What she wanted was to go home with Michael and hire a sitter and return to work and have some order in her life. She was tired of the chaos, tired of the stress, tired of things she didn’t know and understand.
When Juliet got pregnant, it changed Rachel’s life, too. Juliet wasn’t the only one who became a mother, Rachel became the backup caregiver, and then after Juliet died, the surrogate mother. It hadn’t been an easy transition for her. Rachael hadn’t planned on becoming a mother for years. A decade or more. She’d planned on working until her midthirties at least, wanting to focus on career and the opportunity to save her money so that she’d have a proper nest egg, resources to sustain her in case of emergency, because God knew, life was full of emergencies. When one had spent one’s life struggling and scrimping, budgeting and worrying, the idea of financial security was huge. Being financially independent would be life changing, and her plan was to do it for herself. She’d never dreamed that she’d wait for someone to take care of her. The idea of looking outward for support made her almost ill. No, she wanted to be strong and capable. She wanted to respect herself, and she would if she could provide for herself and any children she had.
Money, finances—those were such sensitive topics. Her mother certainly found it impossible to discuss financial topics with Rachel. She’d become emotional and cry, tearfully repeating that she was doing her best.
Rachel didn’t want her mother crying or becoming defensive. She wasn’t trying to criticize her mom; she just wanted to understand and help. How could she make things better for the family? How could she help ease some of the worry? It was a large burden. Mom was good at so many things, but managing money wasn’t one of them.
Money, money, money…
Rachel wandered down streets until she approached St. Mark’s Square. The famous piazza was lined with raised boards as the water was deeper here, flooding the entire square. She balled her hands inside her pockets and lowered her head to watch her steps.
How was she going to do this? How was she going to protect Michael and placate Giovanni? Because she wasn’t about to marry a man she didn’t love, and she most definitely wouldn’t marry a man who didn’t love her.
Rachel was many things—loyal, hardworking, determined—and those traits were evident. But she had a secret few people knew. She was privately, secretly terribly romantic.
She wanted love, big passionate love. She wanted the happy-ever-after and the lovemaking that resulted in fireworks and maybe even a few tears of joy.
She’d held out all these years for someone special, someone extraordinary. And she was determined to continue to hold out for the right one.
And the right one meant love, not lust. A small part of her—maybe a big part of her—desired Giovanni Marcello, but desire wasn’t the answer and she was ashamed that she responded to him so easily. From now on, she would keep her distance. She had to. Otherwise Giovanni would have her in his bed, taking her virginity and the last shred of her self-respect.
* * *
Giovanni saw Rachel leave. He’d been at the window when she left the house, walking down the front of the Grand Canal to turn the corner and continue down the block. She disappeared for a few moments, and then reappeared as she cut down a narrow street.
She walked with her head bent and her hands buried deep inside her coat pockets until she entered an arched tunnel. If she kept going along that street, she’d eventually arrive close to St. Mark’s square.
He wondered if that was where she was going.
He stood another moment looking out at the window before going to change into knee-high waterproof boots and his heavy winter coat.
He didn’t know why he was going after her. She’d eventually return. She had no choice but to return, and he knew she’d never leave Michael. He’d seen her with the infant and she was as attached as a mother. She’d taken the little boy into her heart and was determined to provide the best possible life for him. He knew all that, and he didn’t question her intentions, not anymore.
He didn’t question her values, either. He understood what she wanted and it was the same thing he wanted for Antonio’s son. But Michael couldn’t have the life he needed, not if he was being juggled between Seattle and Venice, torn between countries and cultures, languages and customs, and Gio wouldn’t lose Michael now that he was home.
Gio couldn’t look at the infant without thinking of Antonio, and even though it hurt to remember Antonio, it was better than the emptiness of the past year. Gio had grieved for his brother for months, his death overshadowing everything. His brother had been his best friend from the time they were toddlers until they graduated from university as young men.