LADY of VENICE by SIOBHAN DAIKO

Author:SIOBHAN DAIKO [DAIKO, SIOBHAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

I was putting the finishing touches to my painting of the Barco– not a representation of today’s ruined villa, but how it had appeared at the time of Caterina Cornaro. Auntie had given me a strange look when I’d shown her the work but hadn’t said anything. I’d been on the point of making another attempt to share Cecilia’s story with her, but I’d stopped myself. Auntie’s disbelief seemed insurmountable. Weird, really, considering she was a writer and must have considerable powers of imagination.

I lifted my gaze from my palette, and found my attention distracted by Gucci Cat. His leg in the air, he was cleaning between his toes as he lay on the floor by my easel. With a sigh, I let my thoughts wander. Last night, when I’d got home, I’d been so emotionally drained that I’d gone straight to bed and had slept dreamlessly. Now, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Luca had said to his mother.

After coming out of the bathroom, I’d gone up to him, too flustered to do more than mumble, ‘Buonasera,’ before sipping from my glass of Prosecco. Now my heart skittered. I couldn’t deny it any longer; I liked being with him too much for him to be considered “just a friend”. That kiss, when I’d kidded myself that my response had been Cecilia kissing Zorzo. I’d known damn well what I was doing when I’d opened my mouth under Luca’s.

I’d sat next to him on the sofa and had looked at his hands, imagining how it would feel to have them explore my body. But it wasn’t right. I had to put a stop to it straight away.

Before he found out.

Before he knew.

Before the truth turned him against me.

The terrible truth about how I’d caused Harry’s death.

Luca had asked me if I was all right last night when I’d pleaded a headache and declined his dinner invitation. ‘Just tired,’ I’d said.

Coward! You should have broken things off with him there and then. Told him you couldn’t help with his sister. Thanked him for everything he’d done for you. Said you’d prefer to spend the rest of your vacation painting and living quietly at Auntie’s as you were still suffering from stress.

No more Renaissance dancing.

No more trips to Venice.

And definitely no more kissing.

My lower lip trembled, but I stiffened it; I wouldn’t give in to indulgent self-pity. What’s done is done, and can’t be undone, Mum always said. I straightened my shoulders and wiped my paintbrush. Standing back, I scrutinised my work. At least that’s coming along well. I’d need to pay for excess luggage on the plane when I took everything back to London. Hopefully, it’d be worth it. If I could set up an exhibition, I might be able to sell my paintings instead of relying on commissions from greetings card companies. The work I’d accomplished so far in the Veneto was the best I’d ever produced, and I couldn’t help loving it.

I put my brush back down on the small table Auntie had provided for me.

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