Love Affair in Venice

Chapter 1: City of Casanova

Vibrant blue green waters lapped gently against the docks, sending wide but gentle ripples along the stony canal walls. Flat-bottomed rowing boats with pointy, ornate ends jostled one another, occasionally bumping into the tall wooden marker poles staked into the lagoon floor. The gondolas were still sleeping, covered under bright blue tarps. Souvenir shops were still locked up and the square was mostly empty.

The perfect time to reflect on life in complete solitude.

This would all change in a few hours when wave after wave of tourists flocked to the city, eager to experience the city of Casanova, if only for a day or two, before moving on to their next destination. By 9 a.m., the square would be packed with throngs of people milling about like ants with fat wads of euros to burn. Chaotic chatter and music and the smell of fresh cappuccinos would fill the air.

Vanessa Holdom looked out at the sea, drinking in the breathtaking view. For now, the city was hers. The aquamarine waters sparkled with the rising sun, as if overflowing with white diamonds. Between the two grand columns that marked the city’s ceremonial entrance, she could see ornate, old buildings in the distance, undoubtedly once majestic palazzos that housed nobility.

The golden red sun peeked out from the horizon, bathing the European architecture in a soft, warm glow. Rays of light banished the shadows that swallowed the Piazza San Marco, bringing life to the stark white walls of the Doge’s Palace and the burnished umber of the bell tower.

It was a cool May morning in Venice. Not even six o’clock yet. But Vanessa couldn’t sleep. How could she, after everything that had happened in the last two days?

She brushed a stray lock of curly blond hair behind her ear. A small shiver ran up her spine and she clenched her teeth at the memory.

Salty spray splattered across her cheeks and a sudden gust of cold wind forced her to wrap her shawl tighter across her petite frame.

Aiden.

I will never let another Aiden fuck up my life, Vanessa mumbled, biting back tears. Her soft, pink lips quivered with hurt. Men don’t deserve my love. They’re all cruel monsters. Or gold diggers. Cheaters and filthy liars. She leaned against a streetlamp, fingers itching for the pack of cigarettes in her purse.

She was trying to quit. For him.

Unable to hold back any longer, she dug out the unopened pack and unwrapped the plastic. Screw Aiden. She shook out a fresh stick. She had lasted two whole weeks without one. But now she couldn’t bear one more second without nicotine.

Hands trembling, she brought the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter over the tip. Inhaling deeply, Vanessa tried to bury the memory of Aiden, her fiancé, in their bed with another woman. The image of their sweat slicked bodies, the shocked expressions on their faces when they saw her. The tramp had been wearing Vanessa’s stilettos and lacy lingerie.

Disgusting whore.

How long had they been running around behind her back? Humiliating her? Desecrating her sanctuary with their illicit affair? More importantly, how could she have been so blind?

Today was their wedding day. She was supposed to be getting her hair and makeup done at Giselle’s first thing in the morning, but instead, she was half the world away, brooding in Italy.

The whole world would know soon enough about how she ran away. How Aiden cheated on her. And she sure as hell wasn't planning on being there when the paparazzis stormed down her house to demand a statement.

Vanessa took in another shaky drag of her cigarette, puffing out wispy blue smoke. Thank God her parents were dead. Imagine the uproar if they discovered Aiden’s betrayal. He would have been drawn, quartered and hung to dry. Undoubtedly turned away from any half decent law firm across the States and banished from high society. Permanently.

Her parents had been that way. Insanely protective of her and her baby sister Lexi.

The Holdom family hadn’t always been wealthy. They were a rags to riches story. When Vanessa’s grandfather had died, leaving her parents with a house and about $100,000 in savings, her parents had invested it wisely. They started a small handmade soap shop. The product was in such high demand that within a few years, it became a national retail chain. By the time they passed away, Vanessa, aged twenty-four and Lexi, fifteen, inherited the soap empire and expanded it from a million dollar business to a multi-million dollar one. With the help of the board and the Holdom family’s extensive connections, Vanessa began creating line after line of new cosmetics, clothing and eventually haute couture jewelry. She also dipped her toes in an assortment of global energy funds, real estate holdings and telecommunications projects, ensuring their portfolio was balanced and ludicrously profitable. If there was money to be made, trust the Holdom sisters to be a part of it.

