I hoped what he said was true, but I feared there was something slowly coming between us—something that he wanted to keep hidden but was gradually separating him from me. Later that night as he held me in his arms after we'd made love, nearly all traces of whatever was troubling him were gone and he was the sexy and charming man I'd fallen in love with. He played with my hair as he always did when I laid my head on his chest, wrapping it around his finger and then releasing it again and again, while he told me about his first time visiting Venice years ago as a teenage boy, long before he was the owner of Richmont hotels.
"You sound like you had a great time."
"I did. It was one of the best times I had with my father. It was just the two of us that time. Taylor and my mother stayed behind because he got sick at the last minute, so for one of the few times in my life, it was just me and my father."
There was something unsettling, something darker in his voice as he talked about how his father had spent the entire week in meetings as he'd wandered around the city alone. His words were all about how much he enjoyed Venice and the freedom to explore it at the age of sixteen, but beneath them was an emotion I didn't think even he knew was there. I listened as he recounted stories of late nights on the Piazza San Marco with girls he barely knew and his first night of drinking while he laughed at his youthful foolishness, yet all the time his left hand rested on the bed balled into a tight fist.
I kissed over the ridges of his stomach, loving the feel of his body against my lips. "Am I going to have to worry about you and Venetian girls on this trip, Casanova?"
"No, I promise to behave this time," he joked.
Sliding up his body, I kissed him on the lips. "I love it when you smile like that. I like to think that it's a smile you save only for me."
"You've seen pictures of me, haven't you? I don't ever smile for them."
I placed a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose. "Good. I like that."
Tristan cradled my face in his hands. "You're the only person in the world who's allowed to know that I'm nice. Everyone else thinks I'm that cold man who shows up at work and those charity things I have to attend."
"So if I told your other employees how you are with me they'd be surprised?"
"I don't usually talk to the people who work for me. I have managers and assistants for that. In fact, you're the only person who works for me that I speak to."
I wrinkled my nose at his distinctly elitist comment. "I guess little ole' me should feel blessed."
He either didn't pick up on my sarcasm or didn't care to pay attention to it. "I don't know about blessed, but you certainly can consider yourself special."
"Oh, can I?"
Sliding his hands down to cup my ass, he pulled me into him. "Yes. You are the only person I smile for and the only one I sleep with. I think those are two very good reasons to think you're special."
I wanted to say "I love you" at that moment as he smiled up at me and held me close, but I didn't. It wasn't fear of rejection now, but I didn't want to ruin things between us. He probably knew how I felt even though I hadn't said it, and in my heart, I believed he loved me. That we hadn't said it didn't mean a thing. They were just words. We told each other every day with our actions that we loved each other, and I was content with that.
"We should get some sleep. Venice waits for us tomorrow," I whispered as I rolled off him onto the bed.
In my ear, he whispered, "Good night, Nina," as he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me to him.
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it gently. "Good night, Tristan."
I love you.
I twirled around the living room in our suite at Tristan's hotel in Venice, my eyes straining to open as wide as possible to take everything in. Nearly nine hours on the plane and even though I hadn't slept the whole time, I was keyed up and eager to see as much of Venice as I could that day.
"It's gorgeous! I can't believe I'm here in Venice and this incredible hotel is yours," I gushed. "No wonder you love this place!"
Every wall I set my gaze on was more beautiful than the last. Frescoes and reliefs adorned the walls, evidence of the expert artistic hands of Venetian craftsmen from long ago.
Tristan stopped my turning and stood behind me with his arms around my waist. "I'm glad you like it. It really is nice, isn't it?"
Turning in his hold, I looked up at him and couldn't believe how understated he was about all of the beauty around us. "Nice doesn't do it justice. It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen. I can't believe this is yours."
"Aw, shucks," he teased. "It's nothing."
"Don't get all humble on me now. This is extraordinary. I don't think I have the words to describe how extraordinary this is."
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Then get ready to be speechless when I show you the balcony."
I followed him out the enormous glass doors to a balcony that overlooked the Grand Canal of Venice. Gondoliers steered their boats through the water past hundreds year old pink and gold colored gothic buildings. These were the places I'd spent hours fantasizing about as an undergrad art student, and here I was staring across the water at them from my very own balcony.
"Oh my God, Tristan...it's the most incredible view I've ever seen. Thank you."
He said nothing and after a few minutes of staring at the beauty in front of me, I turned to see him watching me. "What? Am I gushing too much?"
Shaking his head, he smiled. "No. I'm happy you love this like you do. And I'm happy I'm the one who could give you this."
He kissed me so tenderly I thought I might cry. There I was standing in a scene straight out of a picture with a man unlike anyone I'd ever met and he was saying he was happy because he'd made me happy. If there was a luckier woman than me, I couldn't imagine how.
"I thought we'd visit the museums tomorrow. Would you like that?" he asked as he nuzzled my neck. "I figure it's about time I see some art in this city."
"I'd love that! Is it too late to go today?"
Tristan lifted his head from kissing my shoulder and cocked one eyebrow. "Aren't you tired from the flight?"
"No way. I'm in Venice, baby. I could probably stay up the whole time we're here."
"Well, I'm exhausted. Plane rides do that to me. I thought we could stay in tonight and have dinner before we spend some more time out here on the balcony."
I knew the flight had been stressful for him. Each time we flew anywhere, he grew quiet. More than once on the flight there, I'd noticed his knuckles were nearly white as his hands tightly gripped the armrests on his seat. It wasn't surprising after what he'd been through.