Page 239 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

When he’d first made enough money to be able to leave the States and travel comfortably, he’d had a tick list of places to visit. All the usual suspects... London, Paris, Rome. But it was Venice that had fascinated him. There was a stubbornness to the city he liked, and an ingenuity that clicked with something in his brain. Then of course there was the architecture and the art and the food.

Since then, he had visited Venice as a ‘tourist’ on countless occasions, mostly on his own with a ball cap pulled down low over his face, his security detail discreetly matching his stride.

Visiting with Sydney was a whole lot more fun.

The landmarks felt less like scenes from postcards or backdrops to a thousand bloggers’ selfies and she was wide-eyed with excitement, wanting to know everything. He had bought her a guidebook and he let her tell him the facts. The names of the buildings. The year they were built, and why. But then he told her the stories behind them.

‘Casanova once escaped a tryst with the French ambassador and a couple of nuns by climbing across those rooftops,’ he said, as they squinted up into the sunlight to admire the Doge’s palace.

‘And that house there,’ he said, pointing to a long, low building on the Grand Canal. ‘That’s the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni. It was Peggy Guggenheim’s home. She collected thousands of works of art during her time here, and thousands of lovers.’

Venice was not just a city, he thought as they sipped mimosas in Harry’s Bar. It was a world of water, dappled and delicate, of reflections in tarnished mirrors, and each time he visited, he discovered something new. And Sydney was the same. With each corner they turned, he saw another, different side to her, each one more fascinating than the last.

And for once, he didn’t try to navigate the confusion of side streets and sudden unexpected piazzas, because today the city itself seemed to be leading him somewhere.

They ate lunch in atrattoria.Vongoleand red wine, watching thevaporettiglide past. And then, because he knew she wanted to, he suggested a ride in agondola.

‘Really?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not too much of a cliché for you?’

He shrugged. ‘I can’t remember the last time I did this, so it feels new to me.’

No, that was her. He watched Sydney’s face light up as he helped her into thegondola. She made everything feel new and fresh and possible.

‘Do you really want to go to the moon?’ she asked him suddenly.

‘Ever since I was a kid.’

‘So the world isn’t enough? You have to conquer space.’

Here, now with Sydney, it felt peerless but—

‘Not conquer it. I supposed I just wanted to be someplace far away where I wouldn’t have to deal with my dad’s messes.’

She squeezed his hand.

‘What do you think?’ he asked as they glided down the Grand Canal, past the floating palaces with their filigreed, shuttered fronts.

‘I think it’s the loveliest place I’ve ever been.’ Her expression was so open and sweet it hurt to look at her. ‘Maybe it’s the water but there’s something about the light here, it feels magical. I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. I love it.’

‘They say that other cities have admirers,’ he said softly, responding to the happiness in her voice. ‘But Venice has lovers.’

Their eyes locked. Lovers. The word hovered in the air between them and his blood began pounding fiercely through his body.

Was that what they were? Yes, but only in the physical sense, he told himself, because it was obvious that they were no longer just having sex. They were more than bodies fusing in mutual need. What they felt in each other’s arms was more than pleasure. More complicated, but also less. There was understanding there and acceptance. Sydney had helped him face up to the pain of his past and address his anger with his father, and, frankly, that astonished him. She astonished him more and more with every passing hour, and he cared about her.

But love—

Not being angry didn’t mean he was ready or capable of loving anyone. His childhood had left scars, and they would always be there and no matter how he and Sydney fitted together in bed and out of it. That wouldn’t change.

He didn’t want to admit that to himself, but Sydney needed, deserved, more than he could give. She deserved to be loved.

And he had a business to run and scores to settle. That was what mattered, that and not letting a week of intimacy and possibilities make him risk turning into his father.

She was staring at him, her hair loose around her face, brown eyes wide. She looked like a Titian and he had to kiss her then. Leaning forward, he pulled her closer and fitted his lips against hers gratefully, letting himself vanish in the kiss.

As they broke apart, he couldn’t look away from the softness in her eyes.

‘Shall we go back?’ she said quietly.

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