Finally at the end of last year, they hit the billion dollar mark. An incredible achievement obtained through sweat, sleep deprivation and endless hard work. And of course, at the cost of romantic relationships and friendships along the way.

Vanessa was a twenty-nine-year-old self-made billionaire. The youngest female billionaire in the world. And she was damn proud of it. No one could ever accuse her of being a lazy, bratty heiress. No. She fought tooth and nail for her prestigious position as one of the richest women in the world. And she intended to stay there.

Being such a high profile entrepreneur carried its own set of burdens, particularly when it came to dating. Gold digging males and even females found increasingly more creative ways to capture her attention. But Vanessa never had much time to indulge in something so time consuming and useless as dating.

Until she met Aiden Carlisle at her annual fundraiser two summers ago. He had mistaken her for one of the guests, not realizing that she was the host of the gala. And she didn’t correct him. Not right away at any rate.

She had loved his exuberance, his zest for life. His sense of adventure and easy-going nature. They made conversation the same way they made love: freely and passionately.

When she finally explained her true identity, Aiden was taken aback but not completely surprised. Their relationship didn’t change at all, despite her outrageous wealth. In public, they were a loving and simple couple. Neither indulged in excessive luxuries or flashy displays. They were simply content with one another’s company.

When Aiden proposed on his yacht last summer, Vanessa was beyond thrilled. She ignored all the pessimists who urged her to reconsider. The cautious co-workers who hinted (without subtlety) that he was only after her money. Even Lexi was hesitant to congratulate her.

But Vanessa didn’t care.

She was in love.

The tabloids would butcher Aiden. Make him out to be some sort of monster. No, he didn’t deserve that. Vanessa sighed. She hadn’t been the most attentive fiancée. Between the endless board meetings and the constant traveling, she hadn’t been able to...meet his manly needs. Not that she didn’t want to. It just never seemed to happen. She would be jet lagged or up all night with reports or sick with another bout of the flu.

The last time they made love was probably over six months ago.

Vanessa did not blame him for turning to another woman for pleasure. It was inevitable. She just didn’t realize that it would hurt her so deeply when she finally discovered the truth that had been in the back of her mind all along.

She loved Aiden with all of her heart. He was the only one capable of understanding her and all her complexities. He never complained about her workaholism or her domineering need to control every facet of their lives together. He was laid back. Easy going. A wide-eyed bambi fresh out of law school, brimming with unbeatable optimism and ambition.

He was also only twenty-five and extremely sheltered and naive. He grew up in a middle class, white collar family that worshipped him because he was the only child. Spoiled from never having to do any laborsome, hard work as a child, Aiden came to expect things handed to him on a silver platter. How he managed to set aside his ego to cater to the whims of Vanessa Holdom was anyone’s guess. The words ‘gold digger’ was on everyone’s mind but no one dared to say it for fear of incurring Vanessa’s wrath.

Vanessa threw her cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with her shoes. Enough.

She was never one to linger over emotions. She had had her heart broken in the past. Aiden wasn’t the first and he wouldn’t be the last either. She’d make sure of it.

She squared her shoulders and adjusted the strap of her purse. Goodbye Aiden, she murmured to the water, as if her words could be carried overseas. You never deserved me.

Wiping away a single tear, Vanessa turned and realized that she was being watched.

Very intently.

The man clad in a black and white striped shirt gazed fixedly at Vanessa, studying her face, as if it were some tragic piece of art. He was sitting at the bow of a gondola, one hand still on the blue tarp. Buon giorno. Fa bel tempo!

Vanessa sniffled and patted her cheeks. Buon giorno, Vanessa muttered in shaky Italian. Umm...Mi dispiace…Non parlo bene italiano...Parlo inglese.

