An Apartment in Venice by Marlene Hill

Marc and I met in the MBA program. He felt like a duck out of water, too. As you might have guessed, we stayed in touch and both ended in the Veneto. And that’s enough about me.” And he turned eagerly toward the approaching waiter. “Here comes our pasta.”
    They ate in silence. He noticed that she enjoyed the combination of strong garlic and spicy sausage with the braised green rapini.
    “Are your brothers and sister still in New Jersey?” she asked.
    “Relentless aren’t you?” he said, but didn’t feel upset. Lord how could anyone be upset with her? Those intelligent eyes, her smooth olive skin and brown curls with tawny streaks in them. “Do you realize you have two colors in your hair as well as your eyes?” he said.
    “Well, uh yes, I think I do.”
    He laughed. “Of course you do. We’ve only met but I can’t believe you would sit with strands of hair pulled through holes of diabolic headgear.”
    “You’re right. I don’t go through that torture, but how in the world do you know about that?”
    “My ex-wife,” he said, flattening his lips as firmly as a closed door.
    They both dipped their heads and continued to eat.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I’m enjoying myself too much to pursue that story. Maybe another time?”
    “We all have uncomfortable baggage.”
    “We do.” He laid his hand on hers for a moment and let his thumb move back and forth across her knuckles.
    After a few moments, she withdrew her hand. Damn. She’s uneasy again.
    They spent the rest of the meal in light conversation. He answered her questions about how the two separate military groups functioned on the base—the Army and the smaller combat-ready members of the 173rd Airborne. She sparkled as she told a few amusing incidents in her classes, and Chuck wondered if he was falling for her. He’d played the smooth operator for too long, and now, it felt strange to not be playing games—to feel tongue-tied.
    * * *
    He parked in front of the pensione and, without a limp, made it to her side of the car as she opened the door herself.
    “It’s only fair that I take you back to the Villa since you barely got past the ticket shack.”
    She didn’t answer.
    At the door, he put his hands on her shoulders, leaned down to give her a light—a very light—kiss. She didn’t flinch. He was tempted to deepen it but instead, took her hands and looked into her eyes. As he turned to go, he swung back to remind her of the dinner on Friday evening with Marlowe and Marc. “I’ll come by to take you to the train about six. Okay?”
    She hesitated, then nodded. “Six. Yes. I’ll be here. And thanks for dinner. It was fun.”
    When he was gone, she made her way to her apartment, touching her lips and remembering his sensual touch along the back of her hand. She wondered why he’d been at Villa Rotonda.

CHAPTER TEN
    “I will not meet you at the Hotel De La Ville! I will never go there again.”
    “Coccolona, what’s wrong?”
    “You know what’s wrong. I’ll be at Osteria il Grottino having a glass of wine this afternoon at four thirty. Come if you want to discuss this. It’s sotto —”
    “I know where it is. Under the Palladiana. Calma, calma. I’ll be there, little one. I’ll be there.”
    She felt shaky after yelling at her nonno. But thought maybe she was learning how to deal with him. Maybe he’d never had a woman tell him where to be and what time to be there. He’d seemed almost nervous. Hunh. It’s about time I stand stronger against men like Nonno Tony. He’s a rogue who comes in and sweeps you off your feet. Is that why I was drawn to bad-boy charmers like Ricky and Jason?
    * * *
    Monday afternoon, she watched as Tony rushed through the door of the cave-like café located beneath another famous Palladio building. He stood silhouetted against the light from the entryway at the top of the stairs. She admired him, always had. At seventy-seven, he still cut an exciting figure. Suddenly, he spied her and dashed