Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire
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Nina Singh
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CHAPTER ONE
IF ONLY SHE hadn’t left her packing until the last minute.
Though the chore did give her something to do, didn’t it? A task to take her mind off the catastrophic events of the past forty-eight hours. The time period in which she’d gone from being a happily engaged fiancée with a set, determined future to a woman betrayed.
Maya Talbot tossed the sandal she was about to pack across the room in utter disgust. It hit the wall with an unsatisfactory thud and left a dark smudge on matte beige paint. Ha! As if packing was her most pressing concern at the moment. No, there was a much more tragic issue she was dealing with right now: the fact that she’d suddenly found herself single, heartbroken and sorely disappointed. All as she was about to embark on the trip of a lifetime. A trip her hardworking grandmother had been generous and kind enough to gift her. A journey that had originally been meant for two. And now she’d be making that journey solo.
It was all too much. Maya plopped down on the bed and sobbed into her hands. How could you, Matt? How could you do this to me?
But perhaps the better question was, how long had he been deceiving her? Exactly how many women had he betrayed her with?
A nagging voice in her head teased that, deep down inside, she had known. She had always suspected that things between herself and her fiancé were not quite right. She had to admit the trepidation she’d felt whenever the two of them began discussing wedding preparations. The utter lack of focus from Matt when she’d asked him to go over all the details. She’d put it all down to pre-wedding nervousness on her part and obtuse male disinterest on his. Clearly, she should have listened to her instincts.
This trip was one she’d often dreamed of being able to take. The fantastical trip she’d always referred to as her “bucket list” getaway.
All she’d ever wanted since taking that art history class as a university freshman was to be able to tour through Europe to witness the grand art in world-famous museums and to marvel at the majestic architecture within the most romantic cities in the world. It was all to begin with a stop in Venice. Followed by a trip by rail to Florence and Rome. Then on to Paris, with a final stop in the glorious metropolis of London.
Maya had talked about it so often with her grandmother. Through some miracle, Grandmama Fran had come across a charity auction being held in Martha’s Vineyard where she lived. Bless her soul, the woman had dipped into her modest savings to bid on it for Maya as an early wedding gift. For a wedding that now would never take place.
Maya sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t go through with this trip; she had to have been kidding herself to even consider it. And there was not one other person she could think of to ask to accompany her. Working for her uncle’s plumbing company as a contractor had left her with a severe shortage of female colleagues. And all her closest friends had gradually moved out of the Boston area over the years. Her cousins were quite busy with their own lives, as well—Lexie blessed recently with a newborn and Zelda immersed in a major project at work.
Unlike Maya, everyone around her seemed to be enjoying full, adventurous lives.
It was settled. Her mind was made up. She couldn’t handle seeing all those glorious, romantic spots as a single woman. Not when the original plan had been so different. The only reason Maya hadn’t canceled the trip immediately was because she couldn’t bear to turn down the gift of a lifetime and have Grandmama’s money go to such waste. It would have been bad enough for Matt’s half of the trip to be a loss. Granted they would have shared hotel rooms. But all his meals, travel, and museum tickets had been paid for in advance.
But the more she thought about it, the less feasible the whole idea became. She just didn’t have it in her. To traipse around Europe by herself, suddenly single and with a broken heart? No, she would stay here and try to pull her life back together. Beginning with somehow delivering the bad news of the broken engagement to Uncle Rex, Aunt Talley and her cousins.
Uncle Rex would be the toughest. He adored Matt and was going to be devastated. Not to mention the whole complication of Matt being the son of her uncle’s business partner. The notion that she was letting her whole family down was hard to squelch.
The whole situation was one big mess.
She had to start with breaking the news to Grandmama. Maya owed it to her grandmother to explain exactly why she was essentially throwing away such a loving and generous gift.
Grandmama Fran would understand. She would have to. With shaky fingers, Maya reached for her cell phone on the bedroom night stand. This would be one call she’d never forget.
Her grandmother picked up right away. “Maya, dear. I was hoping to hear from you before you left. How nice of you to take time to call.”
