by Vivien Vale
Her feet fly out from beneath her, sliding easily on the dampened wood of the gondola. I see her arm wave wildly, trying and failing to reestablish balance as a small shout escapes her mouth.
I lean forward quickly, grabbing her wrist a second before her head meets the water. With a swift yank, I pull her firmly back into the boat.
She looks at me in surprise, some part of her clearly confused as to how she’s not currently bobbing in the canal.
“I said to be careful,” I chide, my laughter breaking through the words.
“Right. Sorry.”
She doesn’t even look at me. Her eyes rove quickly back to the bird. She reaches, apparently about to give it another go.
“Nicole, really.” I laugh. “Let me, alright?”
She nods, eyes still fixed on the water.
I move to the side, my arms easily reaching the struggling creature. I scoop him gently from the water only moments before our boat passes him.
He lets out another squeak, a slightly more vigorous one now that he’s back on something solid.
“It’s a pigeon,” I say, passing it gently to Nicole.
She lets out a small ‘Aww’ of delight, her finger reaching out to run down his back.
“You know there are like…a million of those here, right?”
“Yes… but this one was drowning.”
I open my mouth to retort, but I find I have nothing to say.
Hard to argue with the facts.
I resist telling her that some consider these animals’ pests and would do anything to minimize the pigeon population. I’m sure she’d have a retort ready for me.
“Thank you for getting him,” she says, leaning toward me.
Her lips brush against mine in gratitude so quickly it’s hardly even fair to call it a kiss. It was there, then gone in a minute.
Still, even the brief contact sends a jolt of energy rushing through me. My heart beats faster, air suddenly seeming to thin around us.
From the widening of her eyes, I know that the feeling is mutual.
It’s all the confirmation I need to know that it’s not just me here. She feels it, too. However reluctant she might be to admit it, this thing between us is powerful.
I resist the urge to kiss her again, staying firmly planted in my seat instead.
There’s no hurry here—no rush.
We clearly have something, and I have an inkling that it won’t just disappear with time.
A small smile tugs at her lips as she settles back into her seat, unwrapping the scarf from her neck.
With one hand, she slides the silk from her neck and lays it across her knees. She smooths it down before settling the small creature on it.
“There you go,” she murmurs, wrapping the scarf loosely around the sopping animal. “That should warm you up.”
I watch her in amazement, my breath catching in my throat as I take this new image in. She holds the pigeon so carefully. Her fingers gently rub at the fabric between them, trying to dry his delicate feathers.
From the back of her throat, small humming sounds spill from her, soothing and calming.
In a way, I think it’s funny. The amount of effort and care she’s willing to put forth, for a pigeon of all things.
Mostly, though, I’m completely in awe of her.
I can’t seem to take my eyes off her and the bird...and I don’t want to.
Never in my life have I met anyone quite as caring as the woman before me.
Shallow, judgmental, vain—I’ve met those women, dated a lot of them, too. This, however, is a whole new ball game.
My heart swells at the sight.
I realize that this is why Nicole has such a strong effect on me.
She’s beautiful, sure. Smart and talented as well. But that isn’t why I’m drawn so powerfully to her.
The real reason is on display right in front of me. Her kindness, her compassion. Her ability to care so deeply for things other than herself.
Those are the real reasons why I can’t seem to help myself around her.
The real reasons why I’m so madly in love with her.
Nicole
Dante chuckles as I poke my head around another corner, my eyes sweeping across the room before turning back to him.
“Would you stop that?” I whisper.
“Sorry,” he says through a laugh. “You just look so serious.”
“Well, we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”
He nods, finally forcing his laughter under control.
I poke my head back out, confirming that the coast is clear before giving him a ‘come on’ gesture with my free hand.
In the other, the pigeon stirs, letting out a small squeak of protest at the movement.
“Just a little farther,” I tell him.
We creep quietly across the lobby and try not to draw attention from the occasional guest that crosses our path.
Most hotels aren’t pet-friendly, and that’s even when you’re talking about dogs. If anyone catches us sneaking in a wild baby pigeon, I doubt it’ll go over well.
A bellman appears from a hallway, smiling when he sees us.
“Do anything for you?” he asks in a heavily accented voice.
“No,” I say, pulling the scarf closer to my chest. “No, nothing. We’re fine, thanks.”
He looks at me curiously, his eyes lingering a second too long on the bundle in my hands.
“Okay,” he finally says. “Enjoy your stay.”
“Oh, we will,” Dante pipes up behind me, shooting the bellman a wink.
I resist the urge to throw an elbow in his direction, knowing all too well that he’s trying to get a reaction from me.
Instead, I smile politely, waiting until the man disappears from view before proceeding.
I hear Dante’s laugh behind me. I actively choose to ignore it as we reach the elevator. I give it a cursory inspection when the doors open, blessedly empty.
Moments later, we finally reach the hotel room without unwanted attention.
