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‘When?’
‘Probably Monday. Technology is a wonderful thing these days. They will be able to give me an exact match of the product and colours that Burano used in his fresco for the restoration work.’
They started to walk across the bridge now, stopping in the middle just as a gondola with some tourists on board passed underneath. ‘And how long do you think the restoration work will take?’
She put her elbows on the bridge next to him. The sun was beating down now, rising high in the sky above them. She gave a nervous laugh. ‘That’s the one thing that doesn’t happen quickly. Probably around a few months.’
‘And it will be definitely you who does the work?’
Was it possible he didn’t want her to be working next to him, no matter what he’d been saying? Maybe Logan was only looking for a quiet life. Maybe he was only trying to keep her onside to make sure his project didn’t miss his deadline?
But he didn’t look unhappy. He still had that determined gleam in his eye. He pointed to a baker’s shop on the other side of the bridge. ‘Why don’t we grab some food and head back to the apartment? It’s going to be too hot for sightseeing this afternoon and we both have work we can probably do before dinner tonight.’
She gave a nod of her head. It made sense—even if the thought of sharing her apartment space with Logan all afternoon made it feel as if the walls would close in around her.
‘Where are we going later?’ she asked, as they walked over the other side of the bridge.
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Leave that to me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS RIDICULOUS and he knew it. Why did he feel as if so much rested on one night?
He’d planned everything to perfection, pulling strings wherever he could. What he wanted most was for Lucia to be relaxed around him, maybe just enough to let her guard down and let him in.
It sounded cold, it sounded calculating. It was anything but.
He needed her to open up to him, to talk to him. It’s what they both needed in order to move on with their lives.
It didn’t matter that he had hopes for the direction in which they moved. He had to push those aside right now. He wanted her to talk. He couldn’t see any further forward than that.
‘Are you ready?’
He’d been pacing in the main room for the last half hour, watching the sun beginning to lower in the sky, bathing Venice in a beautiful orange glow.
‘I’m ready.’ Her voice sounded a little shaky and he spun around.
She looked a picture. The red dress was exactly as he’d envisaged it, hugging her curves in all the right places. He’d known as soon as he’d seen it that it was perfect for her. A red jersey underlay with red crochet lace on top, it reached her knees and only gave the tiniest hint of skin underneath. Lucia had never liked anything too revealing.
She was wearing her black patent impossibly high heels with red soles and clutching a sequin bag in her hand. But something wasn’t quite right.
She flicked her long hair on her shoulders and meshed her fingers together. Lucia was wound tighter than a spring.
He walked over and handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Let’s sit down for five minutes. We have time.’
He gestured towards the chaise longue.
She waited a few seconds. Her nerves seemed to emanate from her, and even the hand holding the glass had an almost imperceptible shake. After a few moments she sucked in a deep breath and walked across the room.
‘Thank you for the dress. It’s perfect,’ she said simply, as she sat down and crossed her legs.
‘I knew it would suit you,’ he said calmly. ‘You look stunning.’ It was true and he was quite sure that every man in Venice who saw her would agree during the course of the evening.
She took a sip of her wine. ‘Are you going to tell me where we are going for dinner?’
He smiled. ‘We’re in Venice. We’re going to Rubins overlooking Piazza San Marco. Where else would we go?’
A hint of a smile appeared on her face as she relaxed back and took another sip of wine. ‘How on earth did you manage that? You couldn’t find a hotel room, but you managed to get into the most exclusive restaurant in Venice?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Let’s just say I might have helped them at some point with an architectural matter. Unfortunately, they don’t have beds for the night—so dinner it is.’
