Prince's Virgin In Venice

by Trish Morey

  He saw the way her eyes widened at every new discovery, at every exquisite Murano glass lamp, every frescoed wall or gilded mirror that stretched almost to the ceiling.

  She was like a breath of fresh air in Vittorio’s life. Unsophisticated and not pretending otherwise. She was a refreshing change when he had been feeling so jaded.

  And she was a beautiful woman in a gown that fitted like a glove and make him ache to peel it off.

  Why should he let her go?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WASN’T A party or even a ball. It was like being part of a fairy-tale.

  Rosa ascended the wide staircase to the second level above the water—yet another floor with soaring ceilings and exquisite antiques and furnishings. The music from the string quartet was louder here, richer, its sweet notes filling the gaps between the sound of laughter and high-spirited conversation coming from the party rooms either side of the staircase.

  And the costumes! A brightly coloured peacock strutted by as they reached the top, all feathers and flashes of brilliant colour, and Rosa couldn’t help but laugh in sheer wonderment as a couple with ice-white masks wearing elaborate gowns and suits of the deepest purple nodded regally as they strolled past arm in arm.

  Rosa felt herself swept away into a different world of riches and costumes—a sumptuous world of fantasy—and only half wished that the man who had rescued her from the foggy calles wasn’t quite so popular, because then she could keep him all to herself.

  Everyone seemed to recognise Vittorio and to want to throw out an exchange or a greeting. He was like a magnet to both men and women alike, but he always introduced her to them, including her in the conversation.

  And, while her presence at his side wasn’t questioned, she wondered what she might see if everyone wasn’t wearing masks. Would the women’s eyes be following Vittorio’s every move because he was so compelling? Would they be looking at her in envy?

  If she were in their place she would.

  And suddenly the music and the costumes and the amazing sumptuousness of the palazzo bled into a heady mix that made her head spin. She was part of a Venice she’d never seen and had only ever imagined.

  Suddenly there was a shriek of delight from the other wing, and a commotion as someone made their way through the crowds into the room.

  ‘Vittorio!’ a woman cried, bursting through the partygoers. ‘I just heard you were here. Where have you been hiding all this time?’

  But not just any woman.

  Cleopatra.

  Her sleek black bob was adorned with golden beads, the circlet at her forehead topped with an asp. Like Vittorio, she hadn’t bothered with a mask. Her eyes were kohled, their lids painted turquoise-blue, and her dress was simply amazing. Cut low—really low—over the smooth globes of her breasts, it was constructed entirely of beads in gold and bronze and silver, its short skirt just strings of the shiny beads that shifted and flashed skin with her every movement.

  It wasn’t so much a dress, Rosa thought as she took a step back to make room for the woman to reach up and kiss Vittorio on both cheeks, as an invitation. It showed the wearer’s body off to perfection.

  Cleopatra left her face close to his. ‘Everyone has been waiting hours for you,’ she chided, before she stood back to take in what he was wearing.

  Or maybe to give him another chance to see her spectacular costume.

  She held her hands out wide. ‘But must you always look so dramatic? It’s supposed to be a costume party.’

  ‘I’m wearing a costume.’

  ‘If you say so—but can’t you for once dress out of character?’

  ‘Sirena,’ he said, ignoring her question as he reached for Rosa’s hand, pulling her back into his orbit. ‘I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Rosa, this is Sirena, the daughter of one of my father’s oldest friends.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, with a knowing laugh, ‘I’m far more than that.’

  And then, for the first time, Sirena seemed to notice that there was someone standing next to Vittorio. She turned her head and looked Rosa up and down, letting her eyes tell Rosa what she thought about his ‘friend’.

  ‘Ciao,’ she said, her voice deadpan, and Rosa couldn’t be certain that she was saying hello as opposed to giving her a dismissal.

  She immediately turned back to Vittorio, angling her back towards Rosa.

  Definitely a dismissal.

  ‘Vittorio, come with me—all our friends are in the other room.’

  ‘I’m here with Rosa.’