The gondolier nodded, and then stretched out his hand as if beseeching her. Bella donna, why you cry?

Vanessa broke out in a tiny smile. I’m okay, really. They were tears of happiness. It’s my first time in Venice and I am just so touched by the beauty here.

S-Slow down okay? The man laughed, My English no good. I know a little bit. He slowly got off the gondola and walked up the wooden steps until he was beside Vanessa.

Vanessa stood a little straighter as the charming, muscular ferryman loomed a full head taller than her. Oh I’m so sorry. Your pronunciation is quite good, that’s why I thought you were fluent.

I know some English. Help me talk to tourists.

Vanessa studied the cheerful man in his late thirties. He was at least 6’1". His features were undeniably handsome. Despite the few wrinkles creasing his forehead and the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes, he still had an abundance of youthful vigour in his smile. A faint line of stubble traced his jaw. His blue eyes and wavy brown hair coupled with the rippling muscles along his forearm were enough to make any woman look twice.

Vanessa was no exception.

My name is Marco, the man said, extending his hand.

Vanessa. Vanessa reached out to shake Marco’s hand, only to find him lean forward and press his lips on top of her hand. Benvenuta a Venezia, he said in a lyrical voice.

Was he one of the serenading gondoliers? How romantic, Vanessa thought, blushing under Marco’s intent scrutiny.

Vanessa smoothed one hand over her hair, feeling uneasy. Was there something on her face? Why was he still standing there? After a few moments of silence, she blurted out, Uh...I need to...be somewhere. It was nice to meet you Marco.

Where you go at six o’ clock in morning? Marco laughed, gesturing to the empty square. Nothing to do.

Vanessa’s face flamed. Why are you here so early? she demanded. No one else is here.

I like to watch the sunrise, Marco explained, pointing to the amber-colored sun. And paint it. It’s different every day. I paint new picture every week.

Oh, Vanessa arched her eyebrows. Could I see some of your work?

Si! Marco hopped back down towards his gondola and retrieved a thick leather sketchbook. He untied the elastic around it and lay it flat across the seat. Come, he motioned.

Vanessa tentatively stepped down onto the docks until she was standing in front of the boat. She squinted at the open book and instantly saw the gondolier’s artistic talent. Marco began flipping through the wire-bound notebook. Vanessa noticed that each painting featured the same subject- the sunrise- from the same point of view-the harbor, yet somehow, each rendition had a different color scheme and a different mood to it.

Practice, makes perfect, Marco smiled, taking out his set of watercolor pencils and a small glass jar of water. Wait, he motioned with his index finger. Then he ripped a brand new sheet of watercolor paper out of his journal. Don’t move.

Vanessa stood awe struck as Marco began sketching a brief outline of her with light pencil marks. After the initial sketch was complete, he began coloring it in with bold strokes of colored pencil. He finished coloring it in about five minutes and then began blending the colors together with a soft paintbrush dipped in water.

The result was stunning. The casual ease of each brushstroke, the accuracy of the portrait, combined with the pleasing friendship of colours...made Vanessa look like a goddess.

Marco quickly signed his name at the bottom of the page with a felt-tip pen and handed the portrait to Vanessa. You are too beautiful to cry. Do not be sad. Life is filled with happiness. You must work hard but you will find it. I believe it.

Chapter 2: A Private Tour

"Are you happy?" Vanessa asked, taking the portrait and hugging it to her chest.

Of course! What’s not to be happy about? Life in Venezia is beautiful. The food is delicious. The wine excellent. Music makes everything come alive...è perfetto. Marco pinched his fingers together and blew a kiss. Then he opened both arms and stretched, as if embracing the world. As he flexed, his hard, muscled chest strained against his shirt.

He had the biggest smile on his face. A contentment only a true lover of life could possess.

How long have you been a gondolier? And how did you know that’s what you wanted to do? Vanessa sat down on the dock, criss-crossing her legs, captivated by her new acquaintance.