That was her grandmother. She was exactly the type of person to thank a grandchild for a simple phone call regarding a trip she herself had paid for. Maya swallowed yet another sob before trying to speak. “Hi there. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nonsense. I’m much too excited to sleep.” Her grandmother chuckled into her ear through the tiny speaker. “I know it’s silly, but I’m as excited as if I were going myself. If only I was that mobile.”
Maya found herself wishing more than anything that could be so. Having her grandmother accompany her to Europe would be the ultimate solution to this big, painful mess. But Grandmama’s various health limitations made any kind of travel impossible.
“I shall just have to live vicariously through my favorite granddaughter,” Grandmama added, sending a spear of hurt through Maya’s chest.
Dammit. She had no reason to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she’d been the one to cause her breakup. What choice had she had? How could she continue with a man who’d so utterly betrayed her trust?
None of that would make this announcement to her grandmother any easier, however. “Gran, I have something I need to tell you,” she began with a shaky, soft voice.
“Oh, my. You sound quite serious. I hope you aren’t about to thank me again, dear. You’ve already done so more than enough.”
Every word Grandmama spoke was just making this endeavor more and more difficult. She should have prepared herself better, Maya thought.
Her grandmother continued without giving Maya a chance to respond. “I was so happy to do it for you, you know. You may think I’m joking, but you really are my favorite.”
Maya couldn’t help the smile that spread over her lips. Ever since she’d lost her parents, Gran had been one of the people to step into the sudden massive hole in her life where her family used to be. Sure, her uncle, aunt and cousins had all provided her with a substitute family, and she’d be forever grateful to them for that. But the bond she felt with Grandmama went far deeper than any other relationship in Maya’s life. Gran had been as broken as Maya was over the tragic loss. The older woman’s loving comfort had been the sole factor in pulling Maya out of the overwhelming grief and pain after the accident.
Maya wanted to crumble at the thought that she was about to deliver yet another, albeit much smaller, bolt of pain to the older woman.
“Thanks, Gran. I just...”
Grandmama jumped into the silence. “Are you sure you packed that red dress with the thin shoulder straps? You look so nice in that dress, dear.”
This conversation was even more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Gran had actually been thinking of the wardrobe Maya would be taking. She really was living the trip vicariously through Maya.
“Oh, and it would go so well with those strappy sandals you wore the last time you came to visit. This is all so exciting, dear!”
Maya bit her lip as she faced reality: she didn’t have it in her to disappoint her grandmother. Not after the woman had already endured so much in her life. She just couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Grandmama was so happy on her behalf.
Somehow, some way, she would make herself go on this trip. For her grandmother’s sake if not for her own. Besides, who knew? Wasn’t one of Matt’s complaints about her that she always played life too safe? That she always took the path of least resistance? Not that she had much concern any longer about what Matt thought. But maybe he’d been right about this one thing. Maybe she would take this as an opportunity to try to be different, more adventurous. Going on a solo trip through Europe would certainly be an adventure. Maya decided she would do it.
Though misery was certain to follow her at every stop.
In all his thirty-two years as a resident son of Venice, Vittorio Rameri had never actually seen anyone topple out of a gondola before. He supposed it happened, though it was quite rare. He’d just never witnessed it firsthand.
That appeared to be about to change. For the woman he was watching as he sat at an outdoor table at his favorite waterside café was clearly about to lose her balance completely. Vito had no doubt she was American. Everything, from the tiny clutch purse she carried to the sensible capri pants she wore, tagged her as a young professional from a large US city. Maybe New York. Or Los Angeles.
He thought about going over to help but at this distance there was no way he would make it in time. He was right; it took mere seconds. The gondolier reached for her but the poor man wasn’t quick enough. With an inelegant gasp, she toppled over the side and landed with a sharp splash in the water.
Vittorio blinked his eyes against the bright sunshine. She had to be drunk, despite the relatively early hour of the afternoon. He’d seen his fair share of tipsy tourists, and certainly wasn’t one to judge. He’d just never seen one actually drunk enough to fall out of a gondola before. She’d attracted a crowd of onlookers as she splashed and spluttered in the water. None of them seemed to be of much help, however. The gondolier wasn’t having much luck pulling her out, either.
So much for a nice relaxing afternoon.
