Unwanted Stars (8 page)

"Shut up." Campbell brushed him off, shaking his head. He was a good friend. I probably would've left Ellis behind, but Campbell was clearly more tolerant than I.

I raised my pint glass to him before walking to the Aussie girls in the corner. After greeting them and pulling up a chair, I glanced at the door, knowing he was still there. And I was right. A polite wave was all I received from the handsome Mr. Hutchins. I waved in response and did my very best to focus my attention on the girls at the table. But it was next to impossible.

Everyone always associates Paris with romance. The Eiffel tower is one of those things that, as a girl, I’d always wanted to see. I’d always imagined myself perched at the top with some beret-wearing Frenchman who called me "Au-deen.” He'd be poised and overly romantic, sweeping me off my sarcastic feet—teaching me that love was different than anything I'd ever imagined. I've changed my mind, though. To me, it's not Paris...it's Venice. Oh, it's Venice.

I'm not sure where to begin with this entry. The corners of my brain are filled with so much romantic sap, I can barely think straight. My brain keeps repeating the same words.

Tell me.

Tell me.

Tell me...again.

Those words reverberate through my brain, shoot down my limbs, press against the tips of my skin until goosebumps rise on my arms and thighs. Those simple words pull at the corners of my mouth; they pull at the exhausted skin of my eyelids and shoot luscious adrenaline through my abdomen.

My brain has decided to cease the incessant screaming reminders of the Sergeant discovering my secret. It can't focus on anything but his velvety accent. The hoarseness of his voice when he pressed me against the stucco, the way he pronounced my name, as if I was hearing it for the very first time.

The small white clock taunted me from the poplar bedside table. Twelve more minutes before the blaring siren-like alarm would force me to abandon thoughts of Campbell. I have just a few minutes to get my thoughts down on paper before I get swept up in him all over again...while dodging my boss, trying desperately not to lose this job that I'm growing to love.

Sidenote: I really do love it. I can't wait to have my own groups. I can't wait to be rid of the Sergeant so I can be the person who greets the members of the tour. The person who tells them all the incredible facts about each city. The person who is planted in their memories when, years from now, they think back to the tour they experienced. I want all of that.

So I have to be smart. I have to be careful. Anabelle is not my biggest fan, and if I give her ammo, she'll get my ass tossed out of here so fast my head will freaking spin. And she'll enjoy it.

But, Venice...oh Venice.

We arrived mid-afternoon after spending the morning cruising on the highways of Italy. Farms and wineries filled the captivating landscape. Since our night at the pub in St. Goar, Campbell had been elusive yet interested. Sneaking glances, sending dimpled grins my way, and whispering to me among crowded restaurants. He continued to slip notes in my pockets. They were always simple one-liners. "
You're gorgeous
," and "
Join us at the pub
," and "
C'mon, just one drink."
Nothing ridiculously romantic, but sweet just the same. I knew Venice would be different though when he approached my seat on the bus and casually asked me a random question to avoid suspicion.

"Do you know how much the boat rides cost?" he asked. Such a smart-ass. Of course, he had to ask me something I honestly didn't know the answer to. Was he
trying
to make me look bad—catch me off my game?

"The gondolas? I'm not entirely sure. I can ask Anabelle," I said, giving him a playful raising of both my eyebrows. He shook his head in disbelief.

"No, that's not necessary. I'll find out when we arrive. Thanks."

And then he placed it in my hand. A matchbook from the pub he and Ellis had visited the night before while Anabelle and I rehearsed and laid out our game plan for the upcoming Italian cities. Tourists had big expectations of Italy, and it was our job to keep them satisfied. So, for hours, Anabelle and I sat on the floor of her hotel room in Munich, outlining how we would be 'handling' the next several days. It was tedious, not at all how I'd hoped to spend my evening, but at least I was learning a lot. I had to hand it to Anabelle. She was the most organized person I'd ever met. And I'd be a better tour guide because of her. Tell her I said that and I'll deny, deny, deny. But, it's true.

The small blue matchbook was simple. When I tilted my head in confusion, Campbell simply grinned, gave me a wink, and returned to his seat.

I studied the small piece of cardboard, flipping it over as I looked for clues. Why did he want me to have this? Opening the top flap, I peered inside the small trinket and smiled. A simple note scrawled in horrible chicken-scratch like handwriting, but it affected me in a way that no other written words had in my twenty-three years.

Seriously, that's all it said. My heart rate sped out of control as I closed the top flap, forcing myself to look out the window, hoping Anabelle wouldn't notice my scarlet cheeks. This man was going to be the end of me. Quickly I sent a text to Hadley:

I need you. Calling you later.

When our group finally arrived in Venice, I'd composed myself, but I still couldn't make eye contact with him. I clutched the matchbook in my palm, squeezing it tight, never wanting to let it go. Anabelle led our group of tourists from the water bus and into the main square of Venice.

