I thought I'd share an excerpt of my new release A Hotel in Venice with you-a city that has captured my heart and soul.
The stars seemed to follow the black
gondola as it flowed along the
Grand Canal, and in the distance,
a dark and narrow passage beckoned
for a romantic interlude.
Iridescent
shards glistened in the moonlight. The golden glow and
the ripples in the water reminded
Minola Grey of Shelley’s poem
Love’s
Philosophy. “And
the moonbeams kissed the sea.” As the
gondola glided along the canal,
the old palazzos, one building after
another, appeared to sway with
the hushed tones of the lapping water.
Peter Riley had wanted some peace
and quiet and asked the
gondolier to choose a less
travelled way along a narrow and more
intimate path.
“Welcome
to Venice, Miss Grey.” Peter’s finger traced the line of
her cheekbone and then her neck.
“I'm very much in love with you,” he
whispered in her ear and felt her
lean into him. This was the way it
should be, just the two of them
together. Alone. Nothing stood in their
way. They were in Venice for a
wedding. Theirs. Minola loved glass
and art. Because of the Biennale
Art Festival and Murano, another
island world-renowned for blown
glass that was only fifteen minutes
away by water taxi, they had
chosen Venice as the perfect destination.
Minola
Grey turned toward him and brushed her lips against his,
the touch whisper soft. “I’m very
much in love with you, too.
Anywhere with you is romantic,
but Venice is magnificent.
Incomparable,” she purred like a
contented kitten, nestling deeper into
his arms and gazing across the
canal.
He
was completely absorbed in the peaceful moment, until Minola
tilted her head away from him and
murmured in his ear, “Peter. Isn’t
that strange?” She pointed above
her head at the pier and stared at what
seemed like a mound of
multi-colored mosaics. From her vantage
point, the glass appeared to be a
colorful blanket. “It’s like a sculpture,
sort of.”
“Miss
Grey, may I remind you we’re in a gondola in Venice. The
moon is shining.” He ran his
fingers over her cheek once again, his
touch firm and persuasive. “I’m
caressing your face. We’re together.
You, Love of my Life, should be
looking at me, not glass. I know, after
our visit to Murano, you have
glass on your mind, but really, where is
your sense of romance?”
“Peter,
I’m sorry. I am romantic. You tell me I'm romantic when we
make…”
“Love?
Yes, you are. Passionate and romantic, you turn my world
upside down, and not just when we
make love. However, now would be
a good time to slip into that
romantic mood again.” His lips curved up
in a smile. He couldn't help
himself. Everything she did made him
smile, with the exception of
getting into trouble and endangering her
life. She had an uncanny talent
for finding bodies, and the end result
terrified him.
They
had met in Paris. He was with Interpol, and his money
laundering case almost cost
Minola her life. In Bath, her life was
threatened, and worse, he
couldn’t control her impulse to help. Peter
loved his work—he excelled at
it—but now he focused on keeping the
woman sitting beside him safe
from harm. That was not as easy as it
appeared. She was a remarkable
artist who knew how to get into
trouble and could never deny
anyone’s cry for help.
“But,
Peter, it’s unusual. I know we’re on the Grand Canal. Well,
we turned and are now on this
lonely, dark, narrow, and romantic
canal—okay, sort of an alley,
except that this is Venice and it is a canal.
Just take a peek…” Minola Grey
would not let go and pointed again to
the glass enclosure when she
heard Peter groan.
“I'm
sorry. But…but…” She stuttered.
“Minola, what am I going to do with you? We
have moonlight, a
dark intimate canal in front of
us, a lantern, and a gondolier who is not
going to sing to us. A perfect
setting.”
“Perfect
setting? For what?” she asked, still captivated by the
colorful display on the pier, and
she moved closer to the edge of the
gondola so she could see better.
“You’re
going to reduce my vocabulary to Arrgh.” Peter’s voice
sounded resigned. He motioned to
the gondolier. “Roberto, please bring
us closer to that pile of glass,
whatever it is.” Peter watched as the
gondolier expertly used his foot
and a wall to push off so he could
maneuver his gondola as close to
the pier as possible, allowing Peter to
step out. “Stay put,” he ordered
as she tried to follow him. “I mean it.”
He
gazed back at her and frowned. “Stay.”
Minola
bristled at the order. “I'm not a doggie.” She glanced at his
resolute expression and
grudgingly replied, “Fine. I won't budge.”
Minola settled back in the
gondola and saw Peter bend down.
Tiny pieces of glass were molded
together to form what appeared to
be a blanket for whatever was
underneath. The center was well-crafted,
and the colors brilliant. The
edges, not finished well, were sharp and
haphazard. Suddenly, he felt
those goose bumps on the back of his neck
that told him more than just
glass rested on the secluded dock.
“I
have a bad feeling about this,” he murmured.
Cheers,
Margot
Justes
Blood Art
A Hotel in Paris
A Hotel in Bath
A Hotel in Venice
www.mjustes.com