He didn’t know what compelled him to leave his much-needed espresso and the unread newspaper in order to go over and assist the lady. Perhaps it was the look of utter despair on her face just before she tipped over. Her expression clearly stated that she’d been through quite enough already. And that this fall into the murky Venetian water might ultimately be the last straw.
When Vito reached the gondola, it took extreme effort from both himself and the gondolier to manage to hoist her out of the water and onto the wooden walkway where the gondola was docked. She came out cursing in English. He’d been right about the American guess. Being fluent, Vito understood every one of the curse words she muttered. Or slurred, to be more accurate. Yep, she was definitely drunk. She was also soaked to the skin.
“Are you hurt, miss?” he asked when she stopped swearing long enough to take a breath.
He got a good look at her then and a strange sensation shot through his chest. Her eyes were the color of the Venetian sky at sunset. Thick, dark hair now clung to her face and scalp. Her makeup had clearly not been the waterproof kind.
Yet it struck him that she still looked quite lovely despite her accident of seconds ago.
The gondolier stood next to them, pale and silent. Vito couldn’t decide which one of them looked more shocked, the boatman or the American. For an insane moment, he had to bite back the urge to laugh. He barely managed to withhold a chuckle. How rude of him. Her state was no laughing matter, after all. For all he knew, she could be sporting some nasty injury. She still hadn’t answered his question.
She shook the water off her face. “Thank you for your help, whoever you are.” Turning back to the boatman, she said in a surprisingly steady and deadly serious tone, “I’ve changed my mind about the gondola ride, sir.”
That did it. Vito couldn’t hold it in any longer. A small chuckle escaped him before he could stop it. She whirled on him with such force, he thought she might topple over again.
“You think this is funny, do you?”
Her golden hazel eyes blazed bright with fury. Fury directed at him.
“I’m sorry, miss. I certainly did not mean to laugh at you.”
She continued to glare at him, despite his apology. The gondolier had apparently heard enough. Without another word, he jumped back onto his vessel and began to pole away. All too hurriedly, Vito thought.
The man had essentially just left him alone with this wet, tipsy American woman.
A woman who looked very good in wet clothes that clung to her skin. Vito gave himself a mental shake. Where had that wayward thought come from?
“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.
“What question?”
“Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself or anything, did you?”
She rubbed a hand down her face. Vito watched as the anger suddenly seemed to just melt away from her. Replaced by something akin to total resignation. With a jolt of surprise, he realized that made him sad for some reason. He preferred her angry to defeated. As if it meant anything to him. He’d never laid eyes on the woman before.
“I’m okay,” she answered. “Just embarrassed,” she added, glancing to the crowd around them which hadn’t fully dispersed yet.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t give it a thought. People fall out of gondolas all the time in Venice,” he lied.
She studied him up and down. Her eyes really were stunning. A rich amber color that shouldn’t have worked at all with her dark olive skin tone. But somehow it served to lend her a rare and striking look that he couldn’t help but feel drawn to, given his artist’s instincts.
He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her eyes. He tried to look away to avoid staring at her face too long, but failed.
“Why don’t I believe you about that?” she wanted to know. The slightest hint of a smile graced her full, pink rosebud lips.
“Bene. Perhaps because I’ve just made it up.”
Her smile grew. “Nice try. You’re quite the gentleman. First you come to my rescue from a certain and tragic watery death. And now you’re trying to rescue my pride.” She glanced down at the soaking-wet fabric of the red shirt she wore. It now clung to her like a second skin and accentuated her feminine curves.
What in the world had gotten into him? When was the last time he’d noticed a woman’s curves? Certainly not in the last two or so years. Not since Marina’s accident.
An awkwardly silent beat ensued before she stretched out her hand. “Thank you, Signor...?”
“Rameri. Vittorio Rameri,” he supplied as he took her hand into his. Her skin felt surprisingly warm for someone who’d just taken a plunge in dirty water. “I’m often called Vito.”
“Hello, Vito. I’m Maya Talbot. From the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts. And I wish we hadn’t had this very mortifying meeting. Nothing personal,” she added after a pause, wringing out the tail of her shirt.