Marco rubbed the glazed sides of his boat, grinning. My father was a gondolier. He taught me the trade when I was fifteen and I never wanted to do anything else. I love talking to people from all over the world. To be on the water everyday...It’s a dream come true! What is it you do, where you are from?

Vanessa twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. I uhh...I sell makeup. In the United States. It was a huge understatement but of course she couldn’t risk (and didn’t want to) exposing her true identity.

Makeup?

Vanessa nodded, miming powdering her cheeks and putting on lipstick. You know, like lipstick. Mascara. Things to make women feel beautiful.

Oh! Marco’s eyes light up. But you don’t wear much make-up on your face? You natural beautiful!

Thank you Marco, Vanessa blushed, Yes...After knowing all the things they put into the makeup...It really makes you not want to put it on your face anymore. Lots of bad stuff. Chemicals.

But how you sell makeup if you don’t use?

I...I don’t deal directly with customers. I work more...behind the scenes you know, in an office. I do the numbers and math.

Ah, Marco rubbed his stubbly chin. Beautiful AND smart. Please, tell me. Why you come to Venice?

Vanessa bit her lip, hesitant to recount her shameful story.

Sorry, I don’t want make you sad, Marco replied when he noticed Vanessa’s suddenly sullen mood. Is it a man?

Yes. A horrible, horrible man, Vanessa spat. It's our wedding day today. But two days ago I found him in bed with another woman. So I left. I’ve never been to Venice so I decided it would be a nice vacation. Vanessa’s mouth curled into a smile. It’s been so much better now that I’ve met you. You've been so nice to me.

I'm sorry to hear that. Marco looked away, gazing at the dots of houses and church spires in the distance. But it is your first time here? Marco stood up, tearing the blue tarp off his boat. Have you been on gondola yet?

N-No...actually. I just got here late last night and checked in to my hotel and slept. It was a ten-hour flight and I’m still a bit jet-lagged.

Marco nodded. Then he stretched out his hand. Come. I show you Venice on the Canalazzo.

Vanessa hesitated. A small voice in her head cautioned against following a stranger into his gondola. It was the Venetian equivalent of following a stranger into a taxi. Once she surrendered control, who knew what would happen? On the water, he would be king. He could take her anywhere and she would be helpless. She hadn’t even brought a map because she hadn’t expected to wander far from her hotel.

But his eyes seemed kind and he was an artist. Vanessa had a soft spot for artists.

Trust me, Marco said, leaning forward until the tips of his fingers touched Vanessa’s knitted shawl.

With a resigned smile, Vanessa took his hand and stepped into the wobbly gondola. Okay, I trust you. Steadying herself against the plush leather seat, she set down her watercolor portrait on top of Marco’s sketchbook before sitting down. She shook off her new sandals which were already blistering her feet.

Marco quickly tucked the sheet under the book cover and took control of the long wooden oar. Here we go.

Over the course of an hour, Marco showed Vanessa a dizzying array of sights, from the Campo Santa Maria Formosa with its Gothic palaces and churches to the famous white Bridge of Sighs - from extremely narrow waterways with faded red brick apartments to the Grand Canal with its luxurious palazzos (her favorite was the Byzantine style Ca’ da Mosto, the oldest building on the Grand Canal), fleets of gondolas, motorboats and vaporettos, the water taxis.

Vanessa loved it all. The Renaissance flair of the giant domed churches. The simple clotheslines strung with colorful children’s clothing. The smell of fresh baked goods wafting from cafés. But the best part of the tour was the peaceful, unrushed nature of the experience. Normal tourists could only board gondolas during rush hour, making the ride noisy and the waterways, congested with traffic. But Vanessa was lucky to have a private tour.

During the tour, at one point Marco broke out in glorious tune, serenading his fair haired passenger with heartfelt song. It was a pity Vanessa didn’t understand a single word of it. But she understood the emotion behind the words, and that’s what really mattered.

