'Hmm? No, thanks, honestly I'm toasty.' He could see her visibly push away whatever was occupying her thoughts as she turned to him and smiled. 'Bianca says Burano is beautiful. I'm really looking forward to seeing it.'
'It is,' he assured her. 'Very different from Venice, but equally stunning in a quieter way.'
'Did you visit the islands a lot when you were younger? What about the rest of Italy? It's such a beautiful country. It must have been wonderful to have had it all on your doorstep,' she added quickly as he raised an eyebrow at her series of questions.
'It is beautiful and, yes, most of our childhood holidays were spent in Italy. Venice gets so hot and busy in the summer and we have a villa by Lake Como, so every summer we would spend a month there. And I don't remember a time when I didn't explore the islands. Every Venice child grows up able to handle a boat before they learn to ride a bike.'
'And swim?'
'Sì, and swim.'
'I still can't imagine what it was like, actually living here, crossing water to get to school. It just seems impossibly exotic.'
'Not when it's your normal. To me, your childhood in Manchester would have seemed equally exotic. What was your route to school? A bus?'
'I doubt it. Suburbia is suburbia, nothing exciting there. But a school boat? Now, that's fun.' And once again she turned his question aside effortlessly. Was there some dark secret there or did she really think her past was of so little interest? 'What else did you do when you were little? Were you a football player or addicted to video games or a bookworm?'
'None of the above. If I wasn't messing around on a boat, I was always trying to find a way to do some kind of deal.' He grinned at her surprised expression. 'I told you, we're an island of merchants, sailors, traders. Oh, it's been several hundred years since we had any influence, since we controlled the waves, but it's still there in any true Venetian's veins.'
'What did your parents say?'
'Oh, they were proud,' he assured her. 'So many families forgot their roots, watched the palazzos crumble around them as the money ran out. My mother is a big believer in a good day's work, no matter who you are.' Proud right until she realised his independent entrepreneurial streak wasn't just a phase.
It was as if Sophie had read his mind. 'Was she disappointed when you set up for yourself? Left Venice?' She leaned against the windscreen, half turned to face him, eyes intent on him as if the answers really mattered.
'Yes. She's convinced one day I'll get over my little rebellion and come home, settle down and take over the family affairs.' He paused as he navigated the boat around a buoy. 'Of course, since my father died she's been keener than ever and at some point I need to make a decision about where my future lies. But right now she's not ready to give up the reins no matter what she says-she'll spend every second of her retirement second-guessing every decision I make. I have a while yet. Besides...' Marco had always known the day would come when he would have to step in, but he wanted to see how big his own business could grow first. He already turned over several million euros annually, and there was plenty of room to expand, new territories to trade in.
'Besides what?'
'Bianca. Maybe she could take over the Santoro holdings. She's an extremely talented businesswoman, she's got exactly the same heritage as me and I know she wants a family, so she could hand the business on, just as my parents wanted.'
'That makes sense. Hasn't your mother ever considered it?'
'Neither of my parents have. In many ways they were very old-fashioned. Bianca's a woman, so in their eyes when she marries she'll no longer be a true Santoro. But it's just a name...' And if Bianca did take over the business, the palazzo and provide the heirs, then he would be free.
Was it the perfect solution-or was he merely fulfilling his father's prophecies and eluding his responsibilities? Marco had no idea. It all seemed so clear, so simple in London, but the second he set foot back in Venice he got tangled up in all the threads of loyalty, duty and family he'd spent most of his life struggling to free himself from.
They had reached the open waters of the lagoon and Marco let out the throttle, allowing the boat to zoom ahead. 'I miss this,' he admitted. 'This freedom.'
'I can imagine. I know there's a harbour in Chelsea, but sailing up and down the Thames must be a little sedate after living here. What do you like to do in London for fun? Apart from attending parties, that is.'
Marco eased off on the throttle and let the boat slow as Burano came into view. 'Is this an interview?' He was teasing but noted the high colour that rose over her cheeks with interest. 'An interrogation? Will you lock me up in the Doge's palace if I answer wrongly?'
'Yes, right next to Casanova. No, no interrogation, I'm just interested. We're spending all this time together and I know nothing about you. I need to be prepared if you want your mother to think we're a real couple. What if she gets me alone? Imagine how suspicious she would be if I don't know your favourite football team, or how you take your coffee.'
'Black, strong, no sugar and of course I support Venezia despite our current ranking. Thank goodness our national team is a little more inspiring.' Sophie was right, he realised. If they were acting the couple, it made sense to know more about each other. Besides, she was fun company, insightful with a dry wit he appreciated. 'How about you? City or United?'
'Me?' She blinked. 'My family is City, so I am by default, but to be honest I'm not really bothered. We were a bit divided on gender lines when I was a child. My father would take my brothers to matches, but I was eight years younger and so I was always left behind with my mother, who was definitely not interested. I think she thought sport was invented to ruin her weekends.'
'Did that annoy you? Being left out by your brothers?'
She wrinkled her nose. 'No one likes being the baby of the family, do they? But my mother encouraged it, I think. By the time I was born my brothers' lives revolved around sport. Footie, cricket, rugby-it's all they talked about, watched, did. She always said she was delighted to have a daughter, an ally at last.' She sounded wistful, her eyes fixed on the sea.
'You weren't into sport, then?'
Sophie shrugged. 'I didn't really have the option. Like I said, Dad would take the boys to matches or whatever and Mum and I would be left behind. Besides, she was determined not to lose me to their side. She had me in classes of her choosing as soon as I could walk. Dance,' she confirmed at his enquiring look. 'I wasn't kidding when I told you at the Snowflake Ball that I'd done every kind of dancing.'
'A dancer? Professionally?' It made sense. She had the build, petite as she was, strong and lithe, and he dimly remembered her mentioning it on New Year's Eve.
'Could have been. Mum thought I'd be a ballerina. She wanted me to train properly at sixteen, dance at Covent Garden one day.'
'But you didn't want to?'
She shook her head. 'It's not just about talent, it's luck, build, you know, having the right body, discipline but most of all drive. I was good, but good enough? Probably not. I didn't want it enough. I stopped just before I turned sixteen. It broke her heart.'
She looked down at her hands and he didn't pursue it-he knew all about breaking parental hearts, was a gold medallist in it. 'What did you want to do instead?' It wasn't just about polite conversation; he was actually interested. His hands tightened on the wheel as the realisation dawned.
Sophie smiled, slow and nostalgic. 'The thing I did really like about ballet, about performing, was the costumes. Every show involves a lot of net and tulle and gluing sequins-I loved that part. I was always much happier with a needle than a pointe shoe. So I guess I'm lucky, trying to make a go of the thing I love. If I'd become a ballet dancer, I'd be over halfway through my career by now. Not that I can imagine I'd have had much of one. Like I say, I was never driven enough.' She stopped and stared as they neared the pretty harbour and the brightly coloured fishermen's cottages came into view. 'Oh, my goodness, how beautiful. Where's my camera?' She turned away, grabbing her camera and exclaiming over the colours, the boats, the sea, the sky.
As he guided the boat into the harbour, mooring it at a convenient stop, Marco's thoughts were preoccupied with Sophie, still chattering excitedly and snapping away. Why was he so intrigued by her? Sure, she was fun, they had chemistry and she was proving extremely helpful in calming Bianca's ever more volatile nerves and keeping his mother off his back. But next week she would return to London and their brief relationship would be over. There was no point in prolonging it when they both knew they weren't heading anywhere. Short, sweet and to the point just as all perfect liaisons should be.