Midnight in Venice (12 page)

 

When she opened her eyes, the first light of dawn was turning the white silk curtains rose. But that wasn't what woke her. It was the trail of kisses along her spine. She sighed and turned toward the producer of those kisses, moving in close and finding his mouth with hers beneath the covers.

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“It's far too early to be morning,” he said. “Close your eyes, and let me kiss you. I'll try not to keep you awake.”

She closed her eyes, surrendering herself to his kisses and his touch, drifting in and out of a dream-like state where there was nothing but waves of enticing sensation that went on and on and on.

 

When she woke again, the sun was full on the bed, the covers spilling onto the floor. She turned, but this time he was gone. If it weren't for the strange bedroom and the note she found on the pillow, she might have thought the whole night was a dream.

Take your time. I'm in the conservatory. Breakfast is ready when you are. Hope you like the clothes—I've kissed enough of you to know they'll fit.

Underneath was a little map of the house complete with a “You are here” showing a stick man—or rather, woman—on a bed. In the room marked “conservatory” was a stick man reading a newspaper. She laughed. Drawing was maybe the one area in which he fell short.

Beside the bed was a white bag embossed with the logo of an impossibly expensive store. She pulled out a pair of jeans and a soft creamy sweater. There were more “essentials” wrapped in white tissue too, and he even had her bra size right.

She took her cell from her purse and turned it on for the first time since she'd fled the airport: 9 a.m. There were two texts, one from her mother, another from Marco. Her mother expressed concern for her safety, and Olivia quickly texted her back to let her know she was fine and that she would call her with the details as soon as she could.

Marco wrote:
OMG—what happened??? Glad to hear you're safe, but where are you?

She texted back:
Sorry to worry you. It was pretty crazy and scary but everything seems to have turned out well. Don't tell anyone, but remember that cop from the airport, Alessandro Rossi? I spent the night. This could be love for me too!

There was an en-suite off his room. It wasn't the wisteria-garden bathroom, but she decided with a laugh that it would suffice. Ignoring the stack of clean towels, she used his, still slightly damp and suffused with his scent. Wrapped in the towel, she went back into the bedroom, pulled aside the silk curtain, and looked out at white swans swimming on the pond. The surface sparkled in the winter sun, reflecting back the brilliant blue sky. Alessandro's car was parked where he'd left it, and beside it was a more practical car she assumed belonged to one of Columbo's guards. On this beautiful morning, it was hard to imagine any danger.

She put on the new clothes, if “put on” was how one described donning such wonderful things, and then, picking up the map, went into the hall. She didn't know what came over her, a sudden, gloriously happy, childlike glee, and she ran down the hall to the ballroom, which glittered in the morning sun. Arms outstretched, she spun round and round, setting all the clouds, angels, and cherubs on the ceiling spinning too.
Eat your heart out, Cinderella!
she thought before running down the stairs, hanging a left as per the drawing—and running square into a strange man.

It was like hitting a wall, and she bounced back, landing ungracefully on a Louis XIV or something-or-other chair. “I'm so sorry,” she gasped. He was wearing a uniform, and she recognized the crest of the Guardia di Finanza
.
“Are you one of the guards?”

“Yup, I'm Orlando. You must be Olivia,” he said, not unkindly.

She nodded, cheeks reddening.

“Alessandro is that way,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

She thanked him and followed his directions, walking sedately, more befitting a guest in a sixteenth-century Palladian mansion.

Filled with orchids, tropical plants, and lemon trees, the conservatory was at the farthest end of the west wing. Alessandro looked at her over his paper. “I heard you ran into one of the guards this morning,” he said with a smile.

“How do you know?”

He picked up his phone, showing her the text message screen.

“Oh,” she said, reddening again.

He laughed. “Have a seat. Clothes okay?”

“They're beautiful, and I'm not going to ask how you did it. I'm quite happy to believe in magic.”

Helga appeared with a frothy cappuccino and a chocolate brioche still warm from the oven. “How did you know these are my favorites?” she said to him after thanking Helga and taking a bite.

“Isn't warm chocolate brioche everyone's favorite?” he asked.

“Oh my God, these are so good. But don't indulge my every whim. I won't be able to get into these clothes if I eat like this every morning.” Every morning? It had been a slip of the tongue, but Alessandro didn't contradict her, and instead turned the page of the paper.

