idea.’
They walked through the lobby onto the street. Even this early in the morning tourists packed the streets.
‘Your first job of the day is to take us to St Mark’s, the back way.’
‘Your wish is my command.’
Antonio guided her though a series of lanes and alleys so small they couldn’t walk side by side.
‘I can’t believe there aren’t any people in these lanes, and yet a few streets over you can hardly move for the throng,’ Sienna said.
‘Being a local has its advantages.’
A few minutes later they emerged in the famous square. Crowds of tourists moved slowly, cameras at the ready. The queue to enter St Mark’s cathedral looked long and ragged.
‘I hope you’re not planning to take me in there,’ he said, pointing to the line of people stretching across the square.
‘Yes, but we’re taking the fast lane,’ she said.
‘Really?’
Sienna walked Antonio around to the side of the building where an official sat at a small side entrance.
‘Moretti,’ she said to the guard, who immediately opened the door and ushered them quickly inside.
‘How’d you pull that little stunt?’ Antonio asked as they entered the gloom of the ancient building.
She pulled a credit card from her wallet. ‘This and the Moretti name seems to open many doors,’ she said with a wicked smile.
‘I quite like this side of your personality,’ he said, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
‘Many a time I’ve worked the concierge’s desk at the Plaza,’ she said. ‘I’m used to giving clients what they want.’
He backed her up against a marble pillar and put his hands on the stone on either side of her face. ‘I’m not a client,’ he whispered, his face so close she was sure he would feel the heat raising in her cheeks.
Perhaps not, but I’m certainly an employee.
The thought slid from her mind as he touched his lips to her forehead, the tip of her nose and lightly to her lips.
‘Ahem.’
They turned to see a young priest looking decidedly unhappy.
‘Sorry, Father,’ Antonio said and they walked, giggling conspiratorially, further into the cathedral.
Antonio swung his arm over her shoulder. ‘This was a good idea.’ His voice held a lightness she’d never heard before.
This is going to be a great day.
The morning’s sightseeing raced by and all too soon the midday sun warmed Sienna’s skin. She’d taken Antonio to her favourite buildings and he’d seemed genuinely interested in her observations about design, and surprised at her knowledge of the history of each.
‘Is lunch included on this itinerary?’ Antonio asked.
‘Patience, patience,’ Sienna said, looking about. ‘I think I’m lost.’
‘Where to?’ he asked, taking her arm and hooking it through his own.
‘The San Martino.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why? The original building was built in the sixteenth century and has the most incredible moulded ceiling.’
‘Yes, but it is owned by Marcella’s father.’
‘Ah.’ The thought of that nasty woman killed her appetite. ‘I’d better ring and cancel the booking.’
Antonio flicked open his phone, pressed speed dial, gave short instructions and snapped the phone shut. ‘Done,’ he said. ‘Now, let me take you to my favourite haunt.’
‘That sounds interesting,’ she said.
They walked through myriad tiny alleys. If Antonio left her now, she’d have absolutely no idea where she was. He led her into a small shop. As soon as he opened the door, the most incredible smell assailed her senses – the delicious aromas of garlic, coffee and fresh bread mingled and made her mouth water. Huge hams and salamis hung high over the counter and a display cabinet bulged with cheeses, olives and every kind of antipasto.
Antonio led her down a tight hallway and out into the brilliant sunshine. A gorgeous marble terrace perched just a few inches above a canal. Red checked tablecloths covered the tables. Two old men sat in one corner playing
They walked through the lobby onto the street. Even this early in the morning tourists packed the streets.
‘Your first job of the day is to take us to St Mark’s, the back way.’
‘Your wish is my command.’
Antonio guided her though a series of lanes and alleys so small they couldn’t walk side by side.
‘I can’t believe there aren’t any people in these lanes, and yet a few streets over you can hardly move for the throng,’ Sienna said.
‘Being a local has its advantages.’
A few minutes later they emerged in the famous square. Crowds of tourists moved slowly, cameras at the ready. The queue to enter St Mark’s cathedral looked long and ragged.
‘I hope you’re not planning to take me in there,’ he said, pointing to the line of people stretching across the square.
‘Yes, but we’re taking the fast lane,’ she said.
‘Really?’
Sienna walked Antonio around to the side of the building where an official sat at a small side entrance.
‘Moretti,’ she said to the guard, who immediately opened the door and ushered them quickly inside.
‘How’d you pull that little stunt?’ Antonio asked as they entered the gloom of the ancient building.
She pulled a credit card from her wallet. ‘This and the Moretti name seems to open many doors,’ she said with a wicked smile.
‘I quite like this side of your personality,’ he said, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
‘Many a time I’ve worked the concierge’s desk at the Plaza,’ she said. ‘I’m used to giving clients what they want.’
He backed her up against a marble pillar and put his hands on the stone on either side of her face. ‘I’m not a client,’ he whispered, his face so close she was sure he would feel the heat raising in her cheeks.
Perhaps not, but I’m certainly an employee.
The thought slid from her mind as he touched his lips to her forehead, the tip of her nose and lightly to her lips.
‘Ahem.’
They turned to see a young priest looking decidedly unhappy.
‘Sorry, Father,’ Antonio said and they walked, giggling conspiratorially, further into the cathedral.
Antonio swung his arm over her shoulder. ‘This was a good idea.’ His voice held a lightness she’d never heard before.
This is going to be a great day.
The morning’s sightseeing raced by and all too soon the midday sun warmed Sienna’s skin. She’d taken Antonio to her favourite buildings and he’d seemed genuinely interested in her observations about design, and surprised at her knowledge of the history of each.
‘Is lunch included on this itinerary?’ Antonio asked.
‘Patience, patience,’ Sienna said, looking about. ‘I think I’m lost.’
‘Where to?’ he asked, taking her arm and hooking it through his own.
‘The San Martino.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why? The original building was built in the sixteenth century and has the most incredible moulded ceiling.’
‘Yes, but it is owned by Marcella’s father.’
‘Ah.’ The thought of that nasty woman killed her appetite. ‘I’d better ring and cancel the booking.’
Antonio flicked open his phone, pressed speed dial, gave short instructions and snapped the phone shut. ‘Done,’ he said. ‘Now, let me take you to my favourite haunt.’
‘That sounds interesting,’ she said.
They walked through myriad tiny alleys. If Antonio left her now, she’d have absolutely no idea where she was. He led her into a small shop. As soon as he opened the door, the most incredible smell assailed her senses – the delicious aromas of garlic, coffee and fresh bread mingled and made her mouth water. Huge hams and salamis hung high over the counter and a display cabinet bulged with cheeses, olives and every kind of antipasto.
Antonio led her down a tight hallway and out into the brilliant sunshine. A gorgeous marble terrace perched just a few inches above a canal. Red checked tablecloths covered the tables. Two old men sat in one corner playing
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