Page 81 of The Broker

We fly into Montpelier and pick up our boat at Toulouse. While Dante is getting a crash course on navigating the locks on the Canal du Midi, I go into the bedroom and call Angelica.

It’s the first time I’m taking a vacation without her. She’s staying with Lucia and Antonio in what is arguably the safest house in Italy, but I still worry. A mother’s prerogative.

Angelica answers the video call on the first ring. “Hi, Mama,” she says. “Guess what Aunt Lucia bought me?” She holds up a leather case.

I bring the phone closer to me, and my mouth falls open. “Is that a lock-picking set?” Lucia comes into view, and I glare at my friend. “Are you teaching my daughter how to pick locks?”

Lucia takes the phone from Angelica. “This is not my fault,” she says defensively. “She was already watching YouTube tutorials on how to pick a lock. I had to show her how to do a good job. You don’t want her to get caught, do you?”

Dante arrives in the bedroom, hears the end of that conversation, and starts to laugh. After an outraged second, I give in to my amusement. “I guess it’s unavoidable,” I admit. “I’m teaching her to hack, and you’re showing her how to pick locks.” I give my husband a pointed glare. “Do not teach her how to stab someone.”

“No knives for a few more years,” Dante agrees. “But a few self-defense lessons can’t hurt.”

No, they can’t.

Angelica overhears Dante. “Yes,” she says enthusiastically, taking the phone from Lucia. “I want to learn how to punch people.”

“Hitting is bad, Angelica,” I point out, torn between laughter and chagrin. We’re bringing up a little criminal. At the rate she’s going, my daughter will be the best thief in Venice by the time she’s eighteen.

“Uncle Dante says I’m allowed to hit anyone who hits me.”

Did he, now? I’m not saying I disagree with that, but I doubt other parents are going to see it the same way. “We’ll discuss hitting when I get back home,” I tell her. “Are you having fun?”

“I am. I’m practicing picking locks, and tomorrow, I’m going to bake an almond cake all by myself. Then Aunt Lucia is going to take me to her museum, and then I’m going to—”

“Do all the things. Okay, kiddo. We’re going to go now, okay? Call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mama. Bye, Uncle Dante.”

Dante kisses my neck as I hang up. “We can fly back home and get her if you want.”

My heart swells with love for this man. “I’m fine. She’s obviously having the time of her life. She’s just growing up so fast, you know?” I smile at him. “Let’s get underway. I’m on my honeymoon. I have a bikini to change into and some champagne to drink.”

He gives me a wicked smile. “And I have a wife to ogle.”

I have visions of us wrecking the boat before we even set out. “Who’s steering the boat?”

“It’s docked.” He leans against the door and folds his arms across his chest. “Get changed,” he says. “I’ll watch.”

Watch,he says. But, of course, he helps me undress, kissing each bit of exposed skin as it comes into view. Needless to say, it takes a very long time for me to get into my bikini and even longer for us to get moving. Not that I’m complaining. Eventually, the two of us settle on lounge chairs on the deck, tall flutes of champagne in hand.

“To my wife,” he says, his expression uncharacteristically soft and full of love. “I don’t deserve you, Valentina, but I’m going to make it my mission to make you the happiest woman in the world every day for the rest of my life.”

“You already do, Dante,” I reply. “You already do.”

Once upon a time, I saw photos of a woman on vacation with her boyfriend in the south of France, and that dream felt impossible for me. Not any longer. I love Dante, and he loves me back, and we’re going to live happily ever after.

* * *

---