Oh, but he was so very glad that they had met. Damned if he could put his finger on exactly why that was so. He only knew that today was the first time in a long while that he’d felt drawn to study the features of a woman. He wanted to examine further the way the sunlight brought out the golden specks of her eyes, how the dampness of her hair took it to a dark shade of ebony that framed her delicate chin.
He wanted to think of how it would feel to sculpt what he was seeing before him. An instant desire to squash the urge rose in his chest. In his soul, he knew he wasn’t ready just yet. Not to handle clay.
“I suppose I better get going back to my hotel,” she said as he continued to stare. If she noticed the way he was looking at her, she was too polite to mention it.
“Are you alone?”
Her shoulders fell. The question seemed to deflate her even more. He found himself intrigued. What exactly was her story?
She shrugged and looked away before answering. “I’m afraid so. It’s just me. By myself. In one of the most romantic cities in the world. Go figure.”
Now that was surprising. By the looks of her, Vito would guess she wasn’t often lacking for male companionship. “I see.”
She dabbed a wet, trembling finger against his chest. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she supplied. Vito guessed it had to be the alcohol that had her talking so freely to the stranger who’d just pulled her out of the canal. “I was supposed to be here with my fiancé,” she continued.
“Uh-huh.”
“But the...what do you call it? Bastardo? Yes, that’s it. He was a bastardo. I learned that word from the hotel housekeeper who brought a complimentary bottle of valpolicella to my room earlier.” She smiled at him.
Well, that explained the early drinking. Maya Talbot was a jilted bride. Or almost bride, as the case might be. But had she had the whole bottle? Still, he felt a twinge of admiration at the fact that she’d decided to come solo on a trip that had obviously been planned to include a romantic partner.
She twirled her fingers at him. “Well. Ta-ta. I should be going.”
Vito reached for her arm before she could take a step. “Un momento.” He couldn’t just let her walk away. The woman was in no condition to be by herself in an unfamiliar city.
She blinked at him in surprise. “Yes?”
“Do you actually know where you’re going?”
She blinked yet again before looking off into the distance to her left. Scratching her forehead, she turned to look the opposite way. It was blatantly clear she had no idea where she was. Let alone where she was going. “Well, I’m sure I can figure it out.”
Vito weighed his options. Leaving her to her own devices was out of the question under the circumstances. For all he knew, she might actually trip and fall into the water again. He could offer to buy her a cappuccino at the café; clearly she could use the caffeine. But she was soaked to the skin. He doubted she’d be comfortable for long sitting in a wooden chair as wet fabric clung to her skin. Not to mention the attention the sight of her would attract from passersby. He could always load her into a vaporetto and send her on her way, but the likelihood that she’d get seasick was all too real.
Based on some past benders he’d been on himself, he figured the thing she needed the most was just to be able to lie down until the effects of the alcohol passed.
“Perhaps I can be of help.”
Her eyebrows lifted over those dazzling amber eyes. “How?”
“My place is just over the bridge.” He pointed in that direction. “We can go get you dried off and cleaned up.”
She narrowed her gaze on him, suspicion clouding her features immediately. Not that he could blame her. She didn’t know him from the street vendor selling gelato a few feet away.
“You expect me to accompany you, a man I’ve never laid eyes on before, to your apartment? Thanks, but no thanks.”
He should have explained better. Fluency only got a person so far, it appeared.
Shaking his head, he tried to explain. “Scusa. First of all, it’s not an apartment. I own an art studio near Le Mercerie. A public studio. Open for business. There’s a comfortable sitting area complete with a sofa for browsing patrons. I might even have some dry clothing for you.”
She looked him up and down. “I doubt we’re the same size.”
“I meant ladies’ clothing.”
Relief and understanding washed over her features. “Your wife’s clothing, you mean.”
Vito cringed inwardly at the word. Even after all this time, he hadn’t quite adjusted to the new reality that he no longer had a wife. And he never would again.
He shook his head. “I don’t have a wife. But my models have been known to leave things behind.” Not that any kind of model had graced his space in the past several months.
“Your models? What kind of studio are we talking about exactly? Are you a photographer? Or some kind of artist?”
That was one way to put it, Vito supposed. Though, truth be told, he hadn’t been any kind of artist in quite a while.
