“But I wanted to look up, and what I saw in the mirror was even more exciting than what I could see right before me,” Ryan told her. “I had one hell of a time holding back.”
“You were wonderful,” Ashley purred. She nibbled at his shoulder. “And you taste good too.” She licked his skin with leisurely strokes of her tongue.
“Behave yourself,” he said sternly. “You’re going to make me hot again, and I can’t let you exhaust me, baby. I have to begin work tomorrow.”
“So,” she replied, “having satisfied your lust, you’re going to toss me aside now?”
“I will never toss you aside, but you’ve already had a little nap while I worked downstairs. Now I need a nap so that when we go down to dinner the contessa doesn’t think we’ve been doing nothing but fucking all siesta,” he told her.
“If she didn’t think we would be making love,” Ashley reasoned, “she wouldn’t have given us a bed with a mirror in its canopy.”
“I imagine the other bedrooms are even more sensual. It’s the nature of a sixteenth-century Venetian palazzo to be devoted to the pleasures of the senses,” he said. “You should see the bedroom ceilings in the guesthouse before we go back. My poor mother was horrified. She had the servants stretch sheets across them so we wouldn’t be able to see them and be led astray.” He laughed. “But I figured a way to loosen the sheets to look at the ceiling in my bedroom at night, and then cover it again in the morning. I was one horny sixteen-year-old.”
Ashley giggled. “And you’re one horny thirty-nine-year-old,” she told him, snuggling now into the curve of his arm. “Good thing I love you, Ryan.”
He smiled into her hair. “Good thing I love you too,” he told her.
They slept, awakening to see the sky beyond their windows darkening with evening. After bathing and dressing, they joined the contessa in a small salon for an aperitif before dinner. And after dinner they sat again in the salon talking, until Bianca di Viscontini arose and excused herself.
“I am not,” she said, “as young as I once was.” And she smiled. “I now must seek my bed before midnight, but Ryan, feel free to take your lovely wife and explore some of Venice’s nightlife.”
“Not tonight, Bianca. We are both still tired from our flight, and tomorrow I wish to begin the construction of the crate. Your workmen will be here early, I know,” he said.
When they returned to their bedroom they discovered the bed had been remade and turned down for the night.
When Ashley awoke the following morning Ryan was already gone from their bed. Sleepy still, she turned over and fell back into slumber, awakening only when the sound of their bedroom door clicked open. Ashley turned over as a woman in a maid’s uniform came in with a tray.
“
Buon giorno
, signora,” the servant said. She set the tray down on a small table and, going to the bed, plumped the pillows so Ashley might sit up. Then, fetching the tray, she set it on Ashley’s lap.
“Ecco la prima colazione.”
“Parla lei inglese?”
Ashley asked.
“
Si
, signora,” the maid answered.
“Where is my husband?”
“He is in the salon with the workmen.”
“
Grazie
,” Ashley said, and the maid left the room with a nod of her head.
On the tray Ashley found a plate with a small portion of scrambled eggs, a slice of melon, a croissant, butter, and a cup of cappuccino. To her surprise she discovered she was hungry, and ate it all, savoring the cappuccino, which Ryan had explained to her Italians drank in the morning, and not anytime of day. When she had finished her meal she got up, showered, and got dressed. She chose a pair of beige slacks in a mix of light wool and silk, and a cream-colored wool turtleneck. Her watch said ten thirty. She had really slept in. Ashley brushed her hair and put on some lipstick and gold earrings before heading downstairs.
Hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, she was rescued from her predicament by the contessa’s butler, who, seeing her, said, “The contessa is awaiting you in the blue salon, signora. I will show you.” And he did.
“Good morning,” Ashley greeted her hostess. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. I seem to have overslept.”
“No, no,” Bianca di Viscontini told her. “I am only just down myself. I have the habit of breakfast in bed at nine thirty each morning. It is a privilege I allow myself now that I am to be sixty. I am amazed to realize I have lived six decades,” she said with a laugh. “My poor husband died when he was sixty-three, but then, he had been ill for so many years. It was why we had no children. Do you want children? I can see Ryan as a father.” And Bianca di Viscontini smiled.
“Yes, we want children,” Ashley answered. “Soon. I am not a young girl.”
“You are beautiful, and perfect for him. You do not take him too seriously, or defer to him, as his mama and sisters were always doing. As the only boy he was very much spoiled, I fear,” the contessa said. “Did Elvira bring you your breakfast?”
“Yes, it was wonderful. Usually Byrnes brings me coffee in the morning, but to have such a lovely little meal and a cappuccino was quite a treat. When will you be sixty? You don’t look like a woman of sixty.”
“December third,” the contessa said. “I think sixty today is very different from when my own mother was sixty.”
“You are December born? I am the ninth,” Ashley told the contessa.
“Then we two Sagittarians should get on famously,” Bianca said. “Are you ready to do a little sightseeing?”
“I am!” Ashley agreed.
“Come along then,” Bianca di Viscontini said and she led her guest outside and across the broad cobbled street to the quay where a gondola awaited them. “I think you will enjoy the flavor of the city better if we travel by gondola rather than a powerboat,” she told Ashley as they stepped down into the vessel and seated themselves.
“
Buon giorno
, contessa,” the gondelier said as they entered his boat. Then as soon as he saw they were comfortably seated, he pushed away from the quay, and began to row down the small canal.
Ashley could feel the pull of the current as their gondola entered the Grand Canal, and she looked at the city about her. “This is so beautiful,” she said. “The colors, the way the sunlight hits them. It really is an artist’s city.”
“It is even more brilliant in the summer, when the sun is higher,” Bianca said. “For now the color is muted, more like the canvas of a French Impressionist painter. But it doesn’t matter what time of year it is. I love this city!”
