Magic Island: What Happens In Venice: Book Three

by Diana Cachey

  “Funny,” Louisa managed a faint smile.

  “Imagine.”

  “Trying not to, please.”

  “You know Tom, hoping for a twin thing, a twin show, I guess.”

  “A twin show. Oh god.”

  Rouge looked over Louisa’s shoulder at the Buranese man now standing in Louisa’s living room. He wore nothing but a sheet wrapped around his lower half.

  “Not sure which one is in your living room,” Rouge said. “They are identical. Matching set of hotties. Lucky girl.”

  Rouge took off her wet stilletos and began walking away, down the stairs.

  “Wait, where can I find you?” Louisa whispered loudly.

  “Why would you want to find me?” Rouge said with a tilt of her head and eyes towards what was half naked in Louisa’s living room.

  “Aren’t you leaving Venice in two days?”

  “Yes, but aren’t you too?”

  “Aren’t I what?”

  “Leaving?”

  “Am I? I’m leaving Venice,” said Louisa. “What’s going on here?”

  “You don’t know yet, do you?” Rouge chuckled. “I suppose you have been busy, not discussing things. With a twins.”

  “Oh god, twins? I can’t believe it.”

  “You can find me at Cips.” Rouge picked up her stocking footed pace down the stars. “I will be there for the next two days. In a suite.”

  Rouge said it in a matter of fact tone, as if she were George Clooney, and always stayed at Cips. Cips, pronounced like chips, being rich-people slang for Cipriani, a five-star hotel located across the Guidecca canal.

  “Cips?”

  “I prefer the Danieli, as it is in Venice proper, but Cips has better security, I’m told.”

  This time Rouge said it like she were Madonna. As if she needed an incredible army of security due to her immense popularity and wealth. Rouge then glanced down at her bosoms to confirm their proper heaving out the top of her sweater.

  “What is going on?” Louisa pleaded, but she was obviously somewhat still distracted by the naked man she knew waited impatiently behind her. She rocked from side to side and kept glancing back at him.

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “Too many questions,” said Louisa. “Twins?” Louisa rocked faster.

  “I will see you before my plane leaves.”

  Louisa whimpered.

  “Don’t worry. Just go. Have sex now. Time’s-a-wastin.”

  Halfway down the stairs, she called back to Louisa who stood staring at her from the open door.

  “Text me when you are done with him. Or them.” Rouge laughed. “I promise to tell you everything that he doesn’t tell you. Whichever twin he is.”

  “Oh god.”

  “Martino or Antonin.”

  “Martino? Antonin?”

  “Huh, that’s got a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  Louisa nodded weakly.

  Then both women burst out laughing. Rouge continued down the stairs. She kept repeating it and singing, to the tune of the old Goobers & Raisenettes jingle.

  “Martino or Antonin? Martino or Antonin?”

  Laughing at her own joke, Rouge put on her wet stilettos at the door and left the building.

  Louisa held her breath.

  Martino? Which twin? Antonin?

  She cared for maybe a second.

  She looked up and saw the naked Buranese beauty holding out his arms to her, which meant his sheet had dropped. This naked man, who apparently was identical to another beauty, his brother, whichever twin, was all hers.

  She watched him lightly drag his hand across his groin, in a manner that told her not to think about this question any longer. No, there would be no more thinking about which twin was standing naked in her living room. Towards his open arms she ran. Then she jumped up on Martino. Or Antonin. Whoever he was.

  The handsome man pressed his nakedness against her, reached around and gently shut the door. He didn’t take his eyes off her lips for a second.

  “Wait,” Louisa said, when he leaned in to kiss her. “What is your name?”

  He responded by pushing further forward into her with a kiss. An extremely passionate one. He held her head firmly from behind. She could barely get the words out.

  “Antonin?”

  He smiled through their locked lips and nodded.

  “Promise?”

  He nodded again but continued to kiss her. He next reached into all the spots he first begun to explore that day in the thrift store attic. He explored those spots in ways that had not been explored either before or after their moments together in that attic. Until now.

  Yes, this is Antonin.

  She remembered his methods.

  Out of breath, panting and way too excited to continue standing up, he stopped caressing her long enough to pull her into the bedroom.

  “So you must tell me what happened during my blackout from the drugs Matteo gave me,” she said. When she saw his dismayed look, she added in a softer voice, “I must know. What happened last night, my dear Buranese love?”

  “I am not Buranese,” he said.

  He grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne he’d chilled in the fridge, then two glasses, all with one hand and with the other, he pulled her closer to the bedroom.

  “Not Buranese?” she said helping him with the glasses as he stopped to add Nutella covered strawberries to the mix.

  “No. I live on another island.”

  “Where?”

  “It is not on any map. It is hard to describe. Better I show you.”

  “Take me there.”

  “This was my plan. I hope you accept my offer. To see my island.”

  There was something a about the way he said, “My Island.”

  She recalled Barbara telling her that Massimo referred to Vignole as “his island.” With few inhabitants on Vignole and with Massimo owning the largest estate as well as a farm and other property on it, most of Vignole belonged to Massimo.

