Behind our heads, a gold ornate scroll lifted. Along the sides, angels harked the arrival of the gondola, their raised trumpets toward heaven. What looked like pompom roses were placed here and there along red and gold twined rope that also hung along the side.
It was a fine vessel, all wooden, hand carved, and varnished in shellack, a shiny black. Even the bottom of the boat had been carpeted in crimson.
It was the limo of Venice.
Our gondolier introduced himself as Mercurio, then let us know that he had instructions to take us on a ride around the canals of Venice before dropping us off at the gala.
Scarlett scooted closer to me. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her even closer. Her hands rested on my legs. I covered hers with mine to keep her warm.
The air held a chill to it, and when we breathed out, a subtle rush of breath purled out. In comparison to the darkness of her cloak, her skin seemed even more flawless, but at the same time, more fragile. The veins underneath her skin ribboned so close to the surface—deep blues and purples. The cold made them stand out even more.
Fog drifted above the almost nacre-colored water, fanned by the flow of so many boats. By morning, it would rise, float up like old ghosts, thickening the air and turning it the color of mercury.
Lights from the palazzos glittered on the water, Venice just beginning to burn the midnight oil.
Above, the sky brightened with the light of a full moon. If there were stars, it was hard to tell.
Mercurio navigated the narrow canals with practiced ease. Sometimes he’d use his foot to push against a wall, or he had to duck underneath a bridge, but for the most part, we moved along smoothly.
We were attracting some notice, other riders staring, some pointing. It had to be our attire. She sparked the night into a flame.
“Give me some history,” I said, turning slightly to be able to look at her better.
She turned too, just slightly, staring up at me. “History?”
I touched her lip, softly, not to mess up her makeup. “Yeah.” I waved a hand. “Give me one of your factoids about Venice. Make me fall in love.”
Mercurio turned from his post to give me a look that clearly said,Make you fall in love? If you haven’t noticed, or if no one has told you, you are. Hopelessly in love.
“Not with my wife,” I said, clearing the situation up. “With Venice.”
“Ah!”
Scarlett’s feline eyes narrowed, like she was studying a bigger cat, one that might be playing with her for the fun of it. Then she softened, having concluded that there was no playfulness to my tone nor my face.
She told me about how gondoliers were usually part of a family of gondoliers, father’s passing torches down to sons. There was a test that needed to be passed. Even speed limits. Speed cameras lined the Grand Canal to keep track.
I could see why.
At certain turns, there were buildings on each side, leaving little room to maneuver with five or six other gondolas crowding the space.
She opened her mouth to say something else, and a baritone that could rival the best echoed, making Scarlett double over with laughter.
Mercurio had other hidden talents. He also sang opera, and a serenade was part of the tour.
We became quiet while he sang, the gondola floating along, his paddles easily moving through the water.
People were coming out onto their balconies, some lifting glasses of wine, toasting to the moon and to the man who reached inside private spaces and brought them out of it for the sake of music.
Mercurio entranced Scarlett. She loved when Luca sang in the same way.
Without conscious thought, she sat forward, entwining our hands and then squeezing. Tears started to slip down her cheeks, and instead of wiping them, she brought her free hand to her heart. She made no move to wipe them away or to stop the flow.
Glancing at her from the side of my eye, I was caught by her delicate profile, and it was hard to look away. It was surprising to me sometimes just how gorgeous she was. I knew the girl, the woman, almost my entire life.
Her beauty still shocked me at times. Like catching a moment in a metamorphosis of some exotic butterfly, there was always a subtle change to discover, or something blended that suddenly stood out.
It hit me with a punch to the gut that my wife's beauty had a fierce edge to it.
