The Last Time I Saw Venice

She’d thought him Italian at first sight, a classic Romeo with that black hair and those piercing blue eyes. But the moment he spoke, she realized he was Australian, just like herself. An Australian with an Italian name— Pacino—and an Italian grandfather. He was working in New York at the time, training with one of the world’s top neurosurgeons. He’d come to Italy to give a medical lecture at Padua University and was only in Venice for four days before heading back to New York, while she had to go back to Sydney at the end of the week.

But they’d had four days, and she’d willingly skipped the odd lecture or two for the chance to see more of him…

“Annabel?”

A woman’s voice—as Australian as her own—intruded on her pleasantly poignant memories. For a moment, she failed to respond, her mind still far away. Four long years away.

“Annabel…it is you, isn’t it?” A hand touched her arm, a very real hand, its cool intrusion dragging her back to reality, dissolving her wistful dreams of Simon and a romantic world that no longer existed. “Remember me? We met at breakfast this morning. At our hotel. I was there with my husband Tom and our baby daughter Gracie.”

Annabel turned slowly, reluctant to let the warm memories fade away.

“Oh…hi, Tessa. Sorry…I was miles away.”

Tessa laughed, her blond curls bobbing. “Venice affects people like that.” She glanced over her shoulder at her baby daughter, fast asleep in a sling attached to her back. “I, um…look, since I’ve found you, could I ask a special favor?”

“Sure,” Annabel said, but her heart gave a tiny jump. She had a feeling the favor had something to do with Tessa’s baby, and anything to do with babies, especially baby girls, still brought a painful tremor, a tightening in her chest. “What can I do?”

“Could you hold Gracie for me, just for a few minutes, while I try on a dress? I’ve just fed her, so she should stay asleep.” The rest came out in a breathless rush. “We’ve a special dinner tomorrow night—my husband’s here for an orthopedics conference—and I’ve seen this fantastic dress in a boutique window just up the next lane. I’d love to try it on, but Gracie—”

“I’d be happy to look after her,” Annabel said, trying to sound as if she meant it. She did mean it. She loved babies. It was just that she hadn’t held a baby since the traumatic day she’d lost her precious daughter. Even now, she could feel her body shaking, her heart squeezing at the agonizing memory.

“Oh, thank you, you’re an angel!” Tessa was already tugging her away, dodging the tourists swarming along the famous sweeping promenade known as the Riva degli Schiavoni, before dragging her into a nearby lane. “You must have dinner with us tonight at the hotel, Annabel, Tom has a free evening, no conference commitments. Please say you will. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, but…all right, I’d love to,” she said. Tessa and Tom were a bright, friendly couple, and spending an evening with them might give her something else to think about than Simon and…all that she’d lost.

“Great! Let’s meet in the dining room at seven-thirty.” By now, they were halfway along the bustling lane. Tessa paused outside an upmarket boutique. “The dress is in this window. See? Isn’t it divine? They may even have others equally as fantastic that I could try on…” She looked hopefully at Annabel.

“You take your time. Give Gracie to me,” Annabel said, steeling her heart for the ordeal ahead. “Here. I’ll help you undo the sling. I’ll do my best not to wake her.”

“Thanks. If she does stir, just take her for a walk. That should do the trick. St. Mark’s Square is just along a bit, round the corner. If she stays awake, she’d love to see the pigeons.”

“No worries,” said Annabel, worrying regardless. As she helped Tessa transfer Gracie onto her own back, just the sweet smell of the sleeping baby was playing havoc with her senses, bringing back nostalgic, heartbreaking memories of her precious one-year-old daughter. Lily would have been three years old by now.

How Annabel missed her! Before succumbing to the flu and pneumonia, she’d been able to bury the worst of her grief in her work, taking on more and more demanding assignments to blot out the unbearable agony of her private heartbreak. But since her illness had forced her to take several weeks off work, she’d had the time, finally, to think and grieve, and she was missing Lily more than ever.

It made her realize—especially now that she was back in Venice—how much she’d been missing Simon, too. Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Dredging up memories of Simon and happier times was hardly likely to help her recovery. She didn’t want to think of Simon! In all this time—nearly two years—she hadn’t seen or heard a word from him. He hadn’t cared enough about her even to make inquiries about her…let alone seek her out and maybe even begin to forgive her.

She flinched as a piercing stab of pain revived other hurtful memories. Simon had barely been able to speak to her, or even to look her in the eye, in the weeks before she’d walked out on him. His neurosurgery demands and his patients had been his only solace, his only escape. Though he’d never accused her to her face, she knew he blamed her for Lily’s death, and he still blamed her, obviously, or he would have come after her long before now. And she was to blame. Her blind trust, her slow reactions, had been responsible for the loss of their beloved baby daughter. She still had nightmares about that speeding car…visions of her baby’s pram flying into the air…

Tessa’s baby whimpered, jolting her back to her present dilemma. “I’d better go for that walk,” she said, and swung away, leaving Tessa to her evening gowns. Thankfully, the baby quickly drifted back to sleep under the rhythmic movement of her swaying stride.

Crossing St. Mark’s Square, Venice’s famous piazza, was as exhilarating as it always was, despite the crowds of tourists who loved to flock there and get in the way. Every speck of space in that huge square seemed to be taken up with people or pigeons, the pigeons so thick on the ground and so tame they barely fluttered into the air when intruders threatened their space.

Annabel tried to ignore the crowds by looking beyond them, admiring the arcaded buildings on either side, lined with expensive jewelry shops, boutiques and cafés. At the far end of the square she could see the towering brick bell tower—the Campanile, as the Italians called it—and the Byzantine splendor of the glorious, dominating Basilica, with its bulbous domes and the four bronze horses of St. Mark looking ready to prance off the grand facade.

