Page 18 of Forbidden Duke
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Donna held her breath and stared one more time at the marble statue of St. Mark. He seemed so short! This church was so different than the modern structure she attended in Miami. And her church was all white. This one was had nooks and colorful murals and engraved statues and portraits. If she let her imagination wander, she could see that this was the seat ofroyalty.
Blackwell leaned against the wall. “Are youready?”
“Almost.” She moved onto the next alcove. The church could hold thousands of people and every corner had something unique. She kept her pace slow and Blackwell followed her as she said, “The basilica is so different than what I’ve seen athome.”
He came beside her as she gazed at the next statue, and he gently pushed a loose hair behind her ear. “Do you go to churchregularly?”
She turned toward him and ignored the trail of awareness his touch left on her skin. She then turned back toward the statue that someone had carved by hand. “Not as often as I should. I get lazy on some Sundays, and after my grandmother died, I felt alone and isolated. I should add that to my list of things todo.”
He put his hands behind his back though he leaned closer to her. “Sounds doable. The truth is I only step into church for special occasions. It was never really mything.”
She raised her eyebrow and stared at him. “But you have so much to be gratefulfor.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t feel like sitting on a bench while someone preaches is a testament to my gratitude. I prefer to give back to society where Ican.”
Giving back through charities was good, too. “We don’t have to talk aboutreligion.”
He guided her toward the exit, pointing to a mural that most tourists were snapping pictures of even though the priest had said no photography. Blackwell stopped and motioned with his hand. “See the guy on the right, third in the back of thatmural?”
Her gaze took in the famous image and asked, “The one where the merchants are bringing St. Mark toVenice?”
He lowered his hand. “Yes. Well that guy is supposedly my relative. It all gets surreal when people mention history and how I’m related to an actualsaint.”
She swallowed a tiny taste of jealousy. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned anyone important in her own lineage. She stayed closer to him as they walked toward the door. “I don’t have that issue. My great-grandparents were good people but I don’t think they did anythingsaintly.”
He held the door for her as she passed. “I can have my secretary order your family tree if that interests you.” She turned toward him outside as the light posts turned on, but he finished, “I can’t promise it would reveal much but I employ experts onlineage.”
Interesting. She smiled and took his offered arm so they could walk toward the canal together, this time with less people shopping and standing around. “Sounds like a lovely gift, Blackwell. Thank you. I’d like to know what you find out aboutme.”
“No problem. If you were my bride, they’d want to run itanyhow.”
Bride? She couldn’t imagine. Part of his appeal was his virility mixed with the dream world he lived in, but this fantasy would neverlast.
He patted her hand and led her toward a restaurant with a huge outdoor patio. She motioned to sit outside and heagreed.
The waiter held her chair for her but Blackwell stood until she sat. She needed to respond already to his bride comment. She picked up her water glass, stared at it and tried to find her words. “If I was… no, I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint whoever you are actually going to marry in favor of a woman you metyesterday.”
He joined her at the table and told the waiter to bring them Prosecco and scooted his seat in. He stared into her eyes and she felt heat rising in her body as he said, “I’d rather marry someone I have something in common with and who won’t correct me when I’m simply beingmyself.”
His bride would have to come from a good family, wealthy and probably be picture perfect. She had no real money, no family, no notable ancestors and considered herself passablypretty.
The waiter brought over the white wine and poured them both a glass once Blackwell nodded his approval. She picked up her menu. “We don’t always get what we want. Everything looks so good. What do yourecommend?”
He barely looked at his menu. “You wanted to try new foods. Well, Venice is known for seafood. We can start with Sarde in saor, then move onto Bigoli in salsa as the pasta dish, and then all you have to pick is yourmeat.”
Good. He knew the local favorites. She let out a deep breath. “Those are bothgood?”
He nodded. “They are well known as foods to try when inVenice.”
She looked only at the meat option and folded her menu after deciding on the chicken. “Sounds great. I’m in. Then I’ll choose chicken scampi for themeat.”
“Soundsgood.”
The moment she put her menu down, the waiter came toward them and Blackwell ordered for both of them. Once he left, she sat back in her chair, picked up her glass of wine and said, “You ordered inItalian.”
He winked and held up his glass. “When we go to France, I speak Frenchtoo.”
