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He didn’t need to know more. Why would he? After next week he would probably never see her again. But he’d never met a woman less willing to share—and there was a shadow behind those blue eyes that made him suspect there was a reason she was so reticent.
Whatever the reason, it was her business; he didn’t need to get involved. Once you got involved, then expectations got raised, then things got messy. He knew that all too well.
It was with some amusement that Marco watched his mother kiss Sophie on both cheeks and embrace her warmly as they left the restaurant—and even more amusement that he heard Sophie suck in a huge sigh of relief. ‘Well done, you held her off beautifully.’
‘I thought I was going to crack any minute.’
‘It was a good move to bring up Bianca’s wedding. That’s been her sole focus for the last year and the only thing guaranteed to distract her.’
‘It nearly backfired though.’ Sophie pulled on her gloves as they emerged into the bright, sunny but cold street. ‘She managed to bring every question back to me. Would I prefer an A-line or a fitted dress, didn’t I agree that an heirloom tiara was classier than a newly bought one, what colour scheme did I like, would I prefer a princess cut or a pear shape or maybe I wanted sapphires to match my eyes? I got the impression if I gave a straight answer to any question I’d have a ring on my finger and find myself frogmarched down an aisle whether I wanted to be or not.’
Her tone was light, but her words still struck him. He’d expected his mother to take an overactive interest in Sophie, but it was frustrating to have it confirmed that nothing had really changed, that ten years of exile, all the drama and anger had been for nothing. His mother had no intention of respecting his decisions. He tried to keep his own voice equally light, not to let his anger show. ‘You can see why I asked you here. Mamma is obsessed with weddings. While she thinks there’s a chance we might end up together she won’t be busy matchmaking. It’s perfect. I owe you, Sophie. Thank you.’
There was just the most infinitesimal pause before Sophie echoed, ‘Yes, perfect. As long as I don’t crack. Don’t leave me alone with her, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not sure I’d win in a straight duel. Has she always been this way?’
Marco began to stroll down towards the Rialto Bridge. He planned for them to cross over the famous bridge and then head back to the palazzo to collect his boat for the afternoon. ‘As long as I can remember.’
‘But why? It’s usually the other way round, isn’t it? Pressure on the daughter to marry? I’m sure you’re a catch and all...’ The dimple was out again and he couldn’t stop smiling back in response even though his mother’s obsession with his future was his least favourite topic. And it wasn’t easy to put into words.
‘It’s not about me, not really. She’s obsessed with the past, the future, the palazzo. Venice is changing, has been for the last fifty years. More and more real estate is owned by foreigners, many of whom don’t live here, which means more and more families moving onto the mainland. Both my parents came from ancient Venetian families, together they owned a lot of real estate, a lot of businesses around the city.’ He allowed himself a brief smile. ‘We’re a city of traders, of merchants. Even I, though I wanted to set out on my own, trade goods back and forth. It’s in my blood, like the sea.’
‘What does that have to do with marriage?’
‘It’s about not letting the old bloodlines die out, with keeping a Santoro in the palazzo, running the family business, sons at his knees, just like the old days. Now Bianca is getting married—and to another scion of an ancient family—her attentions can be fully focussed on me. London might not be far enough. I may try Mars.’
‘Would it be so bad? Marriage?’ She held her hands up, laughing as he turned to look at her. ‘That’s not a proposal, by the way, not even a leading question. Just plain curiosity.’
‘I’m the Santoro heir,’ he said. ‘It’s a position that comes with privilege, sure, but also with expectations. I’m the only son. And from the moment I was born I was reminded that I had a duty to the family, to the name, to Venice. That what I want doesn’t matter, that to pursue my dreams is a selfishness unbefitting a Santoro.’ He could hear his father shouting the words as he spoke them. ‘Marriage is part of that responsibility. So to me it isn’t something natural, something healthy, something good. It’s a heavy expectation I’m expected to bear. And now my father is gone...’ He swallowed as he said the words. It still didn’t seem possible. Venice seemed emptier without him, the palazzo hollower. ‘Now I’m not just the only son, I’m the only remaining male, it’s become even more imperative to my mother that I marry and soon. But the more she pushes, the less ready I feel. And I love my city, my family, of course I do. But I won’t sacrifice myself, my integrity to tradition.’
