“Whoa,” I say under my breath. I’ve seen a lot of fireworks in my life—I’m American, after all—but with the setting, this… this is something else.
Austin hands his phone over with a smile. “As agreed upon.”
I take it and open the camera app, recording the show as Giuseppe continues to row us, reverting to his humming. We turn a corner into a wider canal, and my jaw slips open as the view opens, revealing a sky full of fireworks and a view of Piazza San Marco in the distance. On the water ahead are dozens and dozens of boats and gondolas, filling the canal below the show.
Austin clears his throat. “Good thing this isn’t romantic,” he says way louder than necessary.
A rose suddenly appears between our faces.
“To give to thesignora,” Giuseppe says.
Austin and I catch eyes, and I try to suppress a laugh.
“Thanks,” Austin says, taking the flower. He spins it between his fingers for a second, then offers it to me.
I look at it warily. I can’t be receiving roses from Austin while feeling only platonic things. It’s like patting your head and rubbing your tummy. I was always terrible at that.
“It’s a friendly rose,” he says as Giuseppe guides us toward the edge of the canal where there are a few steps.
“Right. That’s definitely a thing.” I take it, ignoring the way athorn stabs my finger. This rose is warning me against reading into things, bless its heart.
The gondola comes to a stop, and Giuseppe hops out deftly, then secures it with a rope. “I take a photo?” he asks, putting out his hand for Austin’s phone.
I glance at Austin, and he gives a shrug. “Why not?”
I hand the phone to Giuseppe, who takes it with a knowing smile and hurries to the top of the nearest bridge.
Austin hesitates, then drapes his arm around my shoulders. “A friendly picture.”
I can’t stop a smile.
Giuseppe is a thorough photographer. He must take thirty pictures from ten different angles before returning the phone.
Austin helps me—in a friendly way—out of the boat, then settles up with the gondolier. And that’s when I see it: the big, long, closed umbrella sitting behind our thrones.
Giuseppe, you sly dog.
18
MIA
“Rose. Rose.”I jostle her in her bed, and she moans. “I need to use your phone. What’s your passcode?”
Rose and Kelly had plenty to say about Austin and me disappearing together in Venice. I rolled my eyes and told them he’d sent us on a wild goose chase.
One I’ll never forget. It’s probably for the best the pictures and videos are all on Austin’s phone. I don’t need that kind of temptation at my fingertips.
But I do need a phone. And to cancel my credit card.
“Rose.” I shake her harder. She’s a deep sleeper, but not usuallythisdeep.
Suddenly, she flips the bedcovers off her, shoves me out of the way, and runs to the bathroom.
A few seconds later, I hear the distinct sound of vomiting.
I clench my teeth as Kelly sits up, rubbing her eyes.
“Rose is sick,” I say, setting her phone on the covers and heading to the bathroom. “You okay?” I ask through the closed door.