  Yet, the way Antonin said, “my island” was different. It was bigger than owning most of the land. Louisa had a suspicion about why Antonin called it “my island.” He owned it all. The entire island. The idea excited her. She hoped she was right.

  “Can we go to your island now?”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  He wasn’t really asking. He set strawberries on the bed table, poured her some champagne then slipped under the covers and looked up at her.

  “Si? O no?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer.

  Far out in the mist stood a shadow, a faint outline of a truck or a barge.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” said Antonin pointing.

  “Yes, I see something.” Squinting, she saw what looked like an engine.

  “It is a ghost train on part of the railroad that my grandfather planned to build.”

  Louisa gazed at the phantom train. How could she see it so far away in the fog? But she could see the engine of a train sitting on top of the water. Or was it?

  “What happened to the railroad?”

  “Tracks were laid, but now they sit on the bottom of the sea.”

  She looked confused, held Antonin’s arm. Instantly the train vanished.

  “This island used to be part of the mainland when I was a child.”

  She tried to imagine the terrain. When she looked again towards the mainland, a long way off, it could be seen, just like on a clear day in Venice when the alpine mountains were visible. Or the airport could be seen from some lagoon islands.

  Today was far from a clear day but she could see the shoreline that the train must’ve sat on a minute ago. Then it dissolved like the train had done a minute ago.

  “Where did it all go? The land, the railroad?”

  “Today the train and the land that linked this island to the Italian shores are nothing more than le fantasme.”

  “Ghosts.”

  “Si.”

  He caressed her hands, held
them to his lips, breathed in her fragrance.

  “Why wasn’t the railroad built? Was is flooded?”

  “Nonno found out that the wrong hands -- yes I will call them wrong hands -- these wrong hands had plans of their own for the railroad, we didn’t approve. He knew his life was in danger. The wrong hands were not people to mess with, but he risked his life to save Venice from certain plans. ‘The railroad is never to be built,’ he said. He was told this in a dream.”

  “How did he save it? How did he stop it?”

  “They killed him,” he blinked at the mist and the shoreline so far off.

  Louisa gasped. He pulled her in front of him, pressed up against her as he did the first time they met, in a dusty attic in San Martino. She knew his talking about it made him sad, that he just wanted to hold her, make love to her.

  “We can stop talking now, if you want.”

  “We went out to sea after he died, to spread his ashes, exactly where he asked us. I was a little boy but I remember everything. My father and my uncles, his brothers, everyone begged him to exile, but he refused. He said there was work for him to do, if he would only live a short time longer, he would risk his life and make things right.”

  “I’m so sorry, Antonin. You obviously loved him greatly, all of you.”

  “He was meraviglioso, marvelous, in life and death. Is okay.”

  “Is not okay. It’s wrong what happened to him.”

  He kissed her and held her tightly for a time before continuing.

  “Once his ashes had dispersed, a huge storm, full of wind, rain, even snow, swirled around us. It shook all of the boats we took to sea. The sea is in our genes and we thought we were in no danger. When the storm didn’t stop, we made way back.”

  “You all made it safe but the railroad didn’t make it?”

  “We tied off our boats on the docks, stepped onto shore and the lagoon instantly flooded. Water rushed over the tracks and rushed over all land between here and the mainland.”

  “Strange.”

  “His ghost, mio nonno flooded it all.”

  “That’s impossible,” she said, knowing it to be either true or a legend.

  “We saw everything. We saw him rake the water over the tracks.”

  “You saw your grandfather flood the tracks?”

  “We saw his giant hands, the pair of ghost hands, pick up the train engine from these shores and place it out there in the mist.”

  She looked out where he pointed and saw the engine again. For a second. Then it was gone.

  “Now we are on an island, my island. Isola Fantasma. Not on any map.”

  “Not on any map? No one could find this place without one.”

  “It will never be on a map. We are careful.”

  “I suppose that is best.” She held him tight again.

  He started to kiss her, could not stop kissing her face, eyes, hands, neck, breasts. “Can we make love?”

  “Here?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer but the clouds opened a bit and warm air flowed over them. He walked with her around the pebbled shore to a sandy beach. There stood a bed covered in netting.

  His eyes seemed as blue as the sky had become and she laid down on the bed. He closed the netting and a hot pocket of steam engulfed them before he engulfed her. He removed some of her clothes gently but whatever didn’t come off easily, he tore off with his teeth, in a frenzy of searing stares.

  Motionless and with arms and legs out, she was completely naked except for the purple lace panties he’d picked out for her to wear.

  “I love this color,” he said each time his lips and groin ran over them, which was many times. So many times.

  “You love these panties,” she corrected.

  He showed her again how much he loved the color purple and her lace panties. She was exhausted yet energized.

  “I love you Louisa, you are my destiny,” he murmured.

  “You hardly know me, Antonin,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “I know you. I’ve known you for . . . a long time. You don’t remember, but I do.”

  Did he mean they were lovers or spouses in a past life? She wasn’t but it was no time for questions. No time for talking. His movements, which began tender and sweet, had become more aggressive.