Taking another bite, she leaned across the table and kissed him with sugary lips. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what? I assure you I treat all suspects and witnesses just as well. I give
witness
protection
a whole new meaning.”

“Okay then, I take it back. As soon as I finish this brioche, you can take me to the dungeons.”

He laughed. “Have you been reading
Fifty Shades of Grey
?”

Now it was her turn to laugh.

“I'm out of fuzzy handcuffs,” he said, “but have you ever driven a race car?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you're in for a treat.”

“Is this where I tell you I drive like a little old lady?”

“You expect me to believe that after last night?” he said slyly.

“I was driven to it,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, don't you have to change gears and everything? I've only ever driven automatics.”

“Not a problem. A computer takes care of all those details.”

Driving a race car wasn't on her bucket list, but it'd be quite the story to tell her brother-in-law—it wasn't like they had much to talk about otherwise.

Then she had a wonderfully evil idea. “Okay, but you have to take a picture of me in the car wearing a helmet. I want to send it to my brother-in-law, Phil. He loves car racing. And it'll drive my sister, Claudia, crazy! She already thinks I'm irresponsible.”

“Okay, it's a deal,” he said, and a few minutes later, after he presented her with a soft leather jacket, they were sitting in a bright red Rossi car in a garage much too beautiful to be called a garage. He helped her with her seat belt, giving the end a sharp pull to tighten it. “There, is that
Fifty Shades of Grey
enough for you?” he whispered playfully.

“It's a start. Don't you have a car with a backseat so we can make out later?”

“Backseat? I have you right where I want you, and I bet I can make you beg,” he said, pulling the belt a little tighter and kissing her.

“Okay, you win,” she said, and he laughed as he strapped on their helmets.

He pressed a button, and the engine roared to life. The dashboard was a dizzying array of dials, which he assured her she needn't worry about. He showed her how to put the car in reverse, and, placing her foot on the pedal as lightly as she could, she edged out of the garage. She drove very slowly down a narrow road edged with cypress trees, the engine making low growling sounds as if impatient to start racing. At the end of the cypress-edged road, a long oval track came into view, and hovering over it were the Dolomite Mountains, with their jagged, snow-topped peaks. “It's breathtaking!” she exclaimed.

He smiled. “I'm guessing you aren't talking about the racetrack.”

“It's a lovely racetrack,” she said, returning his smile. “I just wasn't expecting to see the mountains from here. I was told you can see them from Venice on a clear day, but it's been so rainy. Imagine being up there with your head literally in the clouds!”

“It can be arranged,” he said. “Just say the word. Your wish is my command.”

“Are you going to tell me you have a hot air balloon like Richard Branson, and every Sunday morning you two get together and take them for a spin?”

“Wrong,” he said. “Balloons are for sissies, and I'm much too cool to hang out with Branson. Now, let me send a quick text before you break any speed records.”

“Better make that text to the undertaker.”

“Nope,” he said, putting down the phone a moment later. “Okay, done. Helmets are on. Seat belts are fastened. We're going to take the first lap easy. And no worries, I'm right here.”

She pulled onto the track, and while she started cautiously, it didn't take her long to realize that everything about this car was designed for speed.

“You're a natural,” he shouted over the engine's roar. “Take it up to where you feel comfortable. Just keep focused.”

A couple of rounds later, she had no problem understanding the appeal of this sport. This was nothing like inching your way through gridlocked city traffic. This was flying, this was freedom, the track a blur beneath you, the sound of the engine like a song as it shifted up a gear. This was the feeling every car ad ever made was trying to give you. She was going two hundred kilometers per hour—not even close to racing speeds, but far faster than she was ever going to drive again. She did another lap, loving the feel of the car leaning into the curves, and then another, before Alessandro told her it was time to start decelerating.

After slowing and stopping, she turned to Alessandro. “That was awesome. I know now why you race.”

“I thought you'd get the idea,” he said. He helped her out of her seat belt, and she leapt out of the car, jumping up and down, laughing with the rush of it all as she whipped off her helmet and shook out her hair. Alessandro pulled out his phone and took her picture. He looked down at the result. “No bloody way I'm letting you send
that
one to your brother-in-law. It's far too sexy. This one is mine!”

