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A kindly gondola operator lifted his brows, waiting for an answer, so she nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she was. ‘Just hot,’ she said, fanning her face.
But the simple, tiny exertion of moving her hand up and down was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Darkness enveloped her.
CHAPTER TWO
MATTEO WASN’T LOOKING out of the window in the hope of seeing her. He’d simply been standing and staring in that direction ever since she’d left. Really, he was barely aware of the flow of traffic in and out along the busy tourist strip.
He saw Skye.
The anguish on her features.
The pain of her heart that she wore so visibly.
He’d used her, and that hadn’t bothered him. Causing pain to her had been something he’d been more than willing to gamble. It was her own father’s fault—if Skye was hurt, it was because of Carey Johnson’s intractable bull-headedness.
But he hadn’t banked on witnessing her pain. He hadn’t enjoyed that. He was a driven businessman, not an out-and-out bastard. Witnessing the tears gliding down her soft, pale cheeks, the accusation in her eyes...he hadn’t been prepared for how that would gut him. How it would make him feel unpleasantly remorseful, even when he knew he would make all the same decisions over again, given the chance.
He lifted his fingers to his chin, rubbing the stubble there, before a commotion dragged his attention down to ground level.
It was the pastel yellow of her dress that caught his eye first. The way it seemed to crumple as she fell, her body, slender and unmistakable, toppling backwards. She fell as she did everything—with grace.
It was the work of a moment. Skye was collapsing, then she was dropping over the edge of the railing into the murky, germ-infested waters of Venice. Had he stayed still a little longer, he would have seen the moment her head cracked against the side of a gondola.
But he didn’t.
Adrenalin galvanised him.
Matteo ran from his office faster than he’d known was possible, tearing through the foyer and bursting onto the footpath just as a gondola operator in his distinctive black-and-white-striped shirt dived into the water. The dress made her easy to spot. Though Matteo could see the boatswain had wrapped an arm around her waist, he couldn’t stand idly by. Instincts alone drove his actions. A gentle ribbon of blood swirled through the water; he dove through it.
‘Is she breathing?’ Matteo pulled Skye to him, holding her as he swam to the edge of the canal. A crowd had formed and someone held their hands down, urging Matteo to lift her out. He passed her body up, then climbed out himself.
She was so peaceful. As though she were asleep.
More blood.
It seeped onto the pavement beneath her head and he gently fingered her scalp, a grim line on his mouth. ‘Call a water ambulance,’ he demanded, used to being obeyed and not doubting for one second that someone would do as he’d commanded.
‘One is on its way,’ someone replied.
Thank God. He crouched down beside her, running a hand over her face. ‘You’re okay, cara. You’re going to be fine.’
He had the vague impression of the gondola operator being helped out of the water, but his entire focus was on Skye. He spoke to her softly in his own language, urging her to wake up, not to worry, to trust him, knowing that if she’d been awake she’d have thrown that invitation back in his face.
It was only minutes before the scream of a water ambulance heralded its arrival, but it felt like a lot longer as Matteo stared down at her ashen face and wondered just what the hell had happened to make her fall into the filthy waters of Venice. The water ambulance pulled to a hasty stop beside them and two men began to call orders to the crowd. They climbed up nearby steps and ran to Skye, lifting her onto a flimsy backboard.
‘You’re with her?’ one of them asked Matteo.
He nodded. ‘I’m her...husband.’
‘You can come, then.’
He could have laughed at the medic’s apparent belief that he had any say in Matteo Vin Santo’s actions. Matteo paused f
or the briefest moment, just long enough to toss a thick pile of soggy bank notes at the gondola operator with a quick word of thanks, and then he followed behind.
The speedboat, bright yellow and sleek, accommodated Skye on a bed, and he watched her as the boat made its way speedily through Venice.
Only twice during the trip did her eyes open, and both times she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and non-comprehension.
