Page 12 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

The world is but canvas to our imaginations.

Henry David Thoreau

While I stood in line with Claire waiting to go to the top of the bell tower, I quietly asked her, “Why didn’t you tell me they had an elevator?”

“I thought you knew. They don’t open the stairs to the public. Besides, I thought the height was what you wanted to avoid. Not the stairs.”

I didn’t reply, so she leaned closer. “Think of this as a chance to try something new.”

“I am. That’s why I decided to go with you. But be honest with me. Aren’t you a little hesitant about the stability of the tower? You were questioning the beams at the Frari. What about this structure?”

Claire shook her head. “The original bell tower collapsed.”

“It collapsed?”

“This tower replaced it, and this one is only a hundred years old, so we’re good.”

I felt anything but “good” on our way to the top and even more queasy when the elevator door opened to the observation area. True, a hundred-year-old bell tower was better than one that was a thousand years old. But it was still very high.

I let the other visitors exit first. They probably thought I was being polite. I wasn’t. I was trying to convince myself that this moment was important. This was my opportunity to face my fear. Where did that fear come from, anyway? My childhood? I wasn’t a child anymore.

I drew in a deep breath, whispered a little prayer, and stepped out into the enclosed area.

Claire went directly to the windows around the edge of the tower.

The view straight ahead was of sky. Sky and one long, wispy cloud.

I took a few steps closer to Claire to see what she was looking at.

My eyes stayed on my feet as I walked across the tile floor.

It had the same red-and-white-checkered pattern as in the Frari.

These two elements, red bricks and ivory-colored limestone, were the building materials of Venice. Strangely, my brain told me it was okay. I was walking on tiles I had experienced before. This was just another sight to see in Venice.

I looked up. The observatory felt spacious and airy.

The openness was unexpected. With the high ceiling and large windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, the space almost felt modern compared to the other buildings we had been in.

Huge, round support columns rose from thick stands and were positioned between each of the grand windows.

I stopped walking halfway between the elevator and the window where Claire was leaning forward, drinking in her bird’s-eye view of the great city.

I decided that if I could get to one of the pillars, I would be good. I’d be stable.

With another long inhale and a slightly wobbly exhale, I moved my feet across the checkered tile and kept going until I reached a pillar.

There, I calmly rested my hand on the waist-high rim of the base that supported the column.

I was sure someone who knew about such things would explain that I had just extended a hand of friendship to my potential nemesis by making friendly contact with the cool stone base.

Whatever science or psychology might be at play, I didn’t know.

All I knew was that I felt grounded. I lifted my chin to look out the window and felt only slightly off-balance.

“Are you seeing this, Grace?” Claire turned and beamed at me. “Isn’t it amazing?”

I nodded, and when I did, I felt as if something in my head was slightly sloshing.

“The roofs are so striking,” Claire said. “Red roofs in every direction. I love that you can see so far. So many churches. Weren’t you the one who told me more than a hundred churches are in Venice? Or did I read that?”

I had no recollection of any such detail. My objective at the moment was to continue to breathe in and out and hopefully do nothing to draw attention to myself.

“I’m going to go look over on that side.

” Claire brushed past me and then stopped.

It must have dawned on her what a big deal it was that I was standing there and hadn’t broken into a panic attack.

She smiled slowly and gently touched my arm.

“Look at you,” she said softly. “Well done, my friend. This is significant.”

I nodded and immediately remembered that any head movement brought on a low-level slosh. “I’m going to stay right here. You take your time. Enjoy it all. If I need to leave before you, I’ll meet you down in the shade.”

“Ombra,” Claire said with a grin. “I just love that word. Okay. Got it.”

In the same way I had learned to focus on an image on the horizon to calm my stomach when we went out on my grandfather’s boat, I now focused on a single, fixed image out the window to soothe my mind.

My visual target was the clock tower that was part of a building to the left of the basilica.

Aside from the large winged lion statue that stood out against a deep blue tile background above the clock, the most interesting thing to stare at was at the very top, where two male statues held hammers, poised to strike against the huge bell.

It would have been difficult to see the unique figures from the ground.

The details were more defined from this elevated view.

My breathing continued, calm and steady, as I moved my gaze from the clock tower, past the red rooftops, all the way to the blue water of the lagoon that stretched out past where the island ended. A smile lifted the corners of my lips. I felt balanced. Steady. This was a victory.

I was aware of someone standing a little too close but told myself I needed to get used to the proximity issues we kept encountering.

A man spoke in a low tone with a thick accent, “You are very beautiful, you know.”

I assumed he was speaking to the person he was with and turned my head slightly to take a quick, guarded glance. To my surprise, the man was alone, and he was staring at me. I didn’t shriek, but inwardly I was yelling at my feet to move away from him. They didn’t obey.

“I am a painter,” he said with a sense of authority. “You will be my La Fornarina .”

My anxiety meter peaked. I wished Claire would notice and come back over.

“I am Raphael.” He lowered his voice. “For obvious reasons.”

My throat began to close. I’d never been in a situation like this before in my life.

“Tell me your name,” he said, moving closer.

I spouted the first words that came to mind. “Go away! Leave me alone, you sleazy, creepy creep!”

Unfortunately for me, my pinched voice sounded like Minnie Mouse’s.

Unfortunately for him, my words came with a spray of lingering lemon gelato essence.

My feet finally got the message I’d sent them, and they took me to the elevator with brisk, unhindered steps. I rudely pushed into the already full elevator and the door closed. With my lips pressed together, I counted silently. How long did it take to descend three hundred feet?

Come on , come on.

This time I was the first one out of the elevator and didn’t show any manners as I made my way into a spacious part of the plaza, where I stopped in the shade of the bell tower.

My gaze was fixed on the exit, watching for Claire and hoping she would appear before the guy emerged.

