'I'll lend you the fare if you need it. Consider it an early birthday present.' Ashleigh seated herself next to Sophie and nudged her. 'Venice, Soph. You've always wanted to go.'
'Marco offered to pay for my ticket. No, don't look so excited. He has loads of air miles from his work. It's not a big deal.' Actually it was. Sophie didn't want to admit how much his casual 'I'll cover all expenses, it's the least I can do, you'll be far more of a help than you realise' had touched her. Harry had not only always expected Sophie to pay her way but frequently his as well. He was a musician after all, above mundane worldly tasks like making a living. 'It's just, I hardly know him.'
Grace raised her eyebrows knowingly. 'Didn't look that way from where I was sitting tonight. The chemistry between you two...oof!' She fanned herself dramatically, ducking with a squeal as Sophie threw a cushion at her.
'What do you need to know?' Ashleigh asked, squeezing Sophie's hand. 'What would make you feel better about going?'
Sophie shrugged, unable to articulate the prickle of unease that ran over her when she thought about accepting Marco's casual invitation-or, more worryingly, the ripple of excitement overshadowing the unease. 'I don't know where he lives. I don't exactly know what he does for a living. I don't know if he likes music or books or walks in the country.'
'What do you know?' Emma curled up next to Grace. 'Tell us about him.'
'He's Italian, does something to do with art and antiques. Erm...he's lived in London for ages but really loves Venice, you can hear it in his voice. He has a gorgeous accent, dresses really well, his suits look handmade to me, beautifully designed, great fabric.'
'Focus, Sophie. We want to know about the man, not his clothes. How does he make you feel?'
How did he make her what? When Sophie had packed her bags, the shattered remaining pieces of her pride and her bruised heart and moved over a hundred miles away to start again, the one thing she had guarded herself against was feeling too much. It was thanks to her emotions she had fallen into such a sorry state in the first place. She picked up a cushion and cradled it close, as if it were a shield between her and the rest of the world while she thought. 'He makes me feel sexy. Wanted. Powerful.' Where had those words come from? But even as she spoke them Sophie knew that they were the truth-and that not once, in seven years, had Harry made her feel any of those things. Desperate, insecure, weak, needy, pathetic? All the above. Never powerful. Never wanted.
She straightened, turning to stare at Ashleigh half excited, half terrified. 'I should go, shouldn't I?'
'You should totally go. Who cares about his address and what exactly something in art and antiques means? As long as he isn't a drug smuggler and doesn't live with his wife and six kids, it's irrelevant. Sexy and powerful? Now, they're relevant.'
'Who knows where it might lead? Look at me. I went to Scotland for a bit of adventure and came back head over heels. Go for it!' Grace practically clapped in excitement, but Sophie shook her head emphatically.
'I am so happy for you, Grace, for all of you. But believe me, I'm not going to come back engaged. Marco made it very clear he's not interested in anything long-term and that suits me perfectly. There's a lot I want to achieve, that I need to achieve, and wedded bliss is very far down that list. But this will be good for me. I've been so scared of being sucked back into a relationship I've gone too far the other way. This is a big city. I should date and see people occasionally, live a little.'
'Live a lot,' Emma corrected her. 'You should, Sophie, you deserve to. And we'll be cheering you on every step of the way.'
CHAPTER FOUR
'LIVE A LOT,' Sophie reminded herself as she passed through the customs gate and into the arrivals hall. Her new mantra. She'd been repeating it throughout the flight, torn between excitement at seeing Venice-and Marco-at last and apprehension about the next few days. What if she and Marco had nothing to say to each other now she was here, or what if his mother didn't like her?
No, those negative thoughts were old Sophie, not new, improved, positive, life-grabbing Sophie. Pushing them aside, she scanned the arrivals hall, impatient to see Marco. She hadn't spoken to him since New Year's Eve as he had flown out the very next day, but he had sent an itinerary with her ticket and promised that she would be met at the airport.
Maybe he was running late...
As she scanned the waiting crowd again a sign bearing a familiar name caught her eye and, as she paused to read it again, the bearer, a slight man in his forties, formally dressed in a chauffeur's uniform and cap, caught her eye and smiled. 'Signorina Bradshaw?' he asked in heavily accented but perfect English. 'Signor Santoro asked me to meet you. He has been called away.' He handed Sophie an envelope as he deftly relieved her of her suitcase and bag.
Disappointment warred with a cowardly relief. Work had predictably been quiet over the last few days, leaving Sophie far too much time to second-guess her decision and, even though she'd tried to bury herself in her designs or wrestle with the unnecessarily complicated content management system on her still-not-live website, she often found herself sitting still staring into space, her heart thumping with panic at the prospect of stepping outside the narrow life she'd built herself.
The envelope was thick, more like an invitation than a piece of office stationery, and it took Sophie a couple of moments to open it and pull out a piece of crisp white paper. She unfolded it and scanned the brief lines.
Sophie,
Please accept my most sincere apologies but I am unavoidably detained. Gianni will escort you to my mother's house and I will see you at the party this evening.
A dopo,
Marco
No kiss, she noted. What did that mean in a time when even her dentist included an X on her check-up reminder? Pocketing the note, she smiled at Gianni. 'Thank you for coming to meet me. I'm ready whenever you are.'
She'd spoken too soon. As she got her first glimpse of Venice Sophie realised that nothing could have prepared her for her first glimpse of the magnificent island city. Gianni led her out of the airport and, instead of heading to a car park, Sophie found herself at a dock. 'This way, please,' Gianni said, briskly walking her past the ferry port and the queues for the water taxis. Sophie wanted to stop and take in the strange sight of passengers embarking onto a row of boats, swaying on the gangplanks as they tried to balance their suitcases. All around her, voices exclaimed, yelled and barked in a mixture of languages, the fresh salt smell of the sea mixing with the less romantic scent of diesel.
They walked on for another few minutes until Gianni gestured her forward onto a gangplank that led onto a gleaming wooden boat. Two seats at the front were shielded from the elements by a simple screen and a further three comfortable-looking leather benches were arranged around the walls of the small glassed-in cabin. Gianni heaved her suitcase and bag onto the cabin floor, but when he gestured for Sophie to step inside she shook her head. 'Oh, please, can I sit up front, next to you? I've never been to Venice before.'
Gianni cast an assessing look at her quilted coat and the black velvet jeans she'd chosen to travel in. 'Sì, but it gets cold on the sea. Do you have a hat?'
'And a scarf and gloves,' Sophie assured him as she took her place beside the driver's seat-or pilot's seat. She wasn't entirely sure of the correct term for a boat driver.
It took just a few moments for Gianni to cast off the ropes and expertly manoeuvre the boat out of the dock and around the fleet of ferries, water taxis and hotel boats out into the lagoon. Sophie sucked in a breath of sheer exhilaration as the boat accelerated through the clear blue water and headed towards the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. The island city rose out of the water like a stately dame.
'"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety",' Sophie quoted as the bell tower in St Mark's Square came into view. It seemed so familiar and yet so new-a picture she'd seen a thousand times and yet never really got until now. Sophie's heart squeezed and she knew she would always love this ancient city. It was in her blood already, taking further root with every breath.
She couldn't speak as Gianni steered the boat into the Grand Canal, just stared, almost overcome by the beauty all around her. Boats passed them, turning down narrow canals, bridges arched overhead and, glancing down a canal on her right, Sophie thrilled as she saw a boat piled high with a colourful variety of fruit and vegetables moored to the side, the owner twisting up produce in paper bags as he sold to eager customers.