The trouble was, seeing the Basilica made her think of Simon again. They’d explored the impressive building together four years ago, but there’d been almost too much magnificence to take in at one visit and they’d vowed to meet up again one day and come back for another look.

But she’d found herself pregnant instead, which had changed everything, opening up a whole new life for both of them. A life they’d shared happily and chaotically with their baby daughter…until it had ended suddenly, tragically.

Now she was back in Venice…alone. She felt the hot sting of tears and resolutely blinked them away. As her eyes cleared, her gaze settled on a group of white-clothed outdoor tables, mostly unoccupied. And no wonder, she thought with a rueful half smile. Few tourists could afford even to sit down at Caffè Florian’s elite tables, let alone to buy the famous café’s astronomically expensive coffee.

But one dark-haired man obviously could. He was sitting alone, lounging back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to indulge in outrageously expensive coffee at Florian’s.

Something about him, as he watched a pigeon land at his feet, made her eyes snap wide and sent her heart to her throat. The strongly carved profile, the familiar shape of his head, the thick dark hair curling over his ears, the imposing breadth of his shoulders…

No! She tried to blink the disturbing image away. It was impossible! Was she going to see Simon Pacino in every dark-haired, good-looking hunk she came across in Venice just because she’d met him here once before?

And then he glanced up, turned and looked straight at her, his gaze boring through the milling crowd as if only she existed. Dear heaven, it was Simon!

She nearly tripped, but managed somehow to keep on walking, still not believing it, her mind scattering in panic. How could he be here, of all the places in the world he could have chosen…that she had chosen, too? Coincidences like this just didn’t happen. Besides, he was still back in Sydney…wasn’t he? Or had he left the hospital where he’d been working—the hospital that must hold so many painful memories for him—and moved overseas himself? Maybe…maybe he’d hitched up with someone new and was waiting for her to join him.

Oh God…

She had to put distance between them!

With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, determined not to give way to panic, she veered sideways, forcing her legs to carry her to the far side of the square, well away from Florian’s elegant tables, before turning and making her way back in the direction she’d come from. Tempted as she was to break into a run she resisted the urge, partly to avoid jolting baby Gracie awake, but mostly to avoid attracting attention. Simon’s attention.

Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. It was almost two years since he’d last seen her, and she wore her deep auburn hair short these days, in a smooth, head-hugging bob, with a few golden highlights to brighten it up. He’d only ever seen it long, falling over her shoulders in thick russet waves, or swept back in a ponytail. He’d loved to run his fingers through her hair—one of the reasons she’d cut it.

She’d also lost a lot of weight recently, due to her illness. Even before she’d fallen sick, she’d shed weight, too busy most of the time to eat properly and barely interested in food anyway.

“Excuse me.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and knew instantly whose hand it was. Light as the touch was, could any other hand have this instant, electrifying effect on her, scalding her skin through her thin layer of clothing and sending shuddering shock waves through her body?

She turned, deliberately slowly, masking her features as she tried to still her wildly fluttering heart. Compelling blue eyes, sharpened by the sun, devoured her tense face.

“It is you.” He spoke in a quiet, velvet-edged tone, showing no visible surprise, as if they were old acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while, who’d never suffered a common pain and grief, who’d never grown apart until there was nothing left between them. At the time she’d walked out on him, he’d barely been speaking to her, his eyes flat and remote whenever they’d come into close contact, a man in torment, coldly shutting her out, holding back the words of blame and anger he must have longed to hurl at her.

Now, two years later, his face was deeply bronzed, accentuating the intense blue of his eyes, and he looked amazingly toned and fit. How had he managed to get so tanned and superfit when he worked such long days, and often nights, too, in a brightly lit operating room? Did his hospital have a gym now, with suntanning facilities?

She felt his piercing gaze sear over her face, her hair, her far-too-thin body. “You look different,” he said. “Different, yet…just the same.”

“I’m far from the same.” She spoke sharply, unable to keep a tinge of bitterness from her voice. Oh yes, she was different. More battle-hardened, more in control of her emotions and her life, more determined than ever to reach her ultimate goal—a partnership in her highly respected law firm, which was all she had to look forward to now.

His dark-lashed blue eyes veered to the baby in the sling. They flared for a second, then died. “Yes…so I see.” The cold remoteness she’d last seen two years ago was back in force. “You didn’t waste any time replacing your child…or your lover.”

His scorn lashed her in two. Stung, she lashed back. “I see time hasn’t changed you in the least.” He was still as coldly distant and unfeeling as he’d been when she walked out on him two years ago. The realization brought an odd quiver of regret. Feeling the effect his touch still had on her, she’d hoped for a second…

Stupid of her. Futile. Nothing could ever heal the bitter scars of the past, could ever bring them back together…not after all they’d been through.

“I have to go,” she said bleakly. “I have someone to meet.”

“Your lover?” This time he caught her arm with just enough force to prevent her from walking off without having to forcibly break free. There was something else in his eyes now, a dangerous glint in the icy depths. Anger. A cold, deadly anger. “He can’t be your husband. We’re still married. You’ve never sought a divorce.”

Neither had he, but she didn’t say it. “Marriage isn’t high on my list of priorities anymore,” she said, her voice tight. She’d never even considered divorce, knowing she’d never want to marry again—or, at least, never want to marry any other man. Though if he’d demanded a divorce…

“No…it never was, was it?” His own voice held a note of weary resignation, though his broad shoulders were stiff with tension, as if that icy anger still simmered below.