Throwing my purse on one of the chairs in the suite's living room, I stripped nude and ran myself a bath in the soaker tub. I poured myself a glass of red wine and slid into the water, wanting so desperately to calm the craziness that was racing around my brain. The wine quickly dulled my senses, as alcohol always did, and I closed my eyes to silence my thoughts.
At last, my brain calmed and all that was left was the feeling of loss that I'd had since the moment I learned that my father had died of a gunshot wound in an abandoned warehouse in Newark. My father and mother for so many years was gone, taken from me in a moment of hate or passion. I didn't know which. As I sat in the warm water there in the hotel suite I shared with Tristan, all I really knew was that my father was murdered and gone forever.
I'd cried so many tears since that night that I hadn't thought there weren't any left in me. My emotions had traveled from sadness to rage to nothingness. I'd felt so much that where it concerned my father's death, my heart was numb. But Derek's words had pricked at that numbness like a needle in a dead limb and I'd felt it.
"How were the museums?"
I opened my eyes and saw Tristan standing in the bathroom doorway. He smiled, but his expression did a poor job of hiding the fact that whatever the problem was that he had been dealing with all day was still plaguing his thoughts.
"I missed having you there. It was nice, but it would have been better with you by my side."
His smile widened into a warm grin, and he walked over to crouch next to the tub. "I know. I'm sorry. The Louvre, right?"
Chuckling at his recollection of my words from that morning, I flicked a few drops of water at him. "You better believe it. I'm holding you to that, you know."
"I'm counting on it."
He leaned forward and kissed me gently on the forehead, making me feel loved and cared for. Closing my eyes, I sighed. "Thank you."
"For what?"
I looked up into his curious eyes. "For making me feel so loved."
Pushing my hair behind my ear, he whispered, "Always."
His touch was so comforting, and I leaned into his palm to rest my head. "Do you ever find yourself thinking back to before your parents and brother were taken from you? I can't get my father off my mind tonight."
Tristan said nothing for a long time. I worried that I'd said something wrong by asking about his family, but finally he quietly said, "Sometimes it's all I can think of. There are things that happened when they were alive that still haunt me today."
Something in his voice told me he understood what I was feeling. The loss. The regret that not having the chance to say goodbye brought with it.
He kissed my head and leaned his against mine. "Did something happen today?"
I wanted to tell him about Derek, but what did I have to go on? The word of some guy from Minnesota who'd made some vague claim? I didn't want to ruin our vacation, and I could tell him everything when I found out some actual facts.
"No. I just had a lot of time alone today and visiting art galleries reminds me of when I was a little girl and my father would take me to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was there that I first fell in love with art."
None of that was a lie. I just hadn't told Tristan about Derek.
"He sounds like a great father, Nina. You were lucky."
Things were getting too serious, so I slid up against the back of the tub and took a drink of wine. Forcing a smile, I said, "I was. So what's on the schedule for tonight? A little dinner in and some TV with the ball and chain?"
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I had something a little different in mind, but if you'd rather watch TV..."
"No, no. I can watch TV any night. It's not every night I'm in Venice. What do you have in mind?"
His face turned sheepish. "I know it's pretty clichéd, but I thought we'd take a gondola ride."
I couldn't help but smile. He really was so cute when he was romantic. "That's so cool! Give me a few minutes and I'll get ready. A gondola ride! I get to cross off another thing on my list of things to do before I die."
Nearly leaping out of the tub, I raced to get ready, eager to experience what I'd only seen in movies and paintings. It may have been clichéd, but I didn't care. There was no way I was visiting Venice and not taking a gondola ride, and that I'd be taking it with the man I loved was better than anything.
"Isn't this romantic?" I cooed as the gondolier guided the boat past those great Gothic buildings that lined the Grand Canal, the ones I'd looked out at from our balcony the night before.
Tristan slipped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. "It's actually really nice. I'd heard horrible things about the canal water, but this isn't bad."
I rolled my eyes at his understatement. "Nice? Isn't bad? You really know how to seduce a girl."
Nuzzling my neck, he whispered, "You want seduction? I'll give you seduction."
I turned my head to catch his mouth in a kiss. He tasted like scotch, and I liked my lips as I pulled away. "Promises, promises."
Our gondolier eased his craft around another stopped gondola as Tristan whispered, "Did you know that all gondoliers must wear black pants and a striped shirt?"
I looked our guide up and down and saw he was wearing that exact uniform. "I'm impressed."
"Good. But I feel compelled to tell you that the concierge at the hotel gave me that tidbit of information," he admitted in a low, husky voice that hit me deep inside, oddly enough considering what he was saying.
I ran my hand up his thigh and licked my lips. "I love honestly in a man. Now I'm even more impressed."
As the gondola drifted to a stop, Tristan winked at me. "Time for that seduction."
We walked into the Piazza San Marco as the first drops of rain began to fall. Tourists and locals headed for cover in the restaurants and hotels nearby, leaving just a few of us alone in the enormous square. Puddles quickly formed on the stone patio, forcing us to zigzag toward the Moorish style arches that lined the piazza as the skies opened up above us.
Thunder boomed overhead, chasing nearly everyone from the square. Soaked to the bone, we ran for shelter behind the colonnade. My hair was drenched and plastered to my head, and I slicked it off my face just so I could see. I looked up at Tristan, who was scrubbing his face dry with his hands. He looked as incredible as always. Dipping my head, I wiped under my eyes to get rid of any smeared mascara and mumbled, "I must look like a nightmare."
He lifted my chin to force me to look at him and shook his head. "You look beautiful. Come here."