"Welcome to
Piazza San Marco
, perhaps the world's most famous square," Anabelle began as she walked backwards, facing the crowd. "This beautiful square was created in the 11th century. It's the heart of Venice. Festivals, ceremonies, celebrations, even tournaments…they're all held here where we stand. To your right is St. Mark's Basilica, the symbol of Venice. There are short ten minute tours available for anyone who is interested. I highly recommend it."

Pigeons lined the picturesque square, begging shamelessly for scraps while Anabelle continued her speech. Some of our tour members were skittish around the harmless birds and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. My line of vision gravitated immediately to
Torre dell'Orologio
, the most beautiful clock tower I'd seen in Italy. When Anabelle finished pointing out the various buildings surrounding the square and St. Mark's Basilica, I waited for her to mention this beautiful tower. But she didn't. I knew I was supposed to ignore it and not say anything, but my loyalty to the clock took over.

"Sorry to interrupt, Anabelle," I said. She scowled behind her glasses, her shoulders stiffening at the sound of my voice. "I just wanted to point out the magnificent
Torre dell'Orologio
, which is behind us. It was built in 1496 and it's one of the most intricate clocks I've ever seen, and I consider myself a bit of an expert." Campbell cocked an eyebrow at that statement.
Great. Now I have to explain my obsession.

"The tower is open to visitors for guided tours. It's by reservation only, but they usually have cancellations—"

"Thank you, Auden," Anabelle interrupted, her voice curt and laced with irritation. "One thing to mention
also
is that this entire historic district is considered a monument, which means there are strict rules that apply. It's forbidden to sit on a public walkway such as sidewalks, bridges, or even here in the piazza. Men, if you get warm, you cannot take your shirt off. You will be fined at least fifty Euros. I'm sure you'd much rather spend that money on a bottle of champagne to drink as we ride through the canals. Which leads me to the gondolas. Our tour includes one gondola ride for each of you. We will go in groups of four to five. Our reservation is in one hour. We'll meet back here then and go together to the dock. Are there any questions?"

An American man asked Anabelle a question, but I was standing too far away to hear it. Shrugging my shoulders, I glanced back up at the gorgeous tower.

"An expert," a familiar voice whispered into my ear.

"That's right.” I turned to face him. His eyes were wide, almost childlike in their appearance. Like he was fascinated by my obsession.

"I want to hear all about it. Care to join me on a tour of the tower? Maybe you can teach me some things."

"I-I don't think I should. Anabelle might—"

"She's going to a cafe. You're in the clear."

"How do you know that?"

"She was on the phone earlier. Whoever it was wanted her for a phone conference after she dropped us at the square. Probably her boss.”

"Are you serious?" My heart raced. Why would Michelle need a phone conference with Anabelle? And why the hell did I have to correct her in front of the group just now...right before said phone conference? I was up shit creek.

His fingers grazed my hand, which was still clutching the tiny matchbook. My eyes closed involuntarily. How did such a tiny gesture have my stomach all aflutter? This was ridiculous. From the corner of my eye, I could see Anabelle reaching into her bag to retrieve her phone and I knew Campbell had heard correctly.

"Okay, I'll go," I said, my voice soft.

"Excellent." He rubbed his hands together, obviously excited that I'd caved.

"But, in a minute," I added, pointing up to the tower. "We don't want to miss it."

"Miss what?"

"Every hour," I pointed to two large bronze statues at the very top of the tower, "they strike the bell. It's captivating." I gazed up at the tower, a huge smile on my face in anticipation.

"I could watch that all day," Campbell said.

"You haven't even seen it yet?”

“Not the clock. You. The way you're all lit up in wonder."

"Oh, stop it," I said, pushing him away slightly. He was making me uncomfortable.

"I mean it. The expression on your face...it's timeless. It's beautiful." He inched closer to me, lowering his voice, placing his fingers in my curls. "I want to make you light up like this."

I swallowed hard, feeling my heart pumping within my chest. His blue eyes softened as he peered into mine, and I knew right then. He meant it. It was genuine. He wanted to be the reason for my passion, the reason for my wonder.
If he only knew.

In that moment, it began. The moment I'd been waiting for in Venice. The clock struck noon and the gongs began as the two bronze figures, hinged at the waist, struck the bell. I closed my eyes and took in the sound.
Gong...gong...gong.

I know it sounds so simple, so trivial, so ridiculous. But that sound filled my body with peace and light. Inhaling the damp, Venetian air, my eyes opened again to take in the sight. I could feel Campbell's eyes on me rather than the clock. I shook my head slowly, wishing he could enjoy this the way I did.

When the statues finished, I returned my attention back to the smirking man standing next to me. He'd covered his eyes with aviator glasses to keep from squinting in the heavy sunlight.

"Let's see if we can get a tour," I said, pulling him gently by his forearm. So badly, I wanted to hold his hand. But it just wasn't possible. This gesture would have to suffice.