Page 10 of Once Upon a Time in Venice

‘Thank you for saving my ass – again. Now, let’s hit the city!’

Chapter 5

‘I don’t think the lady wants to dance tonight.’

Gina’s head snapped up as she heard a deep, commanding voice, and another man appeared framed in the sotoportego. He was dressed as an aristocrat in a deep red velvet outfit trimmed with gold brocade, and a matching cape. He wore white knee-length stockings with white gloves covering his hands, and he carried a jewel-topped walking stick as a sceptre. But it was his mask that was most striking – a golden bear, its mouth open in a snarl, that somehow seemed to match his tall, muscular frame.

The men stumbled to a halt, their unpleasant dance interrupted. ‘Who are you, the fun police? Everything’s fine. We were all enjoying ourselves weren’t we, bella donna?’

Gina’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘Speak for yourselves.’

One of the others shrugged and hiccupped. ‘We were just leaving, weren’t we?’

The three men turned and stumbled back the way they’d come, as the newcomer stood aside to let them through. Gina’s heart was thumping, but she didn’t want to betray any sign of her distress.

‘Are you OK?’ the man asked. His accent sounded local, his voice low and mellifluous.

‘Perfectly,’ Gina shot back. ‘I can look after myself.’

The man paused, then bowed. ‘As long as you’re all right, signora. Forgive my misunderstanding. Enjoy the Carnival.’

Gina found herself meeting the blue eyes behind the mask and for a moment there was a connection, almost as if she recognized the man beneath, which she knew was absurd. But before she could speak, he turned and swept away, his red cape sweeping in a circle as he strode quickly away. Gina was assailed by emotions: anger at herself for ending up in such a vulnerable position, and relief that the three men had gone; but a surprising regret that she’d been so impolite to the man in the bear mask.

‘Hey,’ she called out, setting off at a pace. A few steps ahead, she saw the man’s cape disappear round a corner. The streets were busier once more, and the crowds closed around him. It suddenly felt imperative that she apologize, and Gina pushed through the throng to reach him.

‘Hey,’ she shouted again. ‘Excuse me.’ She stretched out her arm and managed to reach him with her fingertips. He whirled round, and for a moment they regarded each other. Gina couldn’t read his expression behind his mask, but she could see him watching her.

‘Hello,’ he said evenly. ‘I would say “Can I help you?”, but I know you can look after yourself.’

Beneath her mask, Gina’s cheeks burned. ‘I’m sorry for the way I spoke. I was … a bit disoriented.’

‘That’s understandable.’ He inclined his head. ‘But you should never go wandering down dark alleys like that. Stick to the tourist routes.’

‘I’m not a tourist,’ she shot back hotly, without thinking what she was saying.

‘A Venetian?’ He sounded surprised. ‘A rarity, what were you doing wandering through the back alleys?’

‘I’m not a Venetian either.’

‘No? Then …?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Gina shook her head, now feeling foolish for having run after him. ‘I just wanted to apologize for forgetting my manners. Buona notte, signore.’ She turned to leave, but at that moment there was an enormous boom, like a cannon firing, and a wave of cheers rippled across the city.

‘The parade’s starting,’ the man said, calmly.

Gina swore under her breath, cursing herself for losing track of time and drifting so far from the main square. ‘It’ll be impossible to get a good view now.’

The man paused for a fraction of a second. ‘Come with me,’ he said confidently, taking hold of her hand and pulling her through the crowd.

This time, Gina didn’t hesitate, adrenaline shooting through her as she let herself be led through the streets, her palm in his. For a second, she wondered what on earth she was doing, but there was something about him that seemed innately honourable, and Gina had learned to trust her instincts.

He guided her along alleyways and over bridges, before finally turning down the side of what looked like an abandoned church and climbing a staircase at the back of the building.

‘Up here.’

She followed him up the twisting staircase and they emerged onto a wide strip of flat rooftop, nestled amongst the terracotta tiles that stretched away across the city. The terrace itself was magnificent, with dark wooden floorboards, a crumbling stone wall, and a balustrade balcony over which ivy and wisteria ran riot. The paint was peeling, and the flora was out of control, but the terrace had huge potential and gave off an air of faded grandeur.

The most spectacular part, however, was the view: from here they had an uninterrupted vista over the Grand Canal, looking right across the water to the iconic church of Santa Maria della Salute, and the Punta della Dogana museum beside it. Beyond, Gina could see the White Palace Hotel, a beacon of light emerging from the lagoon on its own private island. A procession of boats was snaking along the S-shaped canal in a profusion of colour and light, as classical music carried on the night air and a full moon hung low in the cloudless sky.