Page 47 of Selling Out
“Okay,” she says, collapsing the umbrella. “But you realize I’m stealing your phone to take video, right?”
“You act like it’smyfault your purse was stolen. I tried to get it back, remember? I also distinctly remember telling you to stay put.”
“Well excusemefor not knowing you planned on chasing down my purse over half the city when you’ve been ignoring me for days.”
I scoff, but inside, I squirm. I kind of hoped I’d done a decent job of not making it obvious I was keeping my distance. But does this mean she noticed enough to miss me? “Ignoring you? We’ve talked every single day.”
She faces me, eyes full of skepticism. “You’re telling me youhaven’tbeen avoiding me since Prague?”
“No.” It comes out lame, and she raises her brows.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “A little. But not for the reasons you think.”
“What reasons, then?”
I hesitate, trying to decide how to go about this conversation.
“See?” the gondolier interrupts. “Five minutes only.”
Mia and I look out from the colonnade, and all that’s there is the musicaldrip drip dripof after-rain.
“Perhaps you would like to take your lover on a nice boat ride?” The gondolier quirks one thick brow at us.
“We’re actually just trying to get back to San Marco the quickest way possible,” I say. “Any tips?”
“Today? No quick way to thepiazza,signore.”
Mia leans into me. “He’s just saying that so we’ll take a boat ride with him,” she mutters.
“Maybe we should,” I respond. I direct my gaze at him. “Can you get us close to thepiazza?”
“Of course,” he says as if I just asked him whether bears poop in the woods.
“What do you say?” I ask Mia. “Want to see Venice by water?”
The gondolier skips up the first two steps of the bridge and points down at the canal. “That is my boat. See for yourself. Very beautiful. Very comfortable.”
I glance at Mia, who’s torn between curiosity and wariness. The former wins out, and I follow her to the bridge. Peeking out from beneath the bridge in the milky green waters sit two gondolas. The gondolier indicates the one on the left. It’s sleek black, with plush velvety red seats and gold detail work.
Mia rubs her lips, and I suppress a smile.
“We’ll take it,” I say.
“I don’t have money,” Mia whispers, her cheeks tinged with red.
“Don’t worry about it,” I whisper right back.
The gondolier grins and puts his hands out like a showman. “Welcome, my friends, to the best way to experienceVenezia.”
We follow him to the little steps that lead down to his gondola and wait while he pulls the boat toward us. I hand Mia in first.
The pitter patter of drops from the rooftops into the canal is becoming less frequent, and I glance at the sky after taking my place on the throne—because that’s absolutely what the seats are—next to Mia. The clouds aren’t quite as dark, but rainbows aren’t about to pop up anywhere. It’d be nice if they did. Mia would like that, and today, I feel entirely responsible for Venice’s weather.
Giuseppe starts his rowing, humming a song with an obscene amount of vibrato. Mia shifts in her seat, then starts messing with the cushion, and I join in to try to help.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
I pull my hands back and watch her with a hint of amusement. “Is there anything you hate more than being helped?”