“I can certainly understand why,” Ashley responded.
“I will take you first to the Piazza San Marco,” Bianca said. “We are not far from it. But first you should know a little bit of our history, of how Venice came into being. At first it was just a few small joined towns built about the lagoon, perhaps late in the fifth century, perhaps a bit earlier. Rome was in its decline. The barbarians had fallen upon its civilization and were devouring it. At first the refugees from the violence would return to their destroyed homes, but eventually many made up their minds not to stay. They sought a place that would be difficult and unappealing to the Goths, the Huns, and the others who followed them to attack. I will not bore you with an in-depth history. We pledged our loyalties to the emperor in Constantinople. While Europe struggled in the barbaric time known as the Dark Ages, we organized and grew within the safety of the Eastern empire. We were known as Byzantium’s favorite daughter, and the truth is we were a Byzantine city, yet different from other Byzantine cities. The city as we know it today, with its walls, its plazas, towers, and palazzos, emerged from the mud banks and waters of the lagoon. Sometimes we were protected by the armies of Byzantium. Sometimes we sent our mercenaries to fight for Byzantium.” She stopped in her recitation. “Ah, here we are at the Piazza San Marco.” The gondola slipped into a mooring, and the gondolier jumped out to help his passengers. “You will wait for us, Antonio,” the contessa said in quick Italian.
“The American is very pretty,” the gondolier replied in the same language.
“She is a married woman,” the contessa replied.
“I like a woman with experience,” he said with a grin.
“Behave yourself, you bad boy,” the contessa scolded him. She turned to Ashley. “Are the columns flanking the piazza not glorious? That one is topped by the winged lion of Saint Mark, the spiritual guardian of Venice. The other is crowned with Saint Theodore, who was once considered our spiritual guardian. Long ago they hanged criminals from those columns, a poor use of such beauty to pair it with such ugliness as an execution.”
The two women made their way across the piazza through large flocks of pigeons strutting about, cadging for food, and toward the great domed cathedral of Saint Mark.
“There have always been great festivals held in the piazza and before the cathedral,” the contessa said. “The Fourth Crusade set out from here.”
They entered the basilica of Saint Mark, and Ashley was rendered breathless by its beauty. “There is something very Eastern here,” she said.
You are clever to have realized that,” the contessa said. “Byzantium was very Oriental in its way, and Venice has traded with the Eastern lands for centuries. One of our doges asked that every ship trading with Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and the like return with objets d’art that could be used to beautify our city. The lion of St. Mark’s, with his agate eyes, came from Syria. It is actually a chimera. And see the screen behind the high altar? We call it the Pala d’Oro. It was beaten into its great form by goldsmiths in Byzantium, and beautifully decorated by the finest jewelers in Byzantium. It seems to radiate light, doesn’t it?” the contessa said.
After they had seen the great church, the contessa pointed out the Doge’s Palace, which stood on one side of the piazza. Next the contessa led Ashley from the great piazza across a stone bridge into a charming small square. The square had several tiny shops, and a little café with tables outside beneath a striped awning. It was there they stopped to have a light lunch before walking back to their gondola to return to the palazzo for the siesta hour.
“Tomorrow at eleven,” the contessa told the gondolier.
Ashley thanked the contessa for the morning, and went to see how Ryan was doing. She found him sitting with the workmen eating bread, sausage, and cheese, and sharing a bottle of Chianti. A huge half-finished crate was now taking up part of the salon, empty of furniture but for the wardrobe. “Wow, you got a lot done this morning,” she said. “You should get it finished by day’s end.”
“Almost finished,” he told her. “Remember, siesta. The men will eat, and then stretch out to sleep for an hour or more. Did you have a good morning?”
“Wonderful, starting with breakfast in bed,” Ashley told him. “I could get used to this Venetian way of life, Ryan.”
“Are you going upstairs now?”
“Uh-huh. Are you?” she teased him.
He sighed. “I’ll take my siesta here,” he said. “That way I’ll be ready to go back to work when the men are. I want the crate finished by tomorrow morning. It’s going to take another full day to pack it, and then I want to be here when FedEx picks it up the day after. Then we’ll head home, baby.”
“I’ll go take my siesta alone then,” she said with a smile at him, and with a wave of her hand she left him.
“
Sposato?
” one of the workmen asked.
“
Si
,” Ryan replied.
“
Ella e bella ragazza
,” the workman said, nodding approvingly.
“
Mille grazie
,” Ryan told him with a smile.
The following day the contessa took Ashley to see the great church of San Giorgio Maggiore, and they visited the public gardens, a swath of green on the Bacino di San Marco. But then to Ashley’s surprise the gondola headed back up the Grand Canal, bypassing the little canal that led to the palazzo.
“There is a woman I want you to visit,” the contessa said with a smile as their vessel turned into a small canal and docked itself. “It is not far, and I see you are wise enough to wear sensible shoes.”
Mystified, but nonetheless curious, Ashley followed her hostess into another of Venice’s small, pretty squares, where Bianca led her into a charming little shop. Ashley’s green eyes lit up when she saw the exquisite lingerie displayed.
“This is the shop of Valentina Sforza,” the contessa explained. “She has a mulberry garden outside of the city where she raises silkworms. She has a coterie of village women who harvest the cocoons and then spin the threads into fabric. From that fabric she makes, as you can see, the most beautiful one-of-a-kind garments. I thought that perhaps you might be interested in her work.”
Ashley was already examining the negligees and other intimate garments on display throughout the shop. They were beautiful, and the workmanship was the absolute best. “Yes,” she said, suddenly all business. “I am most interested in this woman’s work, Bianca. I should like to speak to her.”