Aqua - Christmas in New York City (Aqua Romance Travel Series) (10 page)

Who knew who the man really was. In this 18
th
century cafe, everyone from Casanova and Lord Byron to Woody Allen and George Clooney had walked through the doors. She pushed her Bellini aside, wondering what he thought of her ordering a prosecco and fresh peach nectar rather than the coffee.
 

ARRIGO HAD watched her for a while, when she’d arrived in a fluster, then stuffed her camera and brochures into her purse. Her navy blue dress was simple, a clean snug fit that tapered from her shapely shoulders to her thin waist. From there, the skirt was loose and as she crossed her legs, one of her sandals slipped from her slender feet. She took a few minutes to pull out a book, and this was when he took real interest. Rather than open the pages of a travel guidebook as most tourists clutched in their hands, it was ‘Candide’ by Voltaire. She read a few pages, then put the book away and took in the scenery, her high cheek bones angled toward the top of the Doges Palace. He wondered what chapter she had reached within the book.

Ever since his mother died, Arrigo’s interest in women had changed. Rather than shopping trips and social events, he wanted something meaningful, a woman he could talk with about something other than celebrity gossip. He didn’t seem to meet them in his social circles, and the more he tried to extract himself from the business and finance world, the more he realized how entrenched he was. He felt a profound change was on the horizon.

Grief was transforming in that way. The first six months after her death, Arrigo’s emotions were unmoored and he struggled with guilt and even a mild depression. He read through all of the weekly letters his mother sent him, berated himself for not visiting her more and questioned why he ever lived with his father after the divorce.

As he drifted in the wreckage of his own life and the visceral knowledge of his own mortality, he sensed limits for the first time. Life wasn’t simply a playing field for fun and entertainment, it was vulnerable and fragile, filled with pain and confusion. That insight separated him from most of his friends and in that loneliness he took stock of his life.
 

It was his a former tech client that helped him channel his grief into a project and slowly, a new self emerged. In his desperation to find a connection to his mother, he started a legacy in her name with an online component that he was launching in Venice.

CASEY TILTED her head back to look at the starry sky and then considered the antipasto dish. She reached for the prosciutto wrapped around the purple skin of a fresh fig. She had never eaten one before and the fig’s smooth texture and crunch of sweet seeds dissolved in her mouth. She looked toward the Italian and held out the platter. When he got up from his chair, she felt like she was in a movie scene. He was tall and muscular and even the way he walked was mesmerizing - there was an energetic vibe to his movement, and by the time he arrived at her table, she wasn’t thinking about her past at all.

“Grazie,” she said. “Do you speak English?”

He smiled and nodded.

“The food is lovely. I’ve never tasted fresh figs.”

“Anyone who is reading true literary works of Venice,” he said, in a soft voice, “should have the right food to accompany the experience.”

“Ah, well, I wonder what you would have sent over if you saw me reading Jeff in Venice,” she chuckled. “Geoff Dyer has quite the hedonistic view of your city.”

“That’s a common theme here.”

Casey loved his accent. “Yes, from Casanova to The Comfort of Strangers.”

“They all have their place in the city’s history.”

“Well, tomorrow I plan to start the Aspern Papers so I hope Henry James is a more uplifting read.”

“I’m afraid not,” he held out his hand. He had deep, blue eyes. “Arrigo.”

“Casey.” He had a firm grip, and then softly let her hand go.
 

“What is that a short form for?”

“Cassandra.” Her face flushed.

“May I call you Cassandra?”
 

She loved the way her name flowed off of his tongue. “Please. Will you join me? I can’t possibly finish all this on my own.”

He looked at his watch. “Restaurants close by ten so you can pick away at this while you listen.” And then he pointed to the coffee cup. “This cafe was the first to serve coffee in Europe, you must have its signature drink.”

She took a sip. “Very fine.”

He smiled. “Casanova thought so too. When he was in prison in the Doge's Palace and escaped, he made a brief stop here for one last coffee before he fled from Venice.”

“Now that’s something I hadn’t read.”

The band on their side of the square had started up again. Arrigo sent a song request with the waiter and when a melancholic violin strain started playing, he sat forward with his forearms pressed on his thighs. The band was playing Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons - Summer
, and she assumed that was his requested song.

ARRIGO CLOSED his eyes when the solo violin began. It was his mother’s favorite, and hearing it now was almost too much to bear. He had spent the day wandering through Venice alone and saw himself in many people - the college students weighed down with large backpacks, talking about how, ‘we think we’re, like, not close to the Rialto bridge?’, high-heeled women staring into shop windows while men walked beside them loaded down with shopping bags, and older men sitting on a park bench complaining about the tourists clogging the city.
 

Although he was still in his thirties, Arrigo felt much older in the last year, as if life had caught up with him. That afternoon, he had pushed his way against a sea of tourists streaming from a vaporetto and then watched them. What were they all in Venice for? They moved like cattle following guides from one tourist stop to another, snapping the standard photos, as if on some assembly line. They didn’t stop to contemplate the city unless they were waiting in line, and then he heard them talking more about the next destination than where they actually were. He laughed out loud when he heard a couple exclaim that their gondola ride was just like Venice in Las Vegas. What? A fake sky with digital moving clouds, plaster textured to look like old marble slabs! It was Goethe who said that ‘Venice can only be compared with itself’ and Arrigo agreed - no other place would do, not even a replica that holds the same name.

