Page 41 of Enzo

She chuckles. “I wish we had more time, Enzo.”

I like how she says my name. How it sounds in her voice, on her lips.

“If …” I hesitate, wondering if I should even ask her. I clear my throat. “If you're free tomorrow ... maybe we could explore the rest of Venice? If you had no plans, that is.”

“I fly back tomorrow.”

She's leaving Venice so soon? The news hits harder than I’m prepared for, and leaves me feeling slightly unsettled by the idea of never seeing her again.

If my brothers could see me now, they wouldn't recognize me.

“That would have been exciting …” She seems to be choosing her words. “If I'd had my way I would have had more time here but the tickets were fixed, so ...”

I’m wary of asking for her number. I usually never ask, and given how little I know of this woman, my reaction to her perplexes me.

“That's okay,” I tell her. “You're in the Cannaregio district, you said, and it's a long walk. I don’t mind walking you home—as friends,” I hasten to add. I don't like the idea of her walking home by herself this late at night.

“I'll be fine,” she replies, cheerfully enough, but she doesn't make a move. Instead we both stay where we are, looking at one another.

“I’d rather walk you home and know you got back safely, Molly.”

She exhales, and I get the feeling she’s weighing up the situation.

“Okay, if you insist.”

I relax. I need to know she gets back safely. “I do.”

But, selfishly, I want more time with her.

Half an hour after arriving at the palace, I was considering leaving. Meeting Luca Valizar was the only thing keeping me there.

Since meeting Molly, I’ve barely thought about him.

And tomorrow isn’t an option. She leaves early in the morning.

We walk through the calm streets, crossing bridges over dark canals, the lights from the buildings shimmer on the water. There are still people around, but far fewer than earlier, and the crowds thin out as we walk away from the palace.

Neither of us seems to be in a hurry.

“Back to school?” I ask, wanting to find out more about her.

“Yes. This has been like a whirlwind. I'm sure it will take me days, if not weeks, to get over this.”

“You had fun?”

She swats me gently. “You didn't notice?”

I smile to myself in the darkness.

“Did you?” she asks, after a while.

“I had a good time.”

“Such high praise.”

“Indeed.”

“A man of few words,” she remarks.