Unwanted Stars (9 page)

We walked into the dark, musty building and were greeted by a frail older woman, her hair covered in a silk scarf. The wrinkles in her face revealed her age, and I wondered if her family had been working in the tower all her life as had been done in the past. If my Italian was better, I might have been bold enough to ask.

Campbell approached, asking if there were any cancellations. She simply grunted and shook her head, pointing at her list full of names. Campbell nodded, a solemn expression upon his face.

"Sorry, doesn't look too good." Campbell shook his head as he approached.

"It's all right. Maybe another time,” I said. We walked to a quiet corner of the foyer.

"Definitely.” He nodded and then his face turned mischievous. "So...do I have an entire hour alone with you?"

I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to say. My mind was racing.

"Maybe," I said, trying desperately not to let him think he was taking control of whatever was going on between us. The air was hovering with tension and unspoken emotions.

"What if," he whispered, nuzzling the crook of my neck. Shivers ran down my arms with those words. I breathed in, staring up at the ceiling, hoping the woman wasn't watching us.
What does he want to do? Run off into some dark corner of one of the brightest, sunniest cities in the world?

He swallowed. "I bought you lunch?"

"Cute," I said with narrowed eyes. Campbell laughed as he took my hand in his. The shivers continued.

Kissing the top of my hand, he grinned. "Can I buy you a slice of pizza, Miss Kelly?"

"Whatever.” I attempted to sound casual and dismissive, but the continued grin on his gorgeous face told me he wasn't fooled. "We have less than an hour, but there's a cafe around the corner."

"After you," he said, his arms spread wide. My lips pressed together in mock irritation as I walked out of the dark building and into the bright sunlight. We walked in silence to the tiny restaurant. Patrons filled the many tables and chairs outside while the inside of the establishment seemed to be empty. Not at all surprising for a cafe in Europe. It would also work in my favor, though, to avoid being seen by Anabelle or other members of the tour.

After ordering our food, we walked to a small table behind a half wall. We'd have total privacy even if anyone should happen to stop by for a cold drink on their way to the gondola dock.

Campbell's choice of drink grabbed a hold of my attention immediately. "That's my dad's favorite," I said.

"Really?" he asked, pouring his Orangina soda into a narrow glass.

"It's hard to find in the states," I said, filling my own glass with diet coke, wishing there was more ice in the glass. Why were Europeans so stingy with ice?

"You Americans," Campbell said, "missing out on the best stuff."

"Tell me about it. You can't get pizza like this in the states either."

"But you're from Chicago, yeah?"

"So?"

Campbell drew back in disbelief. "Chicago-style Pizza. There are legends told about that pizza. It's like an urban myth in the UK."

"Bullshit," I said.

"Honestly," he said. "I've never had it myself, but I've heard it's incredible."

"It's okay. Too much cheese. I like this," I said after taking a bite. "It's fresh, it's authentic. It's...it's Italy."

"Good point," he said, biting into his slice.

"Have you been to the states?"

"Once, a long time ago."

"Where?"

"New York. I was visiting a friend."

"Did you like it?"

"Honestly? Not really." He looked slightly embarrassed at this revelation.

"Care to elaborate?" I pressed.

"I don't know—it just wasn't for me. Don't get me wrong, I like a big city. London's fantastic. But Manhattan was too...impersonal for me, I guess. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there."

"When did you go?"

"The summer before my last year at university. Just for a few weeks."

I was asking questions and doing my best not to show my curiosity, but it was getting the best of me. I had to know who he visited. And if this “friend” was someone I needed to be concerned about. Yeah, the green-eyed monster in me was rearing her ugly head.

"So, you were...visiting someone, you said." I tried so hard to sound casual, I really did.

"
That was a long time ago." I didn't like that answer. Not at all.

"So, answer the question," I said, challenging him with a nonchalant shrug. "No big deal."

He chuckled to himself before answering, "Okay, all right. It was a girl."

"I knew it," I said, crossing my arms. "Tell me."

"She was my girlfriend. She studied abroad at NYU and I went to visit."

"And she's not your girlfriend anymore?"

"We broke up before I left."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," he said, "but I don’t want to waste time talking about her. I want to focus on
you
."

"Okay, fine, new topic. What do
you
want to talk about?"

"You."

"What do you want to know?" Wiping the corners of my mouth with my napkin, I was a little nervous as to what he’d want to ask me.

"I told you...everything."

"Fine, okay. Where should I start?"

"Your family. What are they like?"

My nose wrinkled. "They're the perfect all-American family."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, looking perplexed.

"No, they're great." I shrugged again. "My parents are very sensitive people. Always concerned about others. So is my brother."

"So you have a brother then?"

