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‘Duck à l’orange.’
Something like approval glimmered in his eyes.
‘I first had it when I was about twelve. I remember the trip so clearly.’ She didn’t go into the details—Paris Fashion Week, her mother’s doting on the twins and their matching couture, Bea just growing into her hormonal body, feeling too big and too awkward, the photos the media had picked up of her bored, slouching, reading a book in the light cast by the stage. She pushed those sharp recollections away. ‘We went to a restaurant and the waiter recommended it to my dad. He ordered one and so I thought I would too.’
Inwardly she grimaced, remembering her mother’s displeasure. ‘Darling, duck is incredibly fattening. And as for the sauce—’
‘It was so good. I made a point of ordering it from then on, whenever we ate out.’ And not just to spite her mother, though that didn’t hurt.
‘If only we were going to Paris instead of Venice. I know the best restaurant, on a small cobbled street in Montmartre. It isn’t famous, and has no Michelin stars or other plaudits, but the chef cooks traditional food as her father taught her to: each dish is perfection.’
‘I’ll have to get the name from you,’ Bea said, more captivated than she cared to acknowledge by the image he was evoking.
‘The restaurant is tiny. If you wish to try it, let me know and I’ll arrange things. Ordinarily you have to book in months ahead.’
Bea hid a smile behind her glass of champagne. ‘But, let me guess...for you, the chef makes an exception?’
He grinned that charming smile of his, pushing back in his chair and regarding her with all of his focus. ‘Always. And therefore for you too, if I ask it of her.’
Bea had been to Venice a handful of times, always with her family, and when she was much younger. She’d been too caught up in the push and pull of their dynamic to enjoy the place fully, and certainly to appreciate its beauty. As the plane began to circle the curious, ancient water city with its glistening canals and baroque homes, she craned closer to the window, pressing her brow to the glass so she could see it better.
The sun was low in the sky, not yet disappeared but obliging with an incredible palette of golden lights. Rays of orange burst towards them, and she sighed, something like calm settling over her.
As the plane touched down, she avoided looking in Ares’s direction for fear the sight of him might diminish even the beauty of the spectacular sunset.