  ‘With who? Oh...’

  She gave Rosa another look up and down, her eyes evaluating her as if she was a rival for Vittorio’s affections. Ridiculous. She’d only just met the man tonight. But she wasn’t mistaken. There was clear animosity in the woman’s eyes.

  ‘And what do you think of Vittorio’s outfit...? What was your name again?’

  ‘Rosa,’ Vittorio growled. ‘Her name is Rosa. It’s not that difficult.’

  ‘Of course it’s not.’ Sirena gave a lilting laugh as she turned to the woman whose name she couldn’t remember and smiled. ‘What do you think of Vittorio’s outfit? Don’t you think it’s a bit over the top?’

  ‘I like it,’ she said. ‘I like the blue of the leather. It matches his eyes.’

  ‘It’s not just blue, though, is it?’ Sirena said dismissively. ‘It’s more like royal blue—isn’t it, Vittorio?’

  ‘That’s enough, Sirena.’

  ‘Well, I would have said it was royal blue.’

  ‘Enough, I said.’

  The woman pouted and stretched herself catlike along the brocade chaise longue behind her, the beads of her skirt falling in a liquid slide to reveal the tops of her long, slender legs—legs that ended in sandals with straps that wound their way enticingly around her ankles.

  The woman made an exquisite Cleopatra. But then, she was so exquisitely beautiful the real Cleopatra would no doubt have wanted to scratch out her eyes.

  ‘It’s all right, Vittorio, despite our difference in opinion Rosa and I are going to be good friends.’ She smiled regally at Rosa. ‘I like your costume,’ she said.

  For the space of one millisecond Rosa thought the woman was warming to her, wanted so much to believe she meant what she’d said. Rosa had spent many midnight hours perched over her mother’s old sewing machine, battling with the slippery material and trying to get the seams and the fit just right. But then she saw the snigger barely contained beneath the smile and realised the woman hadn’t been handing out a compliment.

  ‘Rosa made it herself—didn’t you, Rosa?’

  ‘I did.’

  Cleopatra’s perfectly threaded eyebrows shot up. ‘How...enterprising.’

  Vittorio’s presence beside her lent Rosa a strength she hadn’t known she had, reminding her of what her brothers had always told her—not to be cowed by bullies but to stand up to them.

  Her brothers were right, but it was a lot easier to take their advice when she had a man like Vittorio standing beside her.

  Rosa simply smiled, not wanting to show what she really thought. ‘Thank you. Your costume is lovely too. Did you make it yourself?’

  The other woman stared at her as if she had three heads. ‘Of course I didn’t make it myself.’

  ‘A shame,’ Rosa said. ‘If you had you might have noticed that there’s a loose thread...’

  She reached a hand out to the imaginary thread and the woman bolted upright and onto her sandalled feet, a whole lot less elegantly than she had reclined, no doubt imagining one tug of Rosa’s hand unleashing a waterfall of glass beads across the Persian carpet.

  ‘This gown is an Emilio Ferraro creation. Of course there’s no loose thread.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I must have been mistaken.’

  Sirena sniffed, jerked her eyes from Rosa’s and placed a
possessive hand on Vittorio’s chest. ‘Come and see our friends when you’re free. You won’t believe what they’re wearing. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  And with a swish of her beaded hair and skirt she was gone.

  ‘That,’ said Vittorio, ‘was Sirena.’

  ‘Cyclone Sirena, you mean,’ Rosa said, watching the woman spinning out of the room as quickly as she’d come in, leaving a trail of devastation in her wake.

  She heard a snort and looked up to see Vittorio smiling down at her. It was a real smile that warmed her bone-deep, so different from one of Sirena’s ice-cold glares.

  ‘You handled that very well.’

  ‘And you thought I wouldn’t?’ she said. ‘My brothers taught me to stand up to bullies.’ She didn’t mention that it was Vittorio’s presence that had given her the courage to heed her brothers’ advice.

  ‘Good advice,’ he said, nodding. ‘If she finds that thread you saw she’ll bust the balls of her precious Emilio.’

