An Apartment in Venice by Marlene Hill Page B

take one of the gems as you had suggested. In fact, I didn’t touch any of it. Not at all. When I handed over the packet, I was wearing the black kid gloves you and Nonna gave me last Christmas. From the start, I didn’t feel good about this, and now I worry about you. A friend said that suspicious deals go on at Hotel De La Ville.” She lowered her voice, “Maybe even the ’Ndrangheta are involved. I will not go there again.”
    “Good, that’s good, bambina. Stay away. And now, we’ll have a few bites before I leave for home.”
    After they ate, they stood and hugged again. “I’m glad we had this conversation,” he said.
    “Me, too. Take care of yourself, Nonno Tony. Think of Nonna, she loves you so much, you know.”
    “Si, si. E lei è la mia ancora di salvezza, and she’s my anchor, my salvation.”
    “And you are hers. Give her a hug for me.”
    * * *
    Dusk dropped gently as Giulia left the open piazza and walked down Corso Andrea Palladio where shadows seemed to follow her every step. She had lied to Nonno Tony. No, not lied, but she had implied that she was lily clean. When in truth, she hated what she had been. A whore—almost a whore. She knew she had contracted as a decorative companion, but in the eyes of the world, she was a whore. Hunh. Also a whore in the eyes of those men who didn’t want to abide by their agreement. She walked faster at the thought of the smarmy ones who wanted more and offered her secret cash. At first, she’d been terrified but had learned to persuade them to keep their bargain by appealing to their overblown sense of honor, a trait those types often bragged about. Back then, she had justified her action. But still, the truth was she’d been a woman for sale.
    As she hurried toward her apartment, she replayed her conversation with Nonno. The stricken sound he’d made and the tears she saw when she’d said “pimp,” pierced her own sense of honor. That wasn’t fair. She felt guilty for saying that. She knew he adored her, but for the first time, she sensed a mature connection with him. Her inner compass had shifted during their encounter.
    Her built-in guidance system had been shifting ever since she arrived in the Veneto, but when she strode away from that woman, Laura, it was as if she had stumbled out of a forest fog into a bright clearing. Now the street lamps came on one by one as if welcoming her into more light. Yes, her compass had set itself right.
    She skipped across the street and raced up the steps to her door. But the moment she stood inside her apartment and her new life, she shivered with uncertainty. Was it possible to wipe the slate clean and become authentic? Did she have the courage to be genuine with other kinds of men? Chuck, maybe?

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Friday morning Marlowe caught up with Giulia and asked what she’d wear for dinner that night. Giulia hadn’t thought about it but didn’t want to dress as a come-on to Chuck. “Not sure yet,” she said. “And you?”
    “I’m thinking girlie,” Marlowe said. “I want to wear a flippy skirt with the expensive spikes I bought to go with the dress Marc gave me for New Year’s. Why don’t you go girlie, too?”
    “It would be a nice change from our somber duds out here,” Giulia said gazing at the grey utilitarian buildings around them and the drab barracks in the distance.
    “With all the testosterone floating around, we ought to be teaching in burkas. But tonight, let’s go for it!”
    Giulia’s lips tightened into a small grimace. The idea of “going for it” put her nerves on edge. An actual date after all this time? With Chuck? Or any man. “I’ll see what I can find. Gotta run, Marlowe.”
    * * *
    Chuck leaned against the curved banister at the bottom of the open stairway in Giulia’s pensione. He looked up and saw her walking beside the upper balustrade toward the top of the stairs. Her back was to him, but he sucked in his breath. God, every thing about her stirred him. Not