His Lost-and-Found Bride

The smile was still on her face and she didn’t have much time to think about the fact that Logan would now have a picture of her on his phone. As soon as he’d snapped the shot he walked over and leaned his elbows on the balcony, looking out at the panoramic view. ‘This is what Venice should be about,’ he said quietly.

She spun around and put her elbows next to his. There were a few other people wandering around on the observation deck, but it was nowhere near as busy here as it was on the other side of the water. St Mark’s Square was already packed. It seemed most of the people who’d attended the concert hadn’t had much sleep.

She could hardly blame them. Anyone who was lucky enough to visit Venice—even for a few hours—usually tried to squeeze in as many of the sights as they possibly could.

Something flickered through her brain. With one concert last night and another tonight there would be a whole host of new people in and out of the city today. ‘You won’t be able to get a flight home today either, will you?’

A gentle breeze blew across her skin. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this. Having Logan stay over one night had seemed like an unavoidable hiccup. Having him stay for two nights was something else entirely.

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, fixing his eyes instead on the hustle and bustle of the masses of people on the other side of the canal. ‘I’m sorry, Lucia.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I had no idea about any of this. I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position.’

He looked a little uncomfortable but not entirely unhappy. She’d hardly slept a wink last night. How could she, knowing that the person she used to love with her whole heart had been lying naked next door?

Logan had always slept naked, hating anything on his skin once he was in bed. The only thing he’d ever wanted next to his skin had been her.

She was trying so hard to seem cool, to seem professional. The atmosphere between them today had been lighter, less pressured.

Exactly the opposite from what it should have been after that kiss.

But that kiss had ignited the good memories in her brain. Before that, everything about Logan had been a build-up of frustration and a reminder of grief.

It was almost as if that kiss had brought alive the side of her brain she’d shut off. She just didn’t know what to do with it.

‘It’s fine, Logan,’ she said quickly, as she held out her hand towards the busy St Mark’s Square. ‘The hotels will be every bit as busy again today. Don’t worry.’

His head turned towards her and he lifted his hand, running one finger down her arm towards her hand. ‘But I do worry, Lucia. I’ll always worry about you.’ His voice was low, husky and it sent a little tremble up her spine.

She couldn’t turn to face him, just kept looking out at the people of Venice as her skin tingled and his hand slid over hers, slowly interlocking their fingers.

Her breath caught in her chest. Just when she’d thought she was safe around Logan. Just when she’d thought she could relax, he did something like this.

Something that made her catch her breath and nibble her bottom lip.

It was the closeness that made her feel vulnerable. Made her feel as if she was on the verge of opening herself up to a whole host of hurt. She’d spent so long protecting herself, hiding herself away.

Logan was a whole part of her life that she’d chosen to close the door on. But having him standing next to her, his breath warming her cheek and his hand interlocked with hers, was like dangling her over a precipice she wasn’t ready for.

And it was as if he could sense it. He didn’t go any further. Didn’t make any other move. Didn’t bring up the biggest subject in the world.

Logan was carefully skirting around the edges of her life. But he wouldn’t stay there for ever.

‘How do you enjoy living and working in Venice?’

She swallowed, trying to push all other thoughts away. ‘I love Venice. But it’s not the city that captures my soul. I still miss Florence.’

The words took her by surprise. She’d always felt like that. She’d just never said it out loud.

He was facing her again and she could feel his eyes watching her carefully. She wondered if he’d pick her up on what she’d just said. But he didn’t. He let it go, keeping things in safe territory. ‘How do the restorations work?’

She lifted her other hand and pulled her hair off her neck. It was getting even hotter. ‘I’ve done at least one every year I’ve worked for the heritage board. Always on frescoes. If they decide the fresco in Tuscany is genuine and is to be restored, then that will be my job.’