How quickly he was putting space between them.

She didn't seem to notice. “Will you be back?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, knowing he was lying.

“Okay,” she mumbled and fell back asleep in an instant.

She loves me
, he thought,
but not for much longer
.

He pulled out clean clothes and went down the hall to the wisteria-garden bathroom so as not to wake her. He turned on the water, as hot as he could take it, and stepped in, feeling needles of water against his skin, the memory of her kisses mingling with the water as it streamed down his chest.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, pulling on his shirt, zipping his jeans, and running a comb through his wet hair before walking back down the hall, not daring to look in on her. If he did, he'd go in, wrap his arms around her, pull the covers over his head, and never let her go.

In the kitchen, he surprised Helga, who was busy polishing copper pots. “You should have rung. You know I'll bring up your coffee. Two cappuccinos?”

“Yes, only not for Olivia,” he said, trying to keep some normalcy in his tone. “She's still asleep. My partner, Pamela, will be here in a few minutes. Actually, make three. I'm sure Renzo would appreciate one too after sitting in his car all night.”

“Renzo left three hours ago,” she said with a smile. “Not everyone keeps lovebird hours.”

He didn't reply, and he saw her smile turn into one of those looks of motherly concern she'd been giving him all his life. “But I'll take one to Orlando,” she said.

He waited in the library, picking up the morning newspaper on the coffee table that would now forever be associated with Olivia jumping on top of him in that costume. He almost smiled.

His phone pinged, indicating an incoming text. Pamela. In the hall, he pressed the button that opened the gates, then stepped outside to wait.

Orlando waved from his car, and Alessandro returned the wave. The sun they'd enjoyed yesterday was only a memory; heavy gray clouds had returned on a cold wind. Their reprieve from the damp that had pervaded this winter had been brief indeed. He refrained from turning it into a metaphor for his own life.

Pamela's car came into view, and he went down the stairs to meet her, opening her door when she came to a stop beside him. She avoided his gaze as she climbed out of the car and followed him up the steps into the house.

They sat in the library, where Helga had set out the coffees and a plate of fresh brioches, which neither of them touched.

Taking a sip of her cappuccino, Pamela sighed and set it down again. “I don't know what else to tell you, Alessandro.”

“Any chance he's lying?” he asked. The news he'd been waiting all these years to hear, and now he didn't want to hear it. What were you supposed to do when you finally got the thing you wanted most in the world just when you finally no longer wanted it?

Katarina was alive.

 

He was supposed to be ecstatic. Thrilled. Over the moon with happiness. But he wasn't.

Was it because he was in shock? Any moment now, the shock would wear off and he'd be happy beyond his wildest dreams.

Except for one thing: he was in love with Olivia now.

But that would have to change.

Pamela continued. “Dino told us Katarina is living at an address in New Jersey. We checked it. She used to ship her glass to this address, and a Katarina Zucaro does live there now.”

“It doesn't make any sense! Why didn't they ask for a ransom? Why did she never try to contact me?” Alessandro pounded the table with his fist, and Pamela caught their cups to keep them from flying out of their saucers.

“Alessandro,” she said softly. “This is hard for me too, but you have to stay calm. You're going to hear me out, then we're going to decide what the next step is. That's all we can do. As for the answers to your questions, I don't know. Maybe they decided the risk was too great. Maybe they threatened her.”

He raked his fingers through his still-drying hair, planting his elbows on the table and holding his head in his hands. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined, this hadn't been one. “Okay, go on, but don't tell me to calm down again or that this is as hard for you as it is for me. Because it isn't, and I think I'll lose it.”

“Okay,” Pamela said. “I won't. And just so you're forewarned, it's already made the press. I think Dino's lawyer leaked it for some extra cash. He's a pretty sleazy guy.”

Alessandro got up, went to the window, and watched the swans swimming on the pond. Pamela came and stood beside him, and he turned and put his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “Mother of God,” he said.

“I'll always be here for you,” Pamela said. “We're more than partners, you know that . . .”

“Thanks,” he said, and he looked up to see Olivia standing in the doorway, dressed in the jeans and sweater he'd given her, her thick dark hair mussed, looking every bit like she'd just climbed out of his bed.
Mother of God
, he repeated, though not aloud this time.
What hell have I dragged her into?

Nothing that dinner in Paris could make up for.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked hoarsely.

“Your wife is still alive?” she asked, her voice containing a hint of hysteria.

He was angry at himself, but he lashed out at her. “I don't know what's going on. But I do know I never should have let you convince me to start something with you. Not now, maybe not ever! Get your shoes and coat.”

“Alessandro—” Pamela began.

“Don't you start! If you tell me to calm down again, I'll—” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, as he had no idea what he'd do. Some small part of him realized that Olivia had run off crying, but he didn't care. Or he did care. He didn't know, but he had to get her away from him. These tears now were nothing compared to what she'd go through if she stayed. Better she think him a complete ass; it would make it easier for her.

Moments later, Olivia was back downstairs. Still in tears, she stood in the foyer, jacket and shoes on, purse clutched in her arms.

“Pamela, take Olivia and put her in Orlando's car. Tell him to take her home and not to let her out of his sight until we know what we're dealing with. It sounds like they were working alone, but I'm not taking any chances right now.”

“Alessandro, please—” Olivia pleaded just as his cellphone rang.

“I'll call you later,” he said, his attention on his phone's display. “Just get in the car with Orlando.”

He put the phone to his ear. “
Pronto
,” he said as the front door slammed shut.