The Bait by C.W. Gortner & MJ Rose

Author:C.W. Gortner & MJ Rose [Gortner, CW & Rose, MJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: CW Gortner, MJ Rose, romance, suspense
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Ania

After changing into a pair of loose black slacks, a cashmere pullover, a billowing white Dior coat, and a cashmere scarf, I feel almost like myself again. As if it’s one of those rare days when I have time to myself to browse the shops and have a leisurely lunch. Not worried about the business or the new line. Not concerned about a stolen necklace.

I walk confidently into the maze of streets and alleyways. I know Venice well after years of visiting. I still wish I could get lost sometimes. Like when it was mysterious to me—a young girl whose life up until then had been skyscrapers and penthouses, crowded streets, and barrages of traffic. Venice, like a fairy realm—eerily hushed, mystical, and full of hidden places waiting for me to explore. The constant susurration of water, my mother’s warnings to be careful, to not trip and fall, that the canals could be deceptively deep—it fascinated me. I fantasized about falling into the water and drifting down to a secret kingdom inhabited by mermaids and seahorses, pearl castles, and chests full of gemstones waiting to be made into jewelry.

I eventually learned it’s not the water that protects Venice. It’s the silt, the mud. The man-made layers in the canals and ridges in the lagoon that break the tides and keep them from washing the city away. Just ordinary mud.

Then, I grew older. It’s still a beautiful place to visit, but no longer my fairy realm.

As I reach San Marco, I pause, still uncertain if I’m doing the right thing. But as I stroll through the glass doors of the Danieli and walk to the concierge, I know I don’t have a lot of choices. This is my chance if I want to find out what happened after we left Julie’s palazzo.

“Mr. Hugh Lockling,” I tell the uniformed man on duty. “Please say it’s Ania Thorne.”

“Certainly, Signorina Thorne.”

While I wait, I survey the lobby. I catch sight of a weary-looking Lauren Segal with an older man, going into the hotel restaurant. Her father, Lionel Segal, of Segal Pictures. He courted us like a lover, dangling loads of cash to get us to loan him jewels for a movie with a new starlet he hoped to launch to fame. Our insurance company balked at the risk. We couldn’t do it, even if we’d wanted to. And my father didn’t. He said he designed and sold jewelry to movie stars because it was a necessity. They were photographed in it, bolstering our cachet. But a credit on a picture? The chaos on a set, where anything could be misplaced or lost? Bah, he grimaced. So vulgar. Later on, he said the same—and worse—about the movie stars who thought they didn’t have to pay their bills.

I turn my back to the lobby. Lauren Segal and her father are the last people I want to spot me here. Or be obliged to talk to.

The concierge hands me the phone.

“Ania?” Hugh says. “To what do

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