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“Mario was a lie,” said Gabriel. “Mario never was.”
“But he did the most wonderful things to me in bed.” She sighed and drank more of her wine. “You never told me your wife’s name.”
“It’s Chiara.”
“What does she look like?”
“A bit like Nicola Benedetti, but prettier.”
“She’s Italian, I take it.”
“Venetian.”
“Which would explain why you’re living there again.”
Gabriel nodded. “She’s managing the city’s largest restoration company. Eventually, I’ll go to work for her.”
“Eventually?”
“I’m on administrative leave until further notice.”
“Because of what happened in Washington?”
“And other assorted traumas.”
“There are worse places to recuperate than Venice.”
“Much,” agreed Gabriel.
“I think I’ll schedule a performance there. A night of Brahms and Tartini at the Scuola Grande di San Rocco. I’ll get a suite at that little hotel in San Marco, the Luna Baglioni, and stay there for a month or two. You can come by every afternoon and—”
“Behave, Anna.”
“Will you at least introduce me to your family someday?”
“Don’t you think that might be a bit awkward?”
“Not at all. In fact, I think your children might enjoy spending time with me. Despite my many faults and failings, all of which have been mercilessly chronicled in the tabloids, most people find me endlessly fascinating.”
“Which is why I’d like to borrow you for an hour or two tomorrow.”
“What did you have in mind?”
He told her.
“Is it really safe to visit an art gallery in Paris with you?”
“It was a long time ago, Anna.”
“Another lifetime,” she said. “But why me?”
“I need you to distract the owner while I take a careful look at his inventory.”
“Shall I bring along my fiddle and perform a partita or two?”
“That won’t be necessary. Just be your usual enchanting self.”
“Eye candy?”
“Exactly.”
She probed at the skin along her jawline. “I’m a bit old for that, don’t you think?”
“You haven’t changed a bit since—”
“The morning you walked out on me?” The waiter served their first course and withdrew. Anna lowered her eyes and said, “Bon appétit.”