  He was so hot he melted the panties right off of her. With nothing more between them, they were one.

  “I love this color,” he whispered again. His tongue tickled her ears.

  She saw that everything around her had turned purple, bright, shimmering purple.

  On the way from his magical island to Venice, Antonin stopped for coffee and brioche with Louisa at Sant’Erasmas, a lagoon island known for its agriculture and thus quiet in the winter. Inside one of the few open cafes, Louisa noticed everyone’s eyes staring at her over the morning paper. She soon learned why.

  Within minutes, she slapped down the local paper for Antonin to read. The front page announced in bold Italian text:

  American Lawyer Donates Millions to International Association Dedicated to Saving Dolphins from Greedy Fishermen

  The article showcased a picture of Louisa as well as quoted her, although she’d never spoken to, let alone met with, anyone at the newspaper. Nonetheless, in the article she described in detail how an increase in Asian merchants were passing off tainted dolphin meat as fish. She detailed how dolphin meat had been smuggled to Europe where it was dangerous to the local population due to its poisonous, high mercery content.

  The newspaper also reported that Louisa had heroically helped avert the spread of this practice into Venice when she uncovered part of the operation in Iceland, which had attempted, but failed, to smuggle dolphin meat into Burano. The article said that by donating money -- to an organization that by now Louisa had concluded was a fictitious -- she’d saved Venice and other cities from the horrible, potential tragedy of wide-spread mercury poisoning.

  According to the article, dolphin meat hadn’t made it into Burano, which was a blatant lie. Therefore, the paper also didn’t reveal that the two drowned glassmakers had been part of an international ring that sold dolphins to arenas for shows and to distributors for fish meat. Nor did it mention that their deaths were probably vigilante justice killings, and not accidental drownings.

  The conspiracy of silence continued. No reference to the seagulls and pigeons that had died from eating scrapes of dolphin meat at markets and off Arsenale boats. Nothing about Venetian children who were struck ill after eating mercury contaminated school lunches. Of course, Matteo’s grand theft of priceless artifacts and his selling the antiquities on the black market -- if there ever was such a thing -had been overlooked in the article too.

  The whole matter had become part of some cover-up, one of which Louisa was not privy. Everything, brushed under the carpet, the Venetian way.

  “Great. Now all of Venice thinks I’m loaded with cash,” said Louisa.

  “It is okay. Many Venetians are wealthy and respect the person who is rich. What is important is the paper did not implicate you in the investigation here, in solving the crime.”

  “Right,” she said but cringed.

  He held her hand across the table.

  “You know Iceland is full of ghosts too. Do you know? Iceland? Brilliant,” he said. “This is good kind of corruption, probably from Massimo and others in authority, to keep you out of news.”

  “The papers kept everything else out too,” said Louisa. “No one is paying for these crimes, are they?

  He shook his head in response but with no shame. He looked her in the eyes.

  “No one will be punished?”

  “Don’t worry. I tell you, it is all finished. All safe,” he said.

  “How?”

  “Because you found their boats in Arsenale. No more. No terrible dolphin meat business.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Not in the lagoon, never again. I promise.”

  She didn’t ask how it all h
ad been taken care of because she knew he wouldn’t tell her. Couldn’t really. Silence was silence. The behind the scenes work was done. Venetians would handle the rest without her. Venice had bypassed the glare of the world watching.

  However, she wasn’t amused by any of it, although Antonin seemed to be enjoying the raised glasses waved at her from across the room and saluted his own glass back at them.

  Next he explained the details of an elaborate cash and career program she’d been awarded. It was all set — she’d receive a lucrative salary, prestigious position and prime property and investments. They’d used her and didn’t need her anymore, but they would pay for her services. They’d pay the Venetian mercenary, for that’s what she now was to them. They’d keep their side of the bargain, the one she’d not consciously entered into with anyone.

  She wanted to curse them all.

  But.

  Something strange happened. For once, Louisa thought before she spoke. She even remembered to pray. The thought occurred to her that it would be all okay.

  Why should she make a fuss over them sending her to New York to work at a huge law firm, at a pay scale double what she deserved for her experience level, with her own apartment overlooking the park? For some reason, she felt, no she knew, that after a brief cool-down period, it would all be okay, better than okay. Everything had been taken care of for her.

  To protect herself, she had to leave. For a short period, that’s all.

  They’d made her an offer that she would accept under any other circumstances. Still, she worried that Antonin was being untrue, that he wasn’t really in love with her. How could he let her leave if he loved her?

  “Finish your brioche beautiful Louisa,” he said, reading her expression. The narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

  “And then what, Antonin?”

  “You will live as a Princess. As you must, for you are one.

  “Where?”

  “In New York City and when you return to me, in Venice.”

  “Really?”

  “You will have it all. Now I take you directly to the Questura for your paperwork, your airline ticket and your cash reward.”

  “Cash reward?

  “Si-i-i-i. A substantial one.”

  Louisa grinned and raised her glass to the crowd of gleeful onlookers. Apparently, there was no unfinished business. Nothing except for the nagging question.