Reflections of Cypress (Love's Journeys #2) by V.L. Locey

Author:V.L. Locey [Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Okay, my great-aunt was right. Venice was a gorgeous place.

I’d been here for a day and already had fallen under its spell. The hotel that was hosting the Modern Italy Organic Farming Congress was spectacular. It sat right on a waterway. My room was on the second floor, and the view of the gondolas slowly moving past was incredibly romantic. Ginerva had been right about that as well. If only Donvino were here. We could be just like the many couples that were being poled down the canal. The bells of a church built in the 1500s had woken me this morning as had the arrival of breakfast delivered by a lovely young man in a black and red uniform.

I had an hour or two before I had to be at the conference room downstairs, so I lingered over my eggs benedict, snapping pictures of myself and sending them to my lover. I took one that was quite scandalous. Wearing only a slinky robe, I bared a shoulder as well as my tiny belly button and giggled madly when I sent it to him. Surely, his big brown eyes would bug out when he opens his messages. He’d not replied yet, but I expected that since today was the day of the rowing competition and he and his cousin were en route to Pisa.

The air off the canal was passable this morning, although there had been a stronger smell late in the day yesterday when I’d arrived. The brackish water seemed to take on an odor as the heat and humidity climbed, or so the desk clerk had told me. He also had gaped at my two trunks as he rang for a bellhop. They were lovely specimens, filled with my necessities. I made a vow as I lingered just inside the open doors of my magnificent room that I would take time to refit my lone trunk. I did have a few pennies to my name now. The influx of working man wages of six hundred euros before taxes was helpful. Nothing like I was used to having in my account, and after a rather rash purchase of a new Mohair Gucci vest that set me back to zero, I’d been doing rather well. I was far from the wealthy playboy who had stepped on that plane to Florence, but I was managing. Not to say it was fun managing, but I was independent. Sort of.

Glancing around the red and white splendor that was my room in this five-star hotel, I suppose I could say I was doing better than just scraping by. But this was a work trip, so there was that. Bonetti Farms Olive Oil was footing this bill. If I’d had to pay, I’d be sleeping in a gondola and skipping off before the gondolier arrived for his shift.

A soft rap on the door shook me from my musings and morning coffee. Rising, I tied my robe tightly around my middle and made my way

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