I sent her a quick text while a squiggle of perspiration slid down my back.

The afternoon was warming up, and I had on too many layers for comfort.

Removing my sweater didn’t seem like a good idea.

I also felt the urge to find a bathroom and looked around for signs.

Fortunately, Claire had taken the next elevator car down. We met each other halfway. “What happened? I saw you rushing to the elevator. Are you okay?”

I nodded, feeling the unwelcome slosh returning. “Did Raphael say anything to you?”

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you later. Could we find a restroom?”

“Sure, let me check my app.”

The bell tower rang a single chime. So did the clock tower. Another bell echoed a solitary stroke from another corner of Venice. I was glad I wasn’t standing in the tower at that moment. I was also glad that Claire had voluntarily taken on the role of trailblazer for us.

After a stop in a not-so-bad public restroom, we agreed to trek the short distance back to our room and take a rest before our next round of sightseeing.

Less than fifteen minutes later, with the help of a quick-paced walk guided by the map on Claire’s phone, we entered the peaceful courtyard of our hidden apartment through the side gate.

The garden looked inviting. Our room felt cool, and a faint scent of roses graced the air.

“Home sweet home.” I dropped my bag with the books onto the sofa.

“I think I have a blister,” Claire said.

“I think I understand why afternoon naps became a tradition here.”

“Do you want some water?” Claire kicked off her shoes and filled two glasses from the refilled carafe on the table. “Did you see this? There’s a bowl of cherry tomatoes here and two apricots.”

“How nice. And another note.” I read it aloud.

Travel offers two gifts to the simple pilgrim :

Unrivaled wonders on display in the wild.

The unveiling of wishes on hold in your heart.

Claire and I exchanged perplexed looks. I read it again and said, “What do you think that means?”

She shrugged.

“It’s not signed by Paulina like the other note was, but I’m guessing it’s from her.” I put it on the table and we nestled into the comfortable chairs, sipping the water and enjoying the fresh fruit.

“Why did you rush out of the campanile? Did the height get to you?” Claire asked. “When you were up there by the pillar, you looked like you were fine. But when I saw you outside, you seemed rattled.”

“I was rattled. Not from the height. I was doing okay up there. I really was. The reason I had to rush out was because I was being harassed.”

“Harassed?” Claire looked like she didn’t believe me.

“Yes. By this ... guy.”

Claire leaned forward in her chair. Her expression turned serious. “Grace, what happened?”

“I was standing there, a little spacey but calm and feeling like I’d conquered my fear.”

“Yes, yes. And well done, my friend.”

“Thanks. But then I heard this man saying something like, ‘Do you know you’re beautiful?’ I glanced over and he was this close.” I held up my palm next to my face to demonstrate. “He was talking to me.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No. He just kept talking. He said I was his ‘formarina’ or something like that, and he wanted to paint me.”

“What’s a formarina?”

“I have no idea. He said his name was Raphael.” I attempted to imitate his sultry voice and added, “For obvious reasons.”

“So that’s why you asked if Raphael said something to me too.” Claire picked up her phone and started tapping. “Raphael was a painter.”

“Yes, that’s what he said. He was a painter.”

“No, Raphael was an Italian Renaissance painter. Grace, look.” She handed me her phone. “This is a painting by Raphael of a woman, and it’s titled La Fornarina .”

I looked at the image and frowned. “Why does she barely have any clothes on?”

Claire covered her mouth. I couldn’t tell if she was hiding a grin because of the ridiculousness of it all or because she felt the incident was as much of an affront as I thought it was.

She stood, leaving me with her phone, and walked across the room to get her travel first aid kit for her blister. “Do you think his pickup line has ever worked on a tourist?”

“I don’t see how it could.”

On her way back to the chair, she playfully dramatized the scenario. “Raphael scopes out a classy woman on vacation. She’s all alone. He saunters over and casually compares her to a famous painting. She’s smitten, and he lures her to his gondola.”

“Stop.” I felt my shoulders ease. “If I hadn’t been so focused on my equilibrium, I probably would have reacted differently.”

“Differently than what? What did you do?”

“I wasn’t very nice.”

“Grace, you do realize that you never have to be nice to weirdos and scumballs.”

“I know.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I said, ‘Go away, you sleazy, creepy creep!’”

Claire’s eyebrows rose and she pressed her lips together.

“Or something like that.”

“Creepy creep?” Claire looked down and pressed a Band-Aid over her forming blister. This time I knew she was trying hard not to laugh. “That’s the best you could come up with? ‘Sleazy, creepy creep’?”

I realized how ridiculous I must have looked and sounded.

“Grace, you are so refined, even when you try to throw an insult at a stalker, it sounds like a line from a children’s book!”

“There’s more,” I said, beginning to see the humor in it all.

“More?”

“I was so nervous, my voice sounded like this.” I demonstrated my high, squeaky, Minnie Mouse voice and repeated, “Hey! Go away, you sleazy, creepy creep!”

Claire burst out laughing. She laughed so hard, she unexpectedly snorted. I couldn’t help but break into side-splitting laughter with her. Once we started, we couldn’t stop.

When I finally caught my breath and wiped the laughter tears away, I said, “It really was the rudest thing I’ve ever said to anyone in my life.”

“I believe it!” Claire leaned back, still chuckling. “I always wondered how classy girls acted in a catfight. Now I know.”

“Hey.” I leaned forward and gave her my best fierce face. “Don’t you make me take off my earrings and come over there!”

Claire burst into laughter again. “Listen.” She caught her breath. “If any more creepy Casanovas find you irresistible, you just say to them . . .” She mouthed a phrase I would never repeat.

“Claire!” I acted shocked, even though I wasn’t. “You certainly did not learn that from a singing tomato.”