The Love Scam - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,1
off in his sleep. Stupor. Coma. What have you.
After a few tries, he found the door to the hallway. The water had helped; he knew most of the pain of a hangover came from dehydration. That, and knowing he’d done it to himself and had no one else to blame. Fine. He’d get some fresh air, take stock of his surroundings, start Plan Ginger Ale + Ritz = Might Not Die.
Somehow he made it to the lobby, though for a minute he thought he