Midnight in Venice by Meadow Taylor Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t tell you?”
    â€œNo,” Marco said. “I left the bad news for you.”
    â€œNo,” Silvio said, laughing, “it’s not bad at all. It just means leaving Venice for a week in Manhattan. We’re showing some Murano glass jewelry at our gallery there.”
    â€œBut I know so little about Murano glass . . .”
    â€œDon’t be so modest. You recognized the goblet in your office as sixteenth century without a moment of hesitation. You’ll know more than you ever need to by then. Not to worry. And, if it makes you feel any better, the artist will be accompanying you, and you’ll be spending most of your time translating for him.”
    â€œOkay. That I know I can do. I just don’t want to let you down.”
    â€œYou won’t. By the way, where did you get the glass beads you’re wearing?”
    â€œA Christmas present from Marco.”
    â€œThey go so beautifully with your eyes—which I’m sure Marco intended. Did you tell her who designed them, Marco?”
    â€œNo. It’s the color that was important.”
    â€œNonsense. He’s just being modest and doesn’t want you to know how valuable they are. Well, I won’t tell you either. Finding out who made them can be your first assignment,” he concluded as the taxi pulled up to the dock in front of the hotel.
    She should have been pleased that Silvio sounded confident of her potential, but as he took her hand and helped her out of the boat, she felt some of the pleasure drain out of the evening. Not that she was averse to New York, but somehow she thought she’d be spending all her time in Venice. Marco, though, seemed to have no problem flying to Paris, London, New York, or Iceland at a moment’s notice. This was the life she was choosing, she reminded herself, and she just was going to have to get used to it.
    The hotel dining room sparkled with thousands of white Christmas lights, and the Bellini cocktail Silvio insisted on her having raised her spirits, as did the conversation over dinner. Silvio was, as Marco had said, extremely knowledgeable, and Olivia felt that in the course of the excellent meal (one she was glad she wasn’t paying for), she’d already doubled her knowledge of Venetian art.
    And while she felt pressured to learn everything she possibly could about Murano glass, Silvio said she was to have the week to herself. “It is Christmas, after all. The staff will be with their families, and the office will be very quiet. All I want you to do now is soak up the culture. Your first stop should be the Accademia. It’s one of the finest art galleries in Italy, if not the world. Enjoy it.”
    Just then, his cellphone beeped. He glanced at the display and smiled. “Please excuse me. I must make a personal call. It may take a moment; it’s rather complicated.”
    â€œI think you’re off the hook,” Marco said after Silvio left.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œHe’s dating a married woman.”
    â€œHow can you tell?”
    â€œFor Silvio, ‘complicated’ means married, and he must be smitten, because he usually likes to keep things very simple.”
    When Silvio returned, he was smiling even more widely. “Where were we? Ah yes, to
la dolce vita
,” he said, raising his glass to them.
    The sweet life indeed. She didn’t know how she felt about Silvio dating a married woman, but at least now she didn’t have to worry about her boss hitting on her and could just concentrate on her job. She looked around the luxurious restaurant, the white-draped tables, the silverware sparkling under Murano glass chandeliers, the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Handsome waiters glided between the tables of richly dressed patrons, handing out luscious plates of food and pouring glasses of wine.
    Her eye caught a man standing at the window, looking out to where the tower of San Giorgio Maggiore