Italian Passion (7 page)

“Don’t go, bella,” the gondolier
gazed at her with puppy-dog eyes as Faye climbed back onto the pier once they had
finished their ride. “Let me take you out for dinner.”

“Thank you for the offer, but no,”
Faye replied with a smile.

“But why? Do you have a boyfriend, a
husband?”

Faye shook her head and walked away.
“Grazie Alfonso – arrivederci!”

She ignored his continuing pleas and
walked on. The last thing she wanted this evening was to fend off his amorous
advances over dinner. Tonight, Venice was her lover.

Faye wandered Venice’s back-alleys
and side-streets for a while, marvelling in how fun it was to get completely
lost. Eventually, as the last of the setting sun slid behind the rooftops, Faye
decided to find somewhere to eat.

In a charming street lined with
porticos, Faye stumbled upon a traditional, family-run trattoria. Even as she
approached, her stomach began to rumble. The aroma of garlic frying in olive
oil reached her and she heard the clink of cutlery and crockery, and the
muffled sounds of voices from the kitchens. There was a messily scribbled
blackboard outside, and Faye stopped before it. She was pleased to discover
that her university Italian had not completely deserted her; she still grasped
enough to decipher most of the scrawl. The menu was seafood based, and looked
authentic enough.

“Signorina,” an elderly man enveloped
in a white apron greeted her. “Would you like to sit outside?”

“Si, grazie,” Faye chose a small
table at the far end of the cramped terrace and waited as the gallant waiter
pulled out the chair for her. Then, he left her with the menu while he went off
to serve other customers.

It was a balmy evening and Faye
enjoyed sitting, with her back against the wall, watching people walk past, and
listening to the rise and fall of Italian voices at the tables nearby. Once the
waiter returned she did something she had not done in years – she ordered
herself a proper meal. Not just a salad and a sparkling water as she often did
in London, but a proper Italian dinner.

She ordered a carafe of house white
and a bottle of sparkling water, followed by crostini smeared with anchovy
paste. Then she ordered squid ink risotto followed by sea-bass baked in a salt
crust with roast potatoes and sautéed chicory. When the food arrived, she ate
slowly, savouring every bite. The wine was delicious and it was not long before
Faye settled into a contented, food and wine induced, stupor. Every dish was
perfectly cooked and mouth-watering. Once the waiter cleared away the dirty
dishes, she ordered a tiramisù and sipped the last of her wine. The light had
long since faded and the street lights stained the ancient façades a deep
resin. Nearby, Freya caught the strains of an accordion, as a busker began to
play.

Faye turned towards the music; her
gaze sweeping to the end of the terrace where two men approached, talking
animatedly together. She watched them a moment, noting that although one was
dark and the other fair, they were both very handsome – especially the dark
haired man. Faye watched in silent appraisal as the man neared, before she
froze.

No, not twice in one day.

Massimiliano Paolini had not yet
looked her way but Faye knew that if she leapt up, he would be sure to spot
her. She sat, rooted to the spot while he approached, dreading the moment his
gaze shifted to the terrace.

At that moment, the elderly waiter
approached Max.

“
È da tanto che non ci vediamo
Massi!”
the waiter cried, embracing Max like a son – I haven’t seen you in
ages!

Max laughed and clasped the waiter on
the shoulder.

“Ciao Vincenzo – you knew I’d be
back,” he grinned. “Now, is your best table free?”

“As always,” Vincenzo ushered the two
men towards the terrace, gesturing towards a table at the opposite end to where
Faye sat, willing herself to become invisible.

Max’s gaze swept across the terrace
and rested on Faye.

His face paled.

Faye stifled a groan. Her relaxing
evening had just been ruined.

***

“Giovanni, she’s here,” Max hissed,
turning to his friend accusingly, as if he had personally invited Faye Wilson
to dinner, just to spite him.

“Who?” Giovanni frowned, confused.

“That journalist. That obnoxious
woman I met earlier today. She’s here, eating dinner.”

Giovanni’s gaze followed his
friend’s, resting on a very attractive woman dressed in a green halter-neck
dress that showed off her slender shoulders and arms. He let out a low whistle.

“She’s gorgeous Max. I wouldn’t mind
being interviewed by her.”

“She’s a shrew. I’m not eating here.”
Max turned to go but Giovanni caught him and hauled him back. When Max’s gaze
met that of his friend’s he could see that Giovanni was on the verge of losing
his temper.

“Enough of this,” Giovanni snapped.
“I’m hungry, and she’s sitting at the other end of the restaurant minding her
own business. Let’s just do the same.”

Without waiting for Max’s answer,
Giovanni dragged him over to the table, where Vincenzo had just left two menus
out for them, and virtually shoved Max down into a chair.

“If she comes this way, I’m leaving,”
Max growled.

“Fine,” Giovanni replied shortly.
“Let’s just order a meal and forget she’s there, shall we?”

Vincenzo presently reappeared and
rattled off the trattoria’s specials of the day. Giovanni ordered a bit of
everything while Max settled for a bowl of spaghetti – tomato and clams –
followed by a salad.

While they waited for their food,
Giovanni started to tell Max about a girl he had met two days before at a photo
shoot. Although Giovanni lacked Max’s fiery temper, his love life was just as
disastrous as his friend’s. Giovanni always went after the wrong woman – the
exciting, mysterious girl who tied him in knots and gave nothing in return.
Upon hearing about Maria Luisa, a model from Verona, who had flirted with him
through the entire shoot, Max came to the conclusion that this affair would end
as badly as all the others. He told Giovanni so.

His friend shrugged and speared a
piece of fried squid on his fork. “But she’s a knock-out,” he finished with a
sheepish smile.

