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Within seconds he was walking shoulder to shoulder with her. ‘Where do you want to play tourist, then?’ she asked. ‘I can’t imagine that you want to visit Piazza San Marco, St Mark’s Basilica or the Clock Tower.’
He shook his head. ‘Too busy, and anyway I much prefer Piazza San Marco at night. Much more romantic,’ he added.
She ignored the comment.
He pointed over in the distance. ‘What I’d really like to do is catch a vaporetto to San Giorgio Maggiore and go up the campanile. It’s still early. There will hardly be any crowds.’
She gave him a sideways glance as she veered towards the nearest vaporetto stop. ‘Hmm, so you’re still a tourist at heart, then?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s been a few years since I’ve been in Venice. But I’m an Italian, I still know where to go to get the best view of the city.’ He held out his ice cream towards her. ‘Swap?’
She nodded. The dark chocolate was starting to taste a little bitter. She took a nibble of the lemon and sweet, tangy zest nearly made her taste buds explode. But her brain didn’t have time to focus on that because Logan had slung his arm around her shoulders and was walking easily next to her as if they did it every day.
And it did feel like they did it every day. She fitted under his arm. Always had— always would.
He chatted as they made their way along to the vaparetto stop, joining the small number of waiting people and climbing on board as soon as it arrived. Most of the rest of the passengers were heading to Murano—the island famous for its glassware. He glanced at her as the boat stopped. ‘Did you want to get off here?’
She shook her head. ‘I love Murano glass—I have the most gorgeous red and gold vase in my apartment—but I don’t like the hordes of tourists, or what they make for them. If I see one more orange fish in a clear square cube I’ll scream.’
She was standing near the front of the boat and he laughed and pulled her down next to him as the next load of passengers climbed on board. ‘You old Venice snob.’
‘Oh, come on, you were exactly the same way in Florence. You hated the millions of ornaments of the cathedral and baptistery.’
He lifted his ice cream towards her. ‘Guilty as charged.’ Then he glanced at the activity on the Grand Canal. ‘But sometimes it’s nice to play tourist.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes as the boat glided along the canal. It was busy this morning, making the ride a little bumpy, and she inched closer and closer to him. His arm stayed loosely on her shoulders as they reached the stop for San Giorgio. Ice creams finished, they wiped their hands on the napkins provided and climbed out of the boat.
It was getting hotter but most of the tourists hadn’t reached the island yet and the queue for the lift to the top of the campanile meant they only had a ten-minute wait.
Logan shook his head as they approached. ‘This is one of the architectural glories of Venice. Palladio is one of my favourite architects. Look at it, the gleaming white Istrian marble fa?ade and lithe brick and bell tower—why, it almost seems to float in the middle of the Bacino San Marco, supported on its own tiny island. It’s only a few hundred yards off St Mark’s Square but most people just take a photo on the way past. They have no idea it’s decorated with works by Tintoretto, Carpaccio and Jacopo Bassano. This is the one place in Venice I just wouldn’t want to miss.’
Lucia smiled at him. The passion and enthusiasm in his voice was so good to hear. She could see heads turning at his voice, obviously relieved they’d chosen this venue to visit.
The lift opened to take them up the sixty-metre-high bell tower and a few minutes later they stepped out on to the observation deck. Logan held out his arms and spun around. ‘And this is why I love this place. Hardly a queue to get in, only a couple of euros and no crowding up here. The view is perfect.’ He pointed across the water towards the campanile San Marco. ‘While our brother over there has long lines, a higher price tag, is crowded and doesn’t have the same panoramic views.’
Lucia grinned. ‘But you can get a full-on postcard shot of the Piazza San Marco just across the water.’ She pulled out her phone and held it in front of her, snapping a quick photo.
‘Hold it.’ Logan pulled out his own phone, but put his hands on her shoulders and turned her, so instead of having a background shot of Piazza San Marco he had a full shot of the Grand Canal. ‘Smile,’ he said as he held up his phone. ‘You know, on a clear day you can see right across the Adriatic Sea and all the way to the Alps.’
