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The Last Time I Saw Venice
Vivienne Wallington
City of Love, City of Regret?For Annabel Hanson, Venice was a city of bittersweet memory. It was here that she'd fallen head over heels for Simon, the handsome surgeon who'd passionately swept into her life and made her his bride. It was here she'd learned to love…and to live. And it was here she'd returned to heal after the tragic death of their infant daughter and the breakup of their marriage.Determined to reignite the still-smoldering embers of their relationship, Simon Pacino boldly pursued his estranged wife to the city that had once brought them together–in the hope that despite what had gone on between them, the city could work its magic once more….
“If you’ve no objection to some company…”
Simon had always been considerate that way, Annabel remembered with a bittersweet pang. At least, until the tragedy of Lily’s death had changed him, turning him into a closed, distant stranger.
“Let’s just play it by ear,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Is your hotel far from here?”
The firm, well-shaped lips she’d always found so irresistible—and still did, she realized with a tremor—eased into the familiar curved smile she’d thought lost forever, at least to her. Seeing it again gave her spirits a lift. “Actually, I’m staying here,” he said. “Fourth floor.”
She almost missed her step. Staying here? On the floor above hers? Maybe his room, his bed, were directly over hers. How would she ever be able to sleep, knowing he was so close to her, just a few floorboards separating them?
Dear Reader,
Well, as promised, the dog days of summer have set in, which means one last chance at the beach reading that’s an integral part of this season (even if you do most of it on the subway, like I do!). We begin with The Beauty Queen’s Makeover by Teresa Southwick, next up in our MOST LIKELY TO… miniseries. She was the girl “most likely to” way back when, and he was the awkward geek. Now they’ve all but switched places, and the fireworks are about to begin.…
In From Here to Texas, Stella Bagwell’s next MEN OF THE WEST book, a Navajo man and the girl who walked out on him years ago have to decide if they believe in second chances. And speaking of second chances (or first ones, anyway), picture this: a teenaged girl obsessed with a gorgeous college boy writes down some of her impure thoughts in her diary, and buries said diary in the walls of an old house in town. Flash forward ten-ish years, and the boy, now a man, is back in town—and about to dismantle the old house, brick by brick. Can she find her diary before he does? Find out in Christine Flynn’s finale to her GOING HOME miniseries, Confessions of a Small-Town Girl. In Everything She’s Ever Wanted by Mary J. Forbes, a traumatized woman is finally convinced to come out of hiding, thanks to the one man she can trust. In Nicole Foster’s Sawyer’s Special Delivery, a man who’s played knight-in-shining armor gets to do it again—to a woman (cum newborn baby) desperate for his help, even if she hates to admit it. And in The Last Time I Saw Venice by Vivienne Wallington, a couple traumatized by the loss of their child hopes that the beautiful city that brought them together can work its magic—one more time.
So have your fun. And next month it’s time to get serious—about reading, that is.…
Enjoy!
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
The Last Time I Saw Venice
Vivienne Wallington
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
VIVIENNE WALLINGTON
lives in Melbourne, Australia. Previously a librarian and children’s writer, she now writes romance full-time. Reading, family and travel are her other main interests. She has written nineteen Harlequin Romance novels under the pseudonym Elizabeth Duke and now writes for Silhouette Books under her real name. Vivienne and her husband, John, have a daughter and son and five wonderful grandchildren. She would love to hear from readers, who can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279 or e-mail viv.wallington@bigpond.com.
To Karin, who loves Venice, too.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Annabel gazed across the sparkling Venetian Lagoon and couldn’t believe she was here, that she’d actually come back.
Romantic Venice…city of dreams and fantasies.
Crushed dreams, fizzled fantasies.
No! Her chin came up. She’d thrashed all this out in her mind before leaving chilly, wet London, and decided it was worth risking a few bittersweet memories. Venice was where she’d been happy once, where she and Simon had met and shared the most rapturous few days—and unforgettable nights—of their lives. All her memories of Venice were joyful ones. It was the trauma and heartbreak that had followed later in Sydney that she didn’t want to dwell on.
And she wouldn’t! She was here to relax, to recuperate from the flu and pneumonia, and to luxuriate in the soothing magic of Venice.
Everything was just as she remembered, just as magical…the quaint canals and arched bridges, the ever-changing light, the graceful Gothic palaces and grand churches, the buzzing water traffic—and the same hordes of swarming tourists.
And this time she was one of them. Four years ago, she’d been here for a law conference, to learn more about her chosen career. To an ambitious, hardworking Sydney lawyer who’d never been to Europe, it was a dream come true when her firm had sent her to Venice for a week.
A dream in more ways than one, she thought, her eyes misting. On her very first day in Venice, another more heart-stopping dream had materialized.
Painful as it was to think of Simon, her memories of their first meeting and their blossoming romance in Venice were still sweet, still as filled with a piquant nostalgia as a dim, happy dream. The unbelievable way they’d met still brought a smile to her lips, even now.
She let her gaze veer back across the water, seeking out the glossy black gondolas moving with leisurely skill between the other faster boats.
Four years ago, she’d taken a gondola ride along the Grand Canal with a group of fellow conference delegates. If she hadn’t stupidly decided to stand up on the seat to take some photographs, she might never have met Simon. A water taxi had swished past at the vital moment, creating a wave that made the gondola rock precariously. She’d lost her balance and tumbled overboard, landing with a splash and a gasp of shock in the cold, deep green water of the Grand Canal.
It was Simon, the sole passenger in the water taxi, who had dived in to save her as she surfaced, his boat having immediately circled and come back. With a strong arm clamped round her waist, he’d dragged her to his hovering water taxi. Her friends in the gondola had cheered and waved before continuing on their way, confident they were leaving her in good hands.
She smiled, remembering her first proper look at her husky, dark-haired rescuer as he’d helped her into a seat. He had the physique of an Olympic athlete and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen; he looked incredibly sexy, with his black hair still dripping and sunlit rivulets running down his strong, chiseled face.
She recalled how she’d blinked up at him as he’d checked her over, mesmerized by the beads of water sparkling on the ends of his dark eyelashes, above the brilliant sheen of his eyes. Water was streaming from her own hair and rolling down her face and shirt, making her acutely conscious that her soaked T-shirt, with only a flimsy sports bra beneath, did nothing to hide the nub of her nipples or the rounded curve of her breasts.
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.