  Rosa returned his smile with one of her own. ‘There was no thread.’

  And Vittorio laughed—a rich bellow that was laced with approval and that made a tide of happiness well up inside her.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, his arm going around her shoulders as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. ‘For the best belly laugh I’ve had in a long time.’

  It wasn’t really a kiss. Mouth to cheek...a brush of a whiskered jaw...a momentary meeting of lips and skin—probably the same kind of kiss he might bestow upon a great-aunt. Even his arm was gone from her shoulder in an instant. Yet to Rosa it felt far more momentous.

  It was the single most exciting moment in her life since she’d arrived in Venice.

  Chiara had told her that magical things could happen at Carnevale. She’d told her a whole lot of things and Rosa hadn’t believed her. She’d suspected it was just part of Chiara’s sales technique, in order to persuade Rosa to part with so much money and go along to the ball with her.

  But maybe her friend had been right. Rosa had been kissed by a man. She couldn’t wait to tell her friend.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ said Vittorio, his head at an angle as he looked down at her.

  She felt her blush deepen and dropped her head. ‘Yes, it’s silly, I know.’

  He put his hand to her chin and lifted her face to his. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s delightful. It’s been a long time since I saw a woman blush.’

  She blinked up at him, her skin tingling where his fingers lingered.

  Oh, boy.

  Talk about a distraction... She’d wanted to ask him more about Sirena, but the woman had faded into insignificance. Now all she could think about was Vittorio and the way he made her feel.

  ‘Come, come!’ said Marcello, clapping his hands as he walked into the room to gather everyone. ‘The entertainment downstairs is about to begin. You don’t want to miss it.’

  Downstairs, the entire level of the piano nobile had been divided into performance areas, with stages and dramatic velvet drapes, and they spent the next hour wandering between the rooms to see the spectacle of gymnasts and jugglers and opera singers, and aerobatic performers who spun on ropes in the air. Then it was the turn of the clowns, and Rosa was soon almost doubled up with laughter at their antics.

  She found herself thinking about Chiara and wondering how her night was going. They’d treated themselves to the cheapest tickets to the cheapest Carnevale ball they could find—and that only gave admission to the dancing segment of the evening. They hadn’t been able to afford the price for the dinner and entertainment that came first. But surely even that entertainment would be no match for this.

  And then Vittorio took her hand in his and she stopped thinking about Chiara, because her heart gave a little lurch that switched off her brain.

  She looked sideways up at him to find him watching her, the cobalt of his eyes a shade deeper, his sensual slash of mouth curled up at the ends.

  He gave the slightest squeeze of her hand before he let her go, and she turned her eyes back to the entertainment. But suddenly she wasn’t laughing any more. Her chest felt too tight, her blood was buzzing, and she was imagining all kinds of impossible things.

  Unimaginable things.

  Chiara had said that magical things could happen at Carnevale.

  Rosa had been a fool not to believe her.

  She could feel the magic. It was in the air all around her. It was in the gilded frames and lush silks and crystal chandeliers. It was in the exquisite trompe l’oeils that adorned the walls with views of gardens that had only ever existed in the artist’s eyes. And magic was pulsing alongside her, in leather of blue and gold, in a man with a presence she couldn’t ignore—a man who had the ability to shake the very foundations of her world with just one look from his cobalt blue eyes.

  Chiara had said she might meet the man of her dreams tonight. A man who had the power to tempt her to give up her most cherished possession.

  She hadn’t believed that either.

  It would have to be a special kind of man for her to want to take such a momentous step. A very special kind of man.

  Vittorio?

  Her heart squeezed so tightly that she had to suck in a breath to ease the constriction.

  Impossible. Life didn’t work that way.

  But what if Chiara had been right?

  And what if Vittorio was the one?

  She glanced up to sneak another look at him and found him already gazing down at her, his midnight hair framing the quizzical expression on his strong face.

  His heart-stoppingly beautiful, strong face.

  And she thought it would be madness not to find out.