I hold the bird as firmly as I dare, gesturing for Dante to unlock the door.
When it closes behind us, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Finally,” I mumble, unwrapping the scarf from the little guy. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I promise, I won’t put you back in there.”
He coos, a sound so soft I almost miss it.
My finger traces the length of his spine, checking to make sure he’s fully dry. Thankfully, the scarf did the trick.
“Where are we going to put him?” I ask Dante.
He looks questioningly around the room, one finger idly tapping at his chin. “Ah, I know.”
He crosses to the desk, grabbing a complementary notebook—the kind that bears the hotel’s name on every page.
“We’ll make a nest!” he announces, reaching for a box of tissue.
He hastily removes the tissues from the box before tearing both them and the notebook into long even strips.
“Good idea.”
I cross, helping as much as I can with just one free hand.
Together, we stuff the box, piling layers of tissue and note paper until they resemble a nest. We leave the middle dented, just the right size for a baby pigeon.
When the last step is laid, I take a step back, admiring our handiwork.
“Not bad,” I say.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Dante agrees.
I step forward, lowering the bird gently onto the makeshift nest. He fits snugly, a small peep leaving his beak once he’s settled.
“I take that as a sound of approval,” Dante says, leaning over to look.
“Me too.” I laugh. “So now we just need to figure out what to feed him.”
“Oh, that’s not too difficult,” Dante answers, turning his attention back to me. “I’d say he’s about two weeks old, so we’ve got options.”
“Like what?”
“Corn, peas, even wet dog biscuits ought to do the trick.”
He shoots me a wounded look. “I most certainly am not.”
“Well, then how do you know?”
“Did a small stint as a wildlife rescuer,” he answers nonchalantly. “Tends to stick with you.”
“You were a wildlife rescuer?” I ask, still not sure whether or not he’s having me on.
He laughs. “Why do you look so doubtful? I rescued animals, I didn’t tour the Milky Way. Why would I lie about that?”
I shrug, seeing his point.
“I just didn’t imagine you in that line of work,” I say honestly.
Really, the more I think about it, the less surprising it actually becomes. The way that he helped today, I shouldn’t be surprised at his caring side.
He had reached into a Venice canal to save a pigeon. The memory makes me smile.
Ryan would never do that sort of thing. If ever I had managed to talk Ryan onto a gondola in the first place, he would’ve laughed himself silly at the thought of saving a bird—a pigeon of all things.
The comparison between the two men definitely seems to be in Dante’s favor. In fact, most things I might compare them on seem to favor Dante.
Unbidden, the memory of our kiss comes to me. It stoked such a fire within me.
Kissing Ryan had never been that way. Before Dante, I didn’t know that a kiss could be so powerful.
Dante has more of an effect on me than I thought was possible. Every touch, every look sends sparks racing through me. As much as I’m afraid to admit it, I’ve never felt anything more intense than his hands on me.
The thought sends my mind reeling.
What might it be like, I wonder, to let him really touch me?
I had planned on losing my virginity to Ryan—on our wedding night, of course. Now that that option is out the window, though, new ideas begin to spark within me.
I imagine it without trying, seeing it all so clearly.
Dante’s hands on me, his lips against mine.
The way those hands could tear at my clothes, the things they could do to me.
My stomach clenches at the idea. Dante must’ve been with so many women. Looking at him, there’s no denying it.
I’ve never been with anyone, and certainly no one like Dante.
Would he even be happy with me?
I tear myself from the thought, noticing Dante staring at me as if he’s just spoken.
“What?”
“I said I’ll have to run out later and get some food.”
“Right, good idea...” I trail off, looking around the room for a distraction.
My eyes land on the bird, resting peacefully now that he’s snuggled down in his nest.
Bird...the bird...
I realize suddenly that that’s all we’ve called him since the canal. So impersonal.
“We need to give him a name,” I say.
“The bird?”
“Yes, the bird. We can’t very well call him that forever.”
He looks down at him. “Well, Nicole, it won’t be forever.”
“I know that,” I say, defensively.
“No, really,” he continues. “Naming him is just going get you even more attached. He’s a bird. We’ll have to set it free once it’s big enough.”
I feel a pout forming on my face.
“Of course, but we can’t just keep calling him ‘bird’. If we’re going be taking care of him, we have to think of something better than that!”
“I don’t know that we have to do that,” he answers, laughing again.
“Well, I do.” I sit on the bed, staring intently at the baby pigeon. “You’re really not going to help?”
He caves with a sigh, walking over to sit beside me on the bed.
“Fine. But when the time comes to let him go, don’t come crying to me.”
I laugh. “I won’t.”
“Alright then...what should we name him?”
I refocus on the bird, willing an idea to come to me.
“How about Uccello?” Dante asks.
“Uccello…that’s pretty. What is it?”
“It’s Italian.”
I roll my eyes. Obviously.
“No, what does it mean?”
