The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(49)

“It is okay,” he says. “I am not going to hurt you.”

Finally, I turn to him. His dark eyes shine down on me like candles in a cave. “You are lost?”

I push back the threatening storm in my chest. “I—I’m trying to find the Ca’ Sagredo Hotel, on Campo Santa Sofia.”

He rubs his chin. “Sì. I know this hotel. Come with me.”

“No. Just tell me.”

“It is very complicated on foot. It is much easier to show you.”

“Never mind,” I say, and turn to leave.

“Wait.” He lifts his hands. “I can see that you do not trust me. You are wise to be cautious.” He points in the opposite direction. “Go that way. When you reach the end, turn right, then left, and another left. You will cross a bridge—”

“Stop,” I say, interrupting. “Okay, just . . . please, show me.”

The stranger leads me down a dark calle. But something—instinct, perhaps—tells me I’m safe. He takes my elbow, and we turn down a narrow alley and cross a bridge. Five minutes later, the calle merges into yet another bridge. Like stepping into a lit room, it’s brighter here, almost cheery. A half dozen gondolas idle beneath the bridge, as if waiting for me.

He signals to a gondolier and helps me on board. I’m surprised when, instead of vanishing, he climbs aboard the gondola and takes a seat beside me.

“I am Giovanni,” he tells me. “Giovanni Ghelli.”

“I’m Em—Emilia Antonelli.” I cross my arms over my chest, keenly aware of my see-through blouse.

The gondolier pushes off, and the small boat drifts down the winding canal. We follow a moonlit path across the blue-black water, and the night’s cool breath chills my arms. I shiver. Giovanni takes off his leather jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

“Better?”

I smile. “Grazie.”

Giovanni chats as we drift along, and I begin to relax. He tells me of his job, waiting tables at his uncle’s restaurant.

“It is a pleasant job, but I prefer to hear about you. Where is it that you live?”

“New York,” I say, letting him assume it’s Manhattan, not Bensonhurst. He lifts his brows and nods.

“My dream is to visit California one day.” He clutches my arm. “No offense. I hear wonderful things about New York as well.”

I laugh, savoring the feel of his hand on my arm, the warmth of his thigh pressed against mine, the musky smell rising from his leather jacket. If Lucy could see me now! And Aunt Poppy, too. I’m trying, just like I’d promised. Perhaps it’s a sad statement about the pathetic little world Lucy claims I’ve created, but in twenty-nine years, this is, without a doubt, the most romantic moment in my life.

Twenty minutes later, the gondola coasts to a stop. I look up. The Ca’ Sagredo Hotel stares at me. My heart sinks. I want to stay right here, on this little wooden craft with this handsome Italian man who makes me feel safe.

“Here you are,” he says, his voice soft. “Just as I promised.”

“Grazie. You were a lifesaver.”

“It was my pleasure, Emilia. Truly.” He takes my hand and helps me off the gondola. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He smiles down at me, his eyes tender. My heart thumps in my chest. Should I invite him for a drink? What would my character do in this situation? What would Lucy do? I swallow hard. “Good night,” I say.

He lifts a hand. “Buonanotte.”

I walk toward the hotel, regret churning in me. Lucy will never forgive me for squandering this opportunity. I’m almost to the entrance when he calls to me.

“Emilia!”

I turn. “Yes?”

His head is tipped, and he’s wearing the slightest smile on his beautiful face. He crooks his finger.

My heart leaps. I make my way toward the boat, forcing myself to walk, not run. With each step, my confidence grows. This is who you’ve become. But you don’t have to die as that woman. Poppy’s right. I can be whomever I choose to be. And tonight, I choose to be bold.

I take one last step. I’m close enough to touch him. Before I have time to chicken out, I lift myself onto my tiptoes. I close my eyes and press my lips to Giovanni’s.

His body snaps back, as if he’s been Tasered. He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“La mia giacca,” he says, pointing to the jacket draped around my shoulders.

“Oh, God,” I say, the chafe of his whiskers burning my lips. “I thought you—” Humiliation sears my cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” I yank off his coat and thrust it at him. “Thanks again,” I say with a curt wave.

I scurry toward the hotel as gracefully as I can, silently cursing myself. I am such an idiot!

“Emilia,” he calls.

I close my eyes and suck in a breath. When I turn around, his eyes twinkle in the moonlight.

“My wife,” he says. “She would not like it if she knew I gave away my jacket to a beautiful woman I shared my dreams with on a magical moonlit night.”

A slow smile makes its way to my face. Giovanni’s eyes lock on mine as the gondolier plants his oar on the dock and pushes off. I stand, watching my hero—my married hero—disappear into the darkness.