“Please.”
He sits down and people push past like a dam just broke. The seats are tight and even though Dev is lanky, our arms keep brushing as he tries to get his luggage situated and his seat belt on.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is so quiet that I can barely hear it over the roar of the engine.
A horrible thought pops into my head and I can’t stop myself from saying it aloud. “What if he got cold feet about the trip?”
Frank’s head pops up over the seat in front of me. His long golden curls flop over his eyes, but his expression is serious. “He didn’t, I promise. I haven’t seen Will that gutted in a long time.”
Some of the pressure on my chest lifts.
“He’s definitely not missing the trip on purpose,” Dev says. “If he had even the slightest chance of sleeping with you, he wouldn’t have left here unless his life literally depended on it.”
I burst out in embarrassed laughter, and Frank and Dev follow.
“Thanks for the encouraging thought.” I wipe the tears out of my eyes and lean back in the seat. “God, this sucks.”
“It doesn’t have to.” I glare at Dev and he shakes his head. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset. But remember, we’ve got five days off from school. No classes, no homework, no obligations.” He knows he has me now and leans closer. “Authentic food. Canals. Shopping—”
“Pigeons,” Huan calls out. “And lots of them.”
I laugh quietly. “Well, I guess I can’t let the pigeons down.”
Chapter
30
I send Will a stream of photos once we touch down at theVenice Marco Polo Airport. Will replies back almost entirely in emojis—usually some combination of sad faces and hearts. I like the hearts the most. The only time he writes, it’s to reiterate that he wants me to enjoy the trip and keep sending as many photos as possible.Bonus points for smiling selfies. Which sounds pretty doable since I can’t stop myself from smiling when I see the water bus that will take us from the airport into Venice.
Huan comes up next to me. “This is really something, huh?”
I nod, wide-eyed. The inside of the water bus looks a bit like a regular bus, with rows of seats and an aisle that cuts down the middle. Except outside there’s rippling blue water lapping up against the boat instead of pavement. Soon Venice comes into view. The buildings rise from the water like we’ve been transported into some magical world.
As we get closer, Dev leans toward me and points out the window. “Gondolas,” he whispers.
At least a dozen are tethered to the canal docks, covered inblue cloth, bobbing with the undulations in the water. I press my forehead against the glass.
“Look!” Huan calls.
We’re passing St. Mark’s Square now. Even from the water I can see masses of people milling around. I’ve looked at dozens and dozens of photos of it online since it’s one of the most popular attractions in Venice, but they didn’t do it justice.
Finally, the water bus stops close to the Rialto Bridge and we get off. The white stone bridge spans the Grand Canal and is another one of the most popular spots for photos. We huddle together on the sidewalk, overwhelmed. I snap photo after photo, partially for Will and partially because it’s impossible to stand someplace so breathtaking and not take pictures of it.
Huan rubs his hands together. “All right, this is gorgeous and all, but I’m dying to see this hotel Frank’s been telling me about. Lead the way, sir.”
Frank bows. “My pleasure.”
We get lost a few times—well, more than a few times—because Venice is beautiful but also meandering and confusing. When Frank announces that we’ve made it, I think he’s joking. We crane our heads to look up at an impressive salmon-colored building that sits directly on the Grand Canal. I take a deep breath, missing Will more than ever.
The interior is as spectacular as the exterior. Massive marble columns adorn the room, and domed fresco paintings of saints peer down at us. No one speaks in loud voices or moves too quickly. The trickle of water from two carved fountains providesmost of the sound, while the click of expensive heels on the tiled floors adds the rest.
“I can’t believe this is where you and Will were planning to stay,” I whisper to Frank. “It’s about a billion times nicer than our hostel.”
“Which is exactly why you have to stay here instead.”
Another issue occurs to me then. How would we even check in without Will to give his name, and more importantly, his credit card? But Frank waves off my concerns. “I’m very persuasive.” He strides off to explain our situation to the front desk.
“No problem,” he whispers when he’s done. “Will already called and got your names added to the reservation.”