He had grown fiercely loyal to his childhood home and in some way, millions of tourists, swelling the city each summer, were coming to Venice for its history, its past allure, not stopping to understand the city for what it really was - home. After climbing the bell tower, walking through the Doges Palace and taking photos among pigeons in the square, they would turn on their heels and return to the mainland. Millions just came for one day, leaving their cruise ships to descend on the city as if it was an amusement park.
 

It was something that had disturbed his mother and she had made it her life’s work as an art historian, to highlight Venice’s entire culture, from past to present. Where would it go now that she wasn’t here? As her executor, he allowed the cruise line to feature a video series of her lectures but it wasn’t enough. Her research wasn’t completed and he wanted to ensure it would continue.

His thoughts subsided as the music progressed and by the time the last tones of the violins rang out, his eyes were closed and his hands were going through the motions as if he was playing the instruments himself.
 

“SO, THAT is your favorite classical piece?” Casey asked.

He nodded. “Yours?”

“They’re playing it now.”

He stood up and held out his hand, “Then may I?”

He took her hand in his and they walked among the tables till they reached the open walkway where couples were dancing. Casey grew nervous as she wasn’t comfortable with slow dancing. She usually stepped on toes and led more than she followed. Even back in high school, she would move to the sidelines the moment the music slowed down, and if she was asked to dance she would say her feet hurt.

They looked at each other for a brief moment before Arrigo took her hand in his and gently placed his palm on her hip. His grasp was firm and she did her best to follow, without her knees hitting his leg too many times. In no time, she felt as if they were both moving effortlessly across the floor. He seemed to lead with his whole body, subtly pushing her right hand and his fingers guiding her with the gentlest pressure on her back. She looked up at him once and his eyes were so soft and tender, that when he pulled her closer, Casey put her arm on his shoulder and inched her fingers till they were cupped around his neck. As the song continued, Arrigo moved his arm around her waist and Casey nestled her chin on his shoulder. This was her favorite song -
Fuer Elise
by Beethoven - and she was dancing under a moonlit Venice sky.

Without a beat, the orchestra started the next song and Casey and Arrigo kept dancing, their feet in sync as if they’d been moving this way for years. Arrigo intertwined his fingers with hers and when she accepted this with a slight squeeze, he pulled her even closer.
 

“This,” he whispered in her ear, “is my next favorite song.” He stroked the outside of her hand softly with his fingers, and every so often she felt his breath against her cheek and thought she heard him humming the Beatles’
Yesterday
.

Their shadow followed them on the floor as he slowly moved her away from the crowd. Casey was caught between taking in the moonlit piazza and their twirling shadow or closing her eyes and hearing the violin strings, feeling his warm body move with hers, his hand pressed firmly against her back.
 

As if Arrigo was reading her mind, he bent his arm and pulled her hand toward his chest so that their bodies were closer together.
 

When the band stopped and the deuling orchestra at the cafe across the piazza started playing, Arrigo looked down at her, “You better finish your coffee, Cassandra, before it gets cold.”

When they returned to their table, the food and drinks had already been cleared. “Maybe we were dancing longer than we thought.”
 

He looked at this watch. “We did. They will shut down here soon anyway. I will take you to a place where the locals stay much later, if you’re up for it.”

She slung her purse around her shoulder, wishing she had brought something more evening-like rather than a large bag where she stuffed her jacket, books and camera into. She looked like such a tourist.
 

“Have you had a spritz yet?”

“What is it?”

“White wine with soda water and Campari.”

She’d never tried Campari, but was willing to be adventurous.
 

They walked along the Grand Canal, and Arrigo pointed out landmarks and told funny anecdotes. When they were close to the Rialto bridge, they heard music coming from a small cantina. Casey was surprised to see a livelier atmosphere than at the Square, where people were talking, laughing and even singing. She didn’t think the night could get more magical, but as they sat down at a table close to the canal, she realized it may have only just begun.

To finish the book, download
Aqua - Venetian Nights
.

PART SEVEN

Further Information

AQUA - Christmas in New York City (Romance Travel Series Vol. 1, Book 3)

Copyright 2013 by
Amanda S. Jones

All rights reserved

Cover copyright 2013 by
Blue Moon Publishers

Cover photograph:
Blue Moon Publishers
.
 

Published in Canada by Blue Moon Voices, a division of
Blue Moon Publishers
, located in Toronto, Canada.

The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about the Aqua series, to help spread the word. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

AQUA - Christmas in New York City. Copyright © 2013 by Amanda S. Jones. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Blue Moon Publishers. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
 

EPub © Edition November 2013

Romance author, Amanda Jones, loves travel, chocolate and red wine. You'll find all of these elements in the books she writes! If you're interested in updates on Amanda and her book series, sign up for the Aqua Club newsletter!

She is the author of the Aqua series of romance novels: 

Aqua - Venetian Nights (Volume 1, Book 1)
 

Aqua - Mediterranean Nights (Volume 1, Book 2)

Aqua - Christmas in New York City
(Vol. 1, Book 3)

Amanda is currently working on the next Aqua series. You can read more on her site:
http://amandasjones.com/
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Amanda greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about the Aqua Romance series, to help spread the word. Thank you for your support.

Do you have feedback for us? We’d love to hear your suggestions, compliments and corrections at
[email protected]
.