Free An Apartment in Venice by Marlene Hill Page A

story with Chuck nodding his head. “I should have restrained myself.”
    “Whoa,” Marc said. “Sounds to me like self defense. If more women would react that way, he might slink off into the sunset.”
    “How did he ever wangle his status as Director of Personnel?” Marlowe said. “He’s such a faker. When I first visited him and complained that he had closed the door, he said, ‘My dear, your personnel records are like Arcana Imperii, ’ then translated the legal-latin term for me as ‘state secrets’ making sure I knew he knew what it meant.” Marlowe sighed, “It would be lovely if he’d drop off the face of the earth.”
    “No such luck,” Giulia said. “Whoever is the ‘bait’ needs to be very sure of good backup.”
    They all agreed.
    “In spite of your valid objection to an escort system,” Chuck said turning to Marlowe. “I still believe a constant intimidation might work with him. We could handpick a few good men to take this on, and I think—”
    “And just how would you vet this ‘elite’ corps of men?” Giulia interrupted. Her eyes hardened, and Chuck felt his cock react. Unrelenting, she continued, “Do you have access to their background information?”
    There’s fire in that curvy body, he thought, but calmly replied, “Info from their military records, of course, but my unit isn’t the FBI. We aren’t trained to do profiling. Yet, when men and women work together in combat, they learn fast who can be trusted. I don’t doubt we could form a dependable group.”
    “How about we move to the living room for coffee,” Marlowe suggested.
    They all carried their remaining dishes to the kitchen counter and settled around the fireplace where Marc was already coaxing the fire back into flames.
    “As an outsider,” he said over his shoulder, “the only way I see a group of protectors could work is if all the women buy in.”
    They batted that idea back and forth while sipping coffee. No one accepted offers of sweets. Giulia noticed it was eight forty-five already.
    “Sorry, but I should go. After the 10.05 train, I don’t think there’s another to Vicenza until midnight.”
    “That’s right,” Chuck said. “I’ll walk with you. But while I’ve got all of you together, I want to invite you to dinner at Corte Sconta. We can finalize our plans there. Next Friday evening, everyone?”
    Marc and Marlowe looked at each other, nodded and she said, “My mouth’s already watering for their zabaglione.”
    Chuck turned to Giulia, “Can you join us? Have you eaten at Sconta?”
    “I know of it but haven’t been there. Zabaglione? Maybe I’ll try it too.”
    “It’s heavenly, and they’re not stingy with the Marsala,” Marlowe said.
    “We might have to order ahead to make sure they have enough for this little glutton.” And Marc picked up Marlowe’s hand and kissed her palm.
    “Good, it’s a date. I’ll make reservations. By then, I hope to get recommendations for an ‘elite’ group, as you called it, Giulia.” Still looking at her, he added, “Maybe you two could poll the other women on the idea.”
    “Yeah. That gives us almost a week to check them out,” Marlowe said.
    “Good. With more facts,” Chuck said, “we can put a plan into action.”
    * * *
    At the station, Chuck walked with Giulia to the designated track for the train to Vicenza. The Venice station wasn’t large, considering the city’s popularity, and the dull 1950s-style architecture offered none of the elegance of other stazioni in Italy. To Giulia, the lobby always seemed cluttered with large glass cases stuffed with glittery doo-dads for last minute buys. But why not? Venetians had been merchants for more than a thousand years. The bar, however—separated from the lobby by glass doors—was well appointed and efficient. When traveling alone, Giulia had often been able to buy a delicious coffee or sandwich at the last minute and still make her train.
    This morning she’d bought a train