“So was Marina,” Max raised an
eyebrow in reply. “That didn’t stop her from running off with my brother. You
can never trust a woman that beautiful.”

Giovanni sighed. “She is not like all
the others.”

Max shook his head, leaning back as
Vincenzo placed a steaming bowl of spaghetti with clams in front of him. “She
sounds exactly like all the others.”

They ate their meals, exchanging the
odd comment; but all the while, Max felt his gaze drawn to the other end of the
terrace.

He did not know what possessed him,
but he could not keep his gaze from returning to Faye Wilson.

Giovanni was right, although Max did
not like to hear him say it. Faye was stunning. The green dressed matched her
hair and creamy complexion. She was beautiful in an understated, classical way
that intrigued him.

Vincenzo brought her a dish of
tiramisù. She sat rigidly at the table, looking everywhere but at Max. It was
obvious she had been enjoying her evening until his arrival. Now, she looked
like a deer in a hunter’s sights, poised to flee.

Max had just glanced in Faye’s
direction for the tenth time since he had started his spaghetti, when Giovanni
put down his fork and fixed him in a level gaze.

“Why don’t you go over and
apologise.”

“What?” Max spluttered, nearly
choking on his food. “I don’t think so!”

“You can’t take your eyes off her.
Either you’re struck by her beauty or wracked with misgivings about your
behaviour towards her,” Giovanni continued, relentless. “Whichever it is, put
us all out our misery.”

Max glared at Giovanni. “Sometimes
you go too far.”

“Go on, apologise. It won’t kill
you.”

“That’s not the point. I’m not saying
I’m sorry – she should apologise.”

“For what? For the fact you were
late, and bit her head off at every turn?”

“I won’t tell you anything in future
if you end up using it against me.”

“So, I’m wrong then?”

Max ground his jaw and struggled to
control his temper. Sometimes he wondered why he was still friends with
Giovanni. His friend did not let him get away with anything – although Max
supposed he gave him the same in return.

“Go to her,” Giovanni urged once
more. “It’s been too long since you even went out on a date with a girl. It’s
making you hard and bitter. Don’t let the memory of Marina and what she did to
you ruin your life.”

Max stared back at Giovanni, hating
him but knowing he spoke the truth. He was starting to remind himself of his
own father; a hard man who treated women, his own wife included, with contempt.

With a muffled curse, Max threw down
his fork and got to his feet. His gaze shifted to Faye’s table before he froze.

The table was empty. 

While Max had been deliberating, she
had paid her bill and left. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of green
before she disappeared around the corner.

Max cursed again. Now that he had
decided to speak to her, he could not let it go. Without a word to his friend,
he took off up the street, in pursuit of Faye Wilson.

Turning to watch Max go, Giovanni
smiled.

Finally, Max had admitted to being
human. Now, if he managed to catch up with the girl and apologise, he might be
able to let go of his bitterness. Giovanni had watched his friend grow steadily
unhappier of late. His simmering resentment had taken the shine off his life,
and even risked ruining his success. Giovanni hoped it was not too late for Max
to choose another path.

***

Faye slid on the slippery cobbles and
rolled her ankle. Even with flat sandals on, Venice’s unevenly cobbled streets
were perilous. Righting herself, Faye strode on, determined to put as much
distance as possible between her and the man who had ruined not just her
afternoon, but her evening as well.

She had been looking forward to the
tiramisù, but her dessert tasted like ash once Max Paolini arrived. Worse
still, he kept looking her way; fixing her with that unnerving stare of his.
Eventually, Faye had been unable to take it anymore. She had asked the waiter
for the bill and left the money, including a healthy tip, on the table, before
grabbing her hand bag and fleeing. 

“Faye, wait!”

A voice reached her from behind. Faye
cast a glance over her shoulder and saw, to her horror that Max Paolini was
running towards her.

Could this evening get any worse?

“Wait, I need to speak to you!”

He had said plenty to her earlier in
the day – more than enough. Faye was not in the mood to listen to another word
from this man. In response to his calling out her name once more, she put her
head down and ran.

Faye did not know the back-streets of
Venice, and within a couple of blocks she realised she was hopelessly lost.
Yet, she ran on, hoping he would get the message and leave her be.

He did not.

“Faye wait – please!” he shouted, his
voice fainter now as she pulled away from him.

Faye rounded a corner, and made the
mistake of glancing back over her shoulder as she did so. Her foot caught on a
raised cobble and she fell head-long across the narrow street. Unfortunately,
this cobbled stretch ran alongside one of the many canals that criss-crossed
Venice. Faye caught a glimpse of water, glistening in the street lights, before
her. A moment later, she fell into it.

“Faye!” Max heard her scream,
followed by a splash, and rounded the corner to see the woman he had chased
four blocks, break the surface of the canal. She spluttered and flailed around,
her eyes wide in shock. At first glimpse, it appeared as if she did not know
how to swim.

Without thinking, Max dove in to save
her.

The cold lagoon water took his breath
away after the evening’s warmth. Resurfacing, Max swam across to where Faye was
treading water and attempting to paddle her way to the moss-covered steps that
led back up to the street. He placed an arm under one of her armpits and towed
her towards the steps. Still struggling to regain her breath, she let him help
her without a word of protest.

Together, they emerged dripping from
the canal and climbed the steps. Faye was trembling from shock, her green dress
plastered tantalisingly against her body. They squelched up the worn stone
steps, careful not to slip on the moss that carpeted them. Once they reached
the street above, Faye grasped her sodden hand bag to her breast and turned to
face him.

Max saw the anger smouldering in her
hazel eyes. Still, it came as a shock when she lashed out, and slapped him hard
across the face.