He took a couple more of her posing next to the car. When he took off his own helmet, Beatrix's words came rushing back to her:
When Alessandro gets out of his car and takes off his helmet, you can hear a sigh go up from every woman in the stands.
She'd got that right.

And backseat or no backseat, Olivia would've been happy to do it in the middle of the track. She was just about to say so when she heard a plane overhead. It flew straight over them before turning around.

“Is that going to land on the track?” she asked.

“Sure hope so,” he said, looking down at his Patek Philippe watch. “And it's right on time. Lunch in the Dolomites with your head in the clouds?”

“You arranged this?”

“I told you, your every wish is my command. We'll eat on the plane, though. It's pretty cold in the mountains in February.”

“Is that what you were texting about in the car?”

“Possibly. I hope you didn't have your heart set on a balloon.”

“You're insane!” she said, only half joking, as the plane hit the “runway” and came to a stop. She tried to remember when a man had so much as walked her to the nearest subway stop, let alone ordered a private jet for her. That
it's too good to be true
doubt started to creep into her head. Maybe she shouldn't send that photo to Phil. Just think how Claudia would react if she let this one get away! But then Alessandro bestowed one of his breathtaking smiles on her, and her doubts faded to insignificance.

“Ready?” he asked as he took her hand, and together they ran to the plane and up the stairs.

Their pilots, Annamaria and Pierre, had trained in the air force. The plane itself was outfitted like a luxurious lounge, complete with leather sofas and a fully stocked bar, a far cry from her overnight Air Canada flight before Christmas.

She buckled her seat belt as the plane taxied down the track, and moments later she was watching the earth drop away beneath her.

Once in the air, Alessandro lifted the lid of an enormous picnic basket, revealing a bottle of champagne and an enticing array of food. “I thought we'd have our picnic on the way to Paris.”

“Paris?”

“I wanted to spend a day together without guards hovering around. I cleared it with Columbo. And besides, Paris is rather romantic, don't you think?”

“I don't know what to say.”

“There's nothing to say.” He handed her a glass of champagne. “To you,” he said, touching his glass to hers.

“And you,” she said in return.

“And us.”

 

Great snowy peaks disappeared into the clouds, and jagged pinnacles of stone jutted up like great stalagmites that looked like a set in a fantasy movie. Alessandro put his arm around Olivia's shoulders and leaned back, her face the only scenery he needed.

She turned briefly from looking at the Dolomites through the window and gave him a smile that would have turned the bitterest man in the world to marshmallow. She made him realize he hadn't been living the last few years, only surviving. With all his money, he hadn't been happy. The Beatles had it right about money not being able to buy love.

His mind drifted back to their lovemaking the night before. Now that was living!

“You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?” she said. “What are you thinking about with that big smile on your face?”

“What I would do to you if I weren't worried about that cockpit door opening,” he said. “But I also know we're going to land in forty-five minutes, which is frankly far too short a time for everything I have in mind. Besides, I'd hate to tell the best chef in all of Venice we never got around to eating his lunch.”

“Okay,” she said, plucking a strawberry from the plate and taking a bite. “So long as I don't have to wait all day.”

“Not a chance.”

His phone pinged with an incoming text. It was Pamela.

I heard from Columbo you're in Paris with Olivia. You sure that's wise? Anyway, I just spoke to Dino, and he's close to making a deal. Says he can name Vanessa's murderer too.

He texted back:
Thanks. Let me know when you have an update.

She replied immediately:
When this is over, you and I really need to talk.

Sure
, he typed, wondering if what she wanted to discuss would explain her strange mood of late.

“Work?” Olivia asked as she handed him a heaping plate.

He nodded. “My partner.”

“Are you okay?”

“So long as you're with me.” He smiled. “You should know Dino's about to talk, and my guess is you're about to be completely exonerated.”

“I don't even think I needed to hear that to make this the best day of my life. I just worry this day is more for me than you.”

“You have that wrong. This is all for me. I can't tell you how selfish I feel right now.”

“Then I'll do my best not to disappoint you,” she said as Paris came into view.

After they landed, the plane taxied off the runway to where a limo waited for them. The uniformed driver opened the door for Alessandro and Olivia, and moments later they were making their way through traffic to the center of Paris.