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Avoiding Lucia in Palazzo di Comparino could be harder than he’d thought.
It could be nigh on impossible.
‘See you later,’ he said briskly as her eyes met his.
For the tiniest second he held his breath. There it was again, that connection. It sparked every time he looked into those deep brown eyes and reflected the pain and passion that had affected them both.
He dug his hands in his pockets and turned away.
It was best to break the connection.
Best for them both.
* * *
Lucia couldn’t sleep. The windows in her bedroom were open wide and she could practically hear the music of the Tuscan hills calling to her. Every rustle of the vineyard leaves, every noise from the watering system, the tiny cranking noises of some of the mechanical systems were all being carried in the warm night air.
The bed was comfortable, but even wearing just her new satin nightdress and only having one sheet was proving too much. She couldn’t settle. Every time she closed her eyes for a few seconds her brain started to replay the last few days with Logan.
And it was infuriating. Because it wasn’t one tiny part—it was everything...almost told in parts like a TV series. Her nerves at speaking to him for the first time. That whoosh that had swept over her body when she’d set eyes on him again. The way her skin had prickled just from being near him. Feeling the heat from his body when he was in close proximity to her. The touch of his lips on hers, awakening all the old sensations. Being held in his arms as they’d danced at Piazza San Marco. And the feel of his skin against hers when they’d finally gone to bed together.
Being around Logan seemed to have set all of her five senses on fire. And now they’d been reawakened it seemed they didn’t want to go back to sleep.
She sat up in bed for the twentieth time and slid her feet onto the floor. The tiles of the floor were cool and it took a few seconds to find her flat sandals.
She stood at the window for a moment, wondering if she should go outside. There was not a single person in sight. That wasn’t unusual—it was the middle of the night. She glanced around her room.
There was somewhere she wanted to be. Was it worth getting changed? The chapel was only across the courtyard from the palazzo. Could she just sneak across the way she was?
She grimaced at the stuffed-full suitcase. Packing when your mind was on other things wasn’t exactly ideal. She hadn’t brought a dressing gown. Or her running gear. Or a hairdryer.
She opened her door. It creaked loudly and she held her breath for a few seconds to see if anyone had noticed the noise.
The air in the corridor was still. Her sandals made barely a sound as she crept along and down the stairs. The front door of the palazzo wasn’t even locked.
She slipped outside and her footsteps quickened as she crossed the courtyard, the warm air making her nightdress flutter around her. It didn’t matter, there was nobody to see her. She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t even think about it too much. But she was being drawn to the chapel like a magnet.
Except it wasn’t really the chapel she wanted to see—it was the fresco.
The thick wooden door was heavy and she had to put her shoulder to it to finally push it open.
The slightly colder, stiller air of the chapel swept around her as soon as she stepped inside. Her footsteps stopped as the tiny hairs on her arms stood upright.
It was like walking into a scene from a scary movie. She was being ridiculous. Of course the chapel was slightly colder. The walls were thicker than the palazzo’s and the cooler air had probably helped with the preservation of the fresco.
It was pitch-black. Only a few strands of moonlight were sneaking through the stained-glass windows. Nothing was really visible. She hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her.
She took a few small steps forward, hoping her eyes would adjust to the darkness around her. Her hand reached out to touch the cold wall. It was odd. This chapel must have hundreds of years’ worth of history, hundreds of years’ worth of stories to tell. Weddings, birth, funerals all held in here.
In a way it was nice the royal wedding was being held here. A piece of history was being brought back to life, back to its former glory. If they hadn’t proposed to use this site, Burano’s fresco might never have been discovered.
‘Yaow!’ She stubbed her foot on something—some kind of carpenter’s toolbox—and bent to rub her bare toe. Her hand touched something on the floor. She fumbled for a second. A flashlight. Perfect. She flicked the switch and a thin beam of light cut through the darkness.