Marco told Vanessa a few childhood memories but with his broken English, she could only understand the gist of it. She deduced that he broke his arm during some sort of bet but couldn’t really catch where it happened and what the bet was about. Marco also showed her the tiny alleyway where he had his first kiss. The Rialto Bridge, where his father had a stroke at the age of fifty. And he reminisced about a regata, a boat race competition he won when he was nineteen.

It was undeniable - he had countless memories here. Mostly happy ones but prickled with the occasional sad note.

Vanessa laughed when he told her he didn’t know how to drive. There was no need for cars here. Everyone traveled by foot, train, or water. Vanessa couldn’t imagine walking everywhere, but she supposed that this was a whole other country across the Atlantic Ocean.

They both sighed when they discussed how the vibrant and historically rich city was slowly sinking. In a few hundred years, it would be underwater, much like Atlantis. And on that train of thought, Marco expressed his discontent with the direction Venice was heading. Too many tourists, he complained. I know, I need them for my job but sometimes, it’s too much. Hard to travel by vaporetto or train because too many people. And everyone here work for tourists or government. The local culture is dying.

Vanessa never thought of it that way. But it was true. Venice had become a city catered solely to the whims of tourists. Special events, expensive luxury hotels and fancy restaurants all opened to swallow up tourists' money in exchange for the Venetian experience. Except it wasn’t really the real deal if prices were inflated three or four times their usual costs and run by big corporations. More and more family-owned businesses were shutting down, unable and unwilling to compete against giants.

At the end of the ride, Marco returned to their starting point and tied his gondola around one of the wooden docking poles. It was fun?

Yes. Yes! I had a wonderful time, Vanessa gushed as she stepped back onto the dock. Her legs were a bit wobbly after sitting down for so long. She bent down to touch her toes and stretch some life back into her muscles.

Would you like dinner with me tonight? Marco asked, still standing on the prow. His tight black pants were plastered against his legs like a second skin. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his face. Maneuvering such a big boat all by himself was probably a ton of hard work.

Yes! Vanessa smiled wholeheartedly. Where should we meet?

Come back here eight o’ clock. I take you to my favourite ristorante.

+++

Vanessa spent the rest of her day checking off her Must-See list, among which were: a guided tour of the Doge’s Palace, St. Mark’s Basilica, Santa Maria della Salute and finally, suntanning at the beach: Lido de Venezia.

Drifting off under the hot afternoon sun, Vanessa startled awake around five o’clock. She brushed off some of the sticky sand that clung to her back and sides before packing up her things and heading back to the hotel.

Vanessa had booked last minute reservations at the Luna Hotel Baglioni for seven nights. She couldn’t afford to stay away for much longer than that. After all, in the real world, her empire needed her. Staff relied on her decisions and required her direction and signatures.

Lexi. She would be so heartbroken to find out that Vanessa never even told her about Aiden’s affair. Or where she decided to run off to. Vanessa decided she would send Lexi a quick text later on that night.

Vanessa had secured the best suite available given the short notice. It was a bright and airy room facing the Saint Marco basin. The hotel itself was a quaint mix of old and new, tradition and modernity. Located a stone’s throw from Piazza San Marco, Vanessa chose it for its convenient and central location. After all, if she was going to walk everywhere, she needed to position herself at the city’s hub.

Vanessa threw her tote on the chaise and kicked off her flip-flops. She unlocked the windows and pushed them open, letting in some fresh air. Then she padded towards the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

A date tonight. With a local Venetian. How exotic. Vanessa’s head spun with possibilities but she dared not entertain any of them for too long for fear of setting her sights too high. She didn’t want to be disappointed if Marco was just being friendly and had no intentions for romance. For all she knew, he could be married or already have a girlfriend.

After showering, Vanessa blow dried her hair and rubbed moisturizer all over her already tanning skin. She put on the faintest hint of blush to highlight the apples of her cheeks and a thin layer of lip gloss to accentuate the fullness of her lips. She didn’t usually wear eyeliner or eyeshadow but she thought tonight was special enough to justify a smokey-eye look.

After combing her smooth hair into a bun, she went out to the bed and unzipped her luggage case. She hadn’t even had time to