Her New Year Baby Secret(8)

'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.