Her First-Date Honeymoon

The Chinese delegation were arriving in Venice this evening. He had to be at Hotel Cipriani at eight to greet them on their arrival. Emma had travelled over there, at her suggestion, after lunch to meet with the hotel co-ordinator and the interpreter employed for the duration of the visit.

He hit the call button again.

After yet more infuriating rings, she eventually answered.

He didn’t wait for her to speak, ‘Dove sei? Where are you?’

‘I’m not sure.’ There was a hint of panic to her voice. ‘After my meetings in Hotel Cipriani I decided I would visit the restaurant booked for the clients later this week on Giudecca. I found the restaurant and spoke to the owner and the chef. But when I left I must have gone in the wrong direction, because I’m totally lost. I can’t find my way back to the vaporetto stop.’

Now he really was regretting his decision to employ her. ‘Can’t you ask someone to help you?’

‘I have! But each time I follow their directions I end up even more lost down another narrow alleyway.’

Dio! ‘Can you see a street name anywhere?’

‘Hold on...yes, I see one! Calle Ca Rizzo.’

‘Stay there. I’ll come and get you.’

‘There’s no need. I’ll—’

He hung up before she had time to start arguing with him. It was already past four.

* * *

Emma placed her phone back into her padded jacket’s pocket, her already racing heart now acting as if it was taking part in the international finals of the one hundred metre sprint. The day had been going so well until she had gone and got lost in this warren of laneways or, as they were called locally, calli that made up Giudecca, an island suburb of Venice.

Her meetings in the opulent surroundings of Hotel Cipriani had gone smoothly, all the little extras she’d requested had been accommodated, and she had then made her way to Ristorante Beccherie, excited at the stunning views across the water to St Mark’s Square, the Basilica di San Marco and the Campanile clearly visible under the clear blue sky.

After her meeting at the restaurant she hadn’t minded getting lost at first. She had been enchanted by the three-and four-storey medieval red-brick houses on deserted narrow alleyways, by the washing hanging between the houses like bunting, the endless footbridges crossing over the maze of canals. The lack of the sounds of the twenty-first century because of the absence of cars.

But as she’d grown increasingly disorientated, her uneasiness had increased. She’d ended up in dead-end alleyways, silent and beautiful courtyards with no obvious signage.

Matteo was annoyed with her. No—scratch that. He’d sounded ballistic. Would he fire her on her first day?

She walked over to the canal that ran diagonally to the start of Calle Ca Rizzo and moved down onto the canal steps. The temperature was dropping and the cold stone bit against her skin.

Matteo was like Venice. Utterly beautiful but completely frustrating. All morning she had tried to remain professional, but she had been constantly distracted.

Distracted by his deep, potent musky scent when he moved closer to her to point something out in the file sitting between them.

Distracted by the perfect fit of his grey trousers on his narrow hips when he stood.

Distracted by the sight of his large hand lying on the table beside her: golden skin, wide palm, smooth knuckles, long, strong fingers tapering off into pale pink nails, all perfectly clipped into smooth ovals. Several times she had lost her concentration to those hands, dreaming about them on her skin, removing her clothes...

She had been glad of an excuse to get away from the palazzo, needing some space to pull herself together.

She dropped her head into her hands. What was she doing? Why was she having these thoughts? She wasn’t interested in men. In any form of relationship. She had a job to do. And falling for the boss was not only out of the question it was beyond stupid. Well, she hoped she still had a job to do. Maybe not when he arrived...

Fifteen minutes later she saw him stop on a footbridge further down the canal and stare towards her. His hip-length black wool pea coat was topped with a dark grey woollen hat. The pull of attraction tugged on every cell in her body. His mouth was turned downwards in a you’re in big trouble scowl.

She jumped up and tried to match his stride in her direction, but her legs were too wobbly so she careened her way along the canal bank, probably looking as if she had recently consumed a considerable amount of Chianti.

When they met her words of apology became lost. His hat hugged his skull, emphasising the intensity of his golden-brown eyes framed by thick black eyelashes, the beauty of his honey-coloured skin, the proud straight nose, the no-nonsense mouth softened by the cleft in his chin.

That gorgeous mouth hardened. ‘We are late for our appointments.’

Did that mean he wasn’t going to fire her?

Without another word he walked away and she followed alongside him, over countless bridges and through a maze of calli. They passed few people, and in the tight confines of the laneways he seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered.

She gave a quick summary of her meetings, updating him on any changes. Hoping his mood might improve. He made no comment but gave an occasional nod. At least he was listening.

Eventually they arrived at the broad reach of Canale della Giudecca and he led her to a sleek, highly polished wooden motor boat moored at a landing stage.

After untying the two mooring ropes he held the stern tight against the wooden stage. He held out his hand to her. ‘You need to climb aboard.’

She hesitated for a moment, suddenly wary of touching him. But, with the boat swaying in the choppy waters, she decided she’d risk holding his hand over the chagrin of being crushed against the landing stage.

His hand encased hers, and his powerful strength guided her on board. For a crazy few seconds she was engulfed by the sensation that she would always be safe with him in her life.

With practised ease Matteo pulled the boat away from the stage and was soon heading across the canal towards St Mark’s Square.

‘I’m sorry I got lost. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you.’

He gave that ubiquitous continental shrug that might mean he accepted her apology with some reservations or was so irritated by her that he couldn’t speak.

At first she thought he was going back up the Grand Canal to Ca’ Divina, but just west of St Mark’s Square he turned right and slowly motored up a smaller canal. The canal was busy with gondolas, the majority of their passengers embracing and kissing couples.

She plucked her phone out of her pocket and pressed some buttons mindlessly. She had thought she wouldn’t mind seeing couples together, enjoying this city of romance. Boy, had she been wrong.

A heavy pain constricted her chest.

She was supposed to be here with her husband. Not with a man who was clearly irritated with her. Not with a man who in truth she was more attracted to than she had ever been to her fiancé.

That truth was shaming.

That truth was bewildering.

* * *

‘As I explained this morning, five of my companies have a presence here on Calle Larga.’

Matteo came to a stop outside the type of store Emma would window shop at when walking along Bond Street in London but would never dare to enter, knowing her monthly salary wouldn’t even buy her a set of barely there but, oh, so gorgeous underwear.

He pointed along the bustling street. ‘Verde for handbags, Marco for shoes, Osare is the label for our younger urban clients... Gioiello stocks daywear, and...’ Gesturing to the store behind them, he added, ‘And VMV for the discerning.’

Was he aware of the constant looks of appreciation he received from passers-by? How within the VMV store a bevy of model-like assistants were flapping their arms in excitement at his imminent entrance?