"Yes, and a sister. They're both older than me."

"The baby of the family. Shoulda known," he teased.

"Yeah, I am. I suppose you're going to tease me about that too?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"Not at all. I am too. Well, kinda."

"Kinda? That doesn't make any sense. At all."

"I have four brothers. Three are older than me."

"So you just forget about the youngest?"

"From time to time. It's just Charlie. He doesn't mind either way."

"Speaking as the youngest...I would mind."

"Well," he said, leaning forward, his elbows placed firmly on the tiny table. "I'd never forget
you
. That would be impossible
.
"

My throat went dry, and my lungs were desperate for air.

"We," I said, clearing my throat and feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. Damn my body for betraying me. "We should really go. Almost time for the boats."

A satisfied smile crossed his lips. "Of course. But let's continue this later."

"I'll see if I can get away," I said, standing. Campbell took my hand in his once again, pulling me to his chest.

"Please.”

He didn't need to say anything else. That one word was all it took.

I nodded, squeezing his hand, feeling my pulse quicken.

"Thank you," he said before planting a small kiss beneath my ear. My eyes closed involuntarily, focusing on the sensation of his touch, the warmth of his lips, the desire spreading through every nerve of my body.
I want this man. Terribly.

Anabelle's hands were placed firmly on her hips as Campbell and I approached the dock.

Shit.

Instinctively, he joined Ellis at the dock, but before he turned to walk in the opposite direction, I felt his hand place something in my back pocket. This man and his little notes. My stomach flipped as I thought back to the matchbook he'd given me on the bus. It was now in the inside pocket of my purse. There was no way I'd risk losing it.

"You're late," Anabelle sneered. Glancing at my watch, I grimaced. She was right. It was five past the hour.

"I-I'm sorry. I had to find a public toilet."

Her face tightened. "We discussed this last night. You have to find food stands and ask to use the washroom. They don't have public restrooms here."

"I forgot," I lied, wishing I'd come up with a better lie. Truth was, I was so wrapped up in Campbell that I hadn’t realized we'd be late.

"Whatever, it's fine. I took care of everything. They have all the boats ready for us. They'll have to go four to a boat."

"Got it." My stomach relaxed in relief. Knowing that Campbell and his three friends would fill one gondola took the pressure off of me to join him. I wanted to, of course, but wasn't confident that I could shake the watchful eye of the Sergeant.
Especially
since he and I had arrived at the docks together. It was best if I kept my distance.

Anabelle turned to receive a question from one of our tour members. Without any hesitation, I removed the object from my back pocket.

Another matchbook.

Adrenaline shot through my body as I opened the small book, taken from the cafe we'd just visited. Another small note in chicken scratch. His handwriting really was awful.

The corners of my mouth tugged into a smile. Luckily the rest of the afternoon would go by quickly. Gondola rides, a meeting with Anabelle, and dinner with the group.

Joining a group of Americans in their gondola, I found myself daydreaming of my handsome Brit. His gondola was the rowdy one of the bunch, he and his friends laughing and joking with their gondolier. I watched him with satisfaction. Every so often, he'd turn and smile at me. Nothing too obvious, and I was grateful for that, but it made my stomach flip all the same. I held my matchbook and looked forward to later that night.

After the longest afternoon of my natural born life, I said my farewells to the remaining members of the tour at 8:45, knowing I'd have just enough time to get to the bridge. Campbell and his friends had left dinner early, and part of me worried that he'd forgotten. Maybe he'd decided I wasn't worth the trouble of sneaking around. Maybe he'd decided to get "pissed" with his friends at a local bar and forget all about his American tour guide. Maybe I'd find myself alone and wandering the streets of Venice, only to see him through the window of a bar, chatting up a dark haired, exotic Italian beauty.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my brain, I fixed my hair and makeup before walking to the bridge. Luckily Anabelle was going back to the hotel to call her boyfriend. I knew she wouldn't be a road block for me tonight. That is, if Campbell didn't stand me up.

Rounding the corner, my cell phone went off, telling me I had a text. Without evening thinking about it, I checked the message, thinking maybe it was from Campbell, which was stupid of me because we hadn't even exchanged phone numbers.

Instead, the message was from my mom.

Was visiting Hadley when you texted her. Worried about you.

Rolling my eyes, I placed the phone back in my purse. Charlotte Kelly could wait. I had a hot British man to meet. That's when I saw him, leaning against a pillar near the start of the bridge. His body pressed against the stone, he smirked at me—proud of himself that I'd actually shown up.

"You made it," he said, taking my hand and placing a peck on my cheek.

"Mmmm hmm.” I glanced around us. The crowd had thinned out dramatically since we'd walked past the bridge earlier that afternoon.