Free Midnight in Venice by Meadow Taylor

women he’d met since Katarina had died (was he finally ready to accept that now?), none had made him tongue-tied, or made his heart beat faster, or made him want to hang on to her hand forever.
    Alessandro disembarked at his stop with a
buonasera
to the deckhand. He stood on the dock for a moment, looking up at stars that seemed especially bright, before making his way through the park to his apartment.
    His elderly ground-floor neighbor was sweeping her doorstep. He wished her a good evening, and she insisted he take some of the fish she’d cooked for dinner. When he protested that he’d eaten with his aunt, she insisted he’d be hungry later. “You must find yourself a new wife to take care of you,” she told him as she presented him with the platter of fish. “You work too hard.” He’d been hearing the same speech every day since he moved in.
    Once inside, he hung up his coat and, after putting the fish in the fridge and pouring himself a drink, went to the piano. But he didn’t start playing right away. Instead, he picked up the framed picture of himself and Katarina on a ski vacation in the Italian Alps, standing side by side, wearing their skis, the lodge and mountains in the background. His arm was around her, and he was smiling down at her while she smiled for the camera. She’d pushed her ski goggles up onto her head, her long blond hair cascading past her shoulders. Her smile was generous and warm, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes free from the worry he so often saw there.
    â€œI think you’d really like Olivia, Katarina,” he said aloud as he gently put the picture down. He waited for a moment to see what emotions followed such a statement. But there was no guilt, no sense of disloyalty or anger. There was, perhaps, peace. Maybe he was finally ready to move on.
    His hands hovered over the piano keys, and when he finally played the first notes, he knew he was playing better than he had in a long time.

 
Chapter 10
    Olivia met Alessandro outside the Chiesa dell’Angelo San Raffaele, near his office. Although very large, it was one of the city’s simpler churches, a facade of plain white stucco flanked on either side by square towers.
    She stammered out a barely coherent hello.
    â€œAre you all right?” he asked, looking concerned. He carried a shopping bag brimming with food and a bottle of wine, and was wearing jeans, a cream-colored shirt, and his inevitable black leather jacket.
    â€œYes, of course,” she said, forcing her voice back under control. Surely he was used to women reacting to him like this. “I like this church,” she added quickly for something to say. “I once read a novel that took place partly in this church. It was about three Raphaels: a sidewalk artist, the Renaissance painter, and the archangel Raphael for whom this church is named. They were all connected, and ever since, I’ve thought of the angel Raphael as being kind of sexy.”
    He laughed. “The angel Raphael was the patron saint of Venetian fishermen. I’m not sure they saw him in the same light. But they did count on him to keep them safe. Can I interest you in a boat ride?” He indicated an aluminum boat tied up at the canal edge. “It isn’t very fancy, but with the help of your sexy angel, I think we’ll be okay.”
    Thinking a sexy angel would be completely redundant, she laughed.
    â€œJust give me a moment to clean it up,” he said. “It belongs to work, and the guys are always leaving their garbage behind.” He jumped down into the boat and pulled back the cover, revealing, as predicted, sandwich wrappers and empty wine and water bottles.
    As Olivia watched, not quite believing this was really happening, she suddenly heard a rush of footsteps coming up behind her. Startled, she turned to see a man, his face obscured by the hood of his jacket, running toward her. Before she had time to