“Means ‘bird’,” he says, chuckling at my exasperated expression.
I smack him lightly on the shoulder.
“What about Luciano?” I ask, my mind turning to music.
“Luciano...” he repeats, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Like the composer.”
Again, I’m surprised. Though at this point, I should’ve known better.
“Yeah, exactly! Good name for an Italian pigeon.”
He smiles. “Yeah, I like it. Luciano it is!”
In his nest, the bird, Luciano, stirs.
“I guess he likes it, too,” he says, getting up and walking over to him.
Gently, he lifts him from the next, holding his palm out flat for the bird to stand on.
All in all, Luciano is looking much better. His small eyes peer eagerly around the room, seemingly excited at his new surroundings.
“Hey, Luciano,” Dante croons. “How’s it going, buddy?”
I laugh as he responds, cooing softly before beginning to hop across Dante’s arm.
“I think he’s feeling better,” I say between giggles.
Dante’s laughing as well, trying to remain still as Luciano’s tiny talons skim the length of his forearm. He holds his arm out straight, allowing Luciano to hop all the way to his shoulder.
When he reaches it, he stops, perching gently, his tiny head resting on Dante’s neck.
The sight warms my heart.
“He really likes you!” I say, a smile tugging at my mouth.
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”
Dante shoots me a smile of his own before crossing the room. He stops at the doors to the balcony, turning his head to better look at his new companion.
“Wanna go outside?” he asks Luciano.
The way their bonding, I half expect an answer.
Luciano just snuggles closer to Dante’s neck instead, seeming completely content.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, opening the doors and stepping onto the balcony.
I sit for a minute, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions churning inside me. This new side of Dante is so charming I can hardly breathe.
It was bad enough before, but seeing how gentle and compassionate he can be...
My heart thrums in my chest.
When I finally get the nerve to stand, I follow them outside.
Dante sits in one of the two chairs, gazing out at the view. His mouth moves as he speaks softly to Luciano, quietly enough that I can’t hear him.
For a bird, though, Luciano seems very interested in what he’s saying. His head is canted toward Dante’s mouth as if listening intently.
The image is absolutely priceless, and suddenly I want nothing more than to document it.
Quickly, I duck back into the room, grabbing my sketch pad and pencil.
From the doorway, I sketch quickly, my hands flying easily over the page.
Dante continues to talk to Luciano throughout. Occasionally, I hear the bird coo in what sounds like response.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being bond so quickly with an animal. I’m more than impressed.
As my hand goes still, I look over my newest work. My eyes take in the leaden image of Dante and Luciano.
I think I captured them well. Better than I thought myself capable of.
“What are you drawing?”
Dante’s words make me lift my eyes from the page. I feel heat flush my face, embarrassed to be caught.
“It’s just such a sweet moment...” I say.
Dante grins. “Can I see it?”
I hesitate, holding the sketch pad closer to my chest.
“Oh, come on, Nicole. Please?”
It occurs to me that Ryan never cared to see my
sketches. In fact, he wanted nothing more than for me to stop making them altogether. For some reason, that settles things in my mind.
“Sure,” I say, tearing the page free from the pad.
My hand trembles only slightly as I step forward, holding it out to him.
Just as his fingers are about to grasp the edge, a gust of wind picks up, blowing my hair wildly across my face. Luciano’s feathers seem to stand on end.
The page is pulled quickly from my hand. It sails across the balcony before catching on an updraft. Together, the three of us stare after it, watching as it lazily cartwheels across the sky.
Dante
“A pigeon.”
The way I say it, well, I hope she understands what’s behind it.
Because I’m smiling. Because I can’t fucking help myself.
I’m not laughing. At least, I’m definitely not laughing at her.
But Nicole—she smiles back, and I think she understands.
“Who would’ve thought?” she asks, mirroring my own thoughts.
My affinity for birds and animals of all stripes is very well established in my life.
But, pigeons...
I mean, I feel like an asshole even thinking about my usual attitude about them, but there’s a fucking million of them, everywhere—especially here in Venice.
Yet, the concern that I not only see in Nicole’s eyes, but I can still feel coming from her almost tangibly, is very quickly changing my attitude towards a lot of things.
The concern about the poor little bird, and the concern about my portrait, now sailing free above the canals through the evening air.
To be clear, I never had anything against pigeons, they just never seemed that novel to me, compared to other creatures. Feral pigeons ruled my backyard growing up, and they can always be counted on to crowd any open, public space on both sides of the Atlantic, so they always seemed more like background scenery than anything else.
But sensing and feeling the way Nicole feels towards this helpless creature, lost in a big, bewildering city, I see these countless birds as more alive than I’ve ever seen them.
Bear with me here, because that makes me realize that I’m alive.
I know, right? What the fuck?
But it really makes me feel like I’m alive out here on this goddamn hotel balcony, and it makes me feel like even that portrait of me, flying free through the Mediterranean air, is also somehow alive.