Page 14 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

The opportunity passed as we took our time strolling across St. Mark’s Square.

The space felt different in the lull of the late afternoon than it had midmorning.

On both sides of the plaza, outdoor tables were set up in orderly clusters in front of the restaurants.

It seemed as if a sense of anticipation was in the air.

Preparations were being made for the dinner crowd.

A string quartet was setting up outside one of the restaurants on a small stage.

Waiters in formal black jackets and bow ties were bobbing between the tables, checking to make sure they were set properly.

“Were you the one who told me that Napoleon called this area ‘the drawing room of Europe’?” I asked Claire.

“No, I hadn’t heard that.”

“I must have read it. His declaration appears to still be true two hundred years later. It seems like at some point every tourist in Venice finds their way here.”

We headed for the walkway under a beautiful arched portico and stopped to look in the windows of some of the numerous high-end stores.

“Do you think we need reservations to eat at one of the restaurants here?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they’re the most expensive places to eat. Is that something you’d like to do? I mean, we have some extra spending money, if it is. I’m sure the food would be amazing.”

“I’d rather walk around some more and find a gondola that will take us for a ride.”

Claire agreed and our objective became threefold: Walk across the Rialto Bridge, take a leisurely gondola ride, and find a fabulous little hideaway restaurant for dinner.

In keeping with how the first part of our day had gone, I had a feeling our plans would be shuffled once again, and I was right. Before we had even reached the Rialto, we crossed a campo by a canal and Claire spotted a gondolier.

“Look. He’s dropping someone off. Let’s see if he’s available.” She waved to the gondolier and asked, “Are you open?”

He smiled warmly, dipped his chin, and extended his arm in invitation.

The attractive young man certainly knew what he was doing because his gesture had a Cinderella effect on us.

I felt as if we were late to the Doge’s ball and he had been sent to collect us.

The rates were standard and our budget was for a half-hour ride, so we settled with him before agreeing to slip into the boat.

When he asked, “Do you wish to see the Grand Canal?” I asked if he had a preferred route on the Rii Rii. I don’t know why I remembered the term used for the many small canals that ran through Venice. Once again, words were coming out of my mouth that I hadn’t premeditated.

My question seemed to humor him. Or impress him. I couldn’t tell which.

He nodded, still smiling, and expertly steadied the gondola so we could step into the hull and nestle into the beautifully upholstered and cushioned seats.

I took the bench seat in front of where he stood and leaned against the plush back of the wide seat.

Claire went for a seat on the side. We hadn’t even pulled away from the stand before she started taking pictures.

She didn’t have to tell me to smile for her carefully lined-up photos because at the moment, smiling was all I could do.

I soon lost all sense of direction as we floated down a narrow canal and slid under a short bridge.

The buildings on both sides of us had splotches of peeling siding and looked weary with age.

Sounds of a dog barking and the sight of laundry strung on a line above us made it seem as if we had entered a different Venice, where families lived and tourists didn’t crowd the walkways.

Claire leaned back in her seat and stopped taking photos.

I adjusted my posture so that I wasn’t sitting up quite so prim and proper and photo ready.

Neither of us spoke. The rhythmic sound of the gondolier’s steady strokes through the water became calming music to my ears.

I loved the sense that we were gliding so effortlessly through Venice.

After a day of navigating one new sensation and sight after another, this time to simply float felt like a gift.

The only thing that would have made it better would be my husband beside me with his arm around me and my head resting on his shoulder. Maybe one day...

My romantic notion of one day taking a gondola ride with Nathan met its equal when we came out of one of the smaller canals and entered what had to be the Grand Canal.

A sleek, private boat came surprisingly close to us.

The tawny-brown wood shone in the late afternoon sun.

At the back of the boat a bride and groom cuddled together with her veil fluttering in the breeze.

Claire quickly snapped a photo as the couple kissed when the boat slowly passed us. I thought it might be an invasion of their privacy. But then I realized the couple would have reserved a covered boat if they’d wanted privacy. They seemed to want to parade their love for their special day.

This was the Venice I had hoped to see. A novel come to life. I wanted to believe that the legendary tales of romance and beauty still existed here. I loved that we were seeing it and feeling it.

As quickly as we had entered the Grand Canal, we turned down another narrow canal. A few minutes later, we were back at the stand where we had started. Our enchanting thirty minutes were over, but I knew I would never forget them.

“Grazie,” I said to our gentle captain when he offered his hand to steady my departure. I looked him in the eye. “You gave us the perfect experience. It was exactly what I had hoped for. Thank you.”

He smiled and dipped his chin again. “My pleasure.”

I still felt floaty as Claire and I stepped back onto the open campo.

The waning sunlight cast a mellow blush across the umbrellas that sheltered the tables of the outdoor café.

All the tables were occupied. If one had been available, I would have persuaded Claire to sit and order something with me so my happy heart could marinate a little longer in what had been an introvert’s dream come true on our serene float down the hidden canals of Venice.

Clearly Claire was still enchanted as well.

We’d reverted to our goal of seeing the Rialto Bridge and found that the closer we came, the more difficult it was to continue at our leisurely pace.

I had hoped the crowds would have dispersed in that area because the open market had closed for the day.

But we soon found ourselves immersed in another shoulder-to-shoulder experience, tromping along at a brisk pace.

I felt as if we were being swept along by the rising human tide, especially when we were halfway across the bridge and were bumped each time we stopped to take photos.

Admiring the view of the Grand Canal or any of the architectural details of the bridge was difficult.

With another swell of pedestrians, we rode the wave to the broad walkway on the other side of the bridge.

“Where are we headed?” I asked Claire.

“I pulled up a restaurant near here, but you know what? There’s a takeout place that serves pasta. It’s closer to our room.”

“Let’s go there instead. Do they have lasagna?”

“Possibly.”

“Without squid ink?”

“I’m afraid I can’t guarantee that.”