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“Do you even own a dress shirt?”
“I used to, until you ripped it off me in Budapest.” Cal’s eyes finally met and held mine for more than a second, and fire burned in the dark brown depths.
Until that moment, I’d forgotten he’d been wearing the same black dress shirt he’d been wearing when we’d first met when we tried to kill each other in Budapest several months later. When I remembered our time together in Budapest, it was never his clothes I remembered.
“You would have had to get rid of it anyway after I stabbed you.”
“Guess that’s fair.”
“Guess I owe you a shirt.”
He downed the last of the wine. “Guess you do.”
“Signori, we are arriving. Please stay seated while I dock,” Carlo yelled back to us over the roar of the engine.
With a few deft maneuvers, he had us pulled up to and tied off at a dock in front of an ornate white marble building. Palazzo Venezia was etched into the marble over the wide glass and polished wood doors, the reflection of the setting sun making both the gold paint and the glass shine so bright it almost hurt to look directly at the hotel.
Cal and I disembarked and followed Carlo into the building. If the exterior was ornate, it had nothing on the interior. Wide antique rugs covered polished mahogany floors. Small seating groups made up of fragile Victorian furniture dotted the lobby, which was lit by four huge Murano glass chandeliers. There were pieces of fine art on the walls and small sculptures on every available surface. A wide, polished wood desk with stations for at least three staff members faced the door. A lovely woman around Carlo’s age was at one of the stations.
“Buonasera, signori?—”
Carlo cut her off, and they had a quick conversation in rapid Italian.
“Enjoy your stay,” she said in heavily accented English as Carlo bypassed the desk and stopped in front of a gilded elevator, pressing the up button on the panel.
“I already have your key cards made up,” he explained while we waited.
I nodded and followed him into the elevator when the doors slid open. I hadn’t taken Cal’s hand again, even though I’d wanted to, but after our kind of strained exchange on the boat, I didn’t want to push him too much harder.
Carlo pushed the button for the fourth floor, and the doors slid shut, the lift ascending.
On the fourth floor, he took a right, leading us to the end of a short hall.
“Here we are.” He slid a small envelope from his pocket and pressed one of the plastic cards to the reader. The light blinked green, and we crossed the threshold while Carlo held the door. “As you can see, this is a much more fitting room for a honeymoon.”
All I could see was that there was one giant bed in the middle of the room.
Only one.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
CAL
Carlo gestured at the bed.“Signore Reuben asked for two beds, but I knew it must be a mistake, so I made sure you had a king bed and a view.” He crossed to the windows and drew back the gauzy drapes. Late-evening sun filtered in, and through the window, I could see we overlooked a small canal with the bell tower of St. Mark’s Square visible not too far away. The view was breathtaking, even if the bed situation wasn’t.
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to have this room?” Jack asked. “Surely our original reservation would be fine if you needed to move us.”
Carlo shook his head. “Actually, it was convenient I noticed the mistake because all our double rooms are booked. This was a happy coincidence.”
Jack forced a smile. “Well, then I’m glad you noticed the mistake too. This is a lovely room.”
Carlo beamed. “I will leave you to settle in. We offer predinner drinks and snacks in the bar beginning at six thirty if you care to join us.”
“Sounds great.”
Thankfully, Jack had taken over the conversation with Carlo because I was busy biting my tongue while staring at the bed.