  * * *

  Sirena either had spies everywhere, or she had a knack for knowing when Rosa had left his side for five minutes. The entertainment was finished but, while the party wouldn’t wind down until dawn, Vittorio had other plans. Plans that didn’t include Sirena, no matter how hard she tried to join in.

  ‘This is supposed to be a party,’ Sirena sulked conspiratorially to Marcello when she cornered him standing at the top of the stairs, where Vittorio was waiting for Rosa so they could say their goodbyes. ‘A party for friends. An exclusive party. But did you see that woman Vittorio dragged along?’

  ‘Her name is Rosa.’

  Sirena took no notice. ‘Did you see what she was wearing, Marcello? It was appalling.’

  ‘Nobody’s listening, Sirena,’ Vittorio said dismissively.

  ‘Rosa seems very nice,’ said Marcello. ‘And I like her costume.’

  Vittorio nodded. ‘She is nice. Very nice.’ He thought about the way she’d pulled that ruse with the loose thread and smiled. ‘Clever, too.’

  Sirena pouted, her hand on Marcello’s arm, pleading. ‘She wasn’t even invited.’

  ‘I invited her.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Someone like her wouldn’t normally be allowed anywhere near here.’

  ‘Sirena, give it up.’ Vittorio turned away, searching for Rosa. The sooner he got her away from here—away from Sirena—the better.

  ‘That’s our Vittorio for you,’ Marcello said, trying to hose down the antagonism between his guests, playing his life-long role of peacemaker to perfection. ‘Always bringing home the strays. Birds fallen from their nests. Abandoned puppies. It made no difference. Vittorio, do you remember that bag of kittens we found snagged on the side of the river that day? Dio, how long ago was that? Twenty years?’

  Vittorio grunted, hoping that Rosa was nowhere within earshot, because he didn’t want her overhearing any of this.

  He did remember that day. Marcello had been visiting. They’d wandered far and wide beyond the castle walls that day—much further than Vittorio had been permitted to roam. They’d both been about ten years old, and filled with the curiosity and compulsion of young boys to explore th
eir world.

  They’d been wading in the stream, chasing the silvery flashes of fish in the shallows, when they’d heard the pitiful cries. By the time they’d found the bag and pulled it from the stream all but one of the kittens had perished, and the plaintive mewls of the lone survivor had been heartrending. Vittorio had tucked the tiny shivering creature into his shirt and hurried back to the castle.

  ‘So now you’re saving sweet young things who get themselves lost in the streets of Venice? Quite the hero you’ve turned out to be,’ said Sirena.

  ‘It’s lucky Vittorio was in the right place at the right time,’ Marcello said, still doing his utmost to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘Rosa would have had a dreary night by herself otherwise.’

  Sirena bristled, ignoring Marcello’s peacekeeping efforts. ‘And does your father know you’ve found another stray?’

  Vittorio sighed. Where the hell was Rosa? ‘What’s who I bring to a party got to do with my father?’

  ‘Only that the three of us might finally settle our differences and work out a timeline for uniting our two families. That’s what was supposed to happen tonight. That’s what was intended.’

  ‘Intended by whom? By your father and mine? By you? Because it certainly wasn’t intended by me—tonight or any other night.’

  He turned away. Where was she?

  ‘Oh, Vittorio...’ he heard Sirena say behind his back, and he recognised the change in her voice as she switched on the charm offensive. He heard the slither of beads and when he turned back he saw that she’d dropped Marcello’s arm and edged herself closer to him. She placed one hand on his chest and snaked it around his neck. ‘Do you have to play so hard to get? You know we’re made for each other. And while I admit it’s been fun at times, playing this game of cat and mouse, it gets so tiring...always keeping up the charade.’

  Vittorio put his hand over her forearm and sighed. ‘You’re right, Sirena. It is tiring,’ he said. ‘I think it has gone on long enough.’

  ‘You see?’ she said, her smile widening. ‘I knew you’d think it was time we worked this out. We have to start making plans. Marcello will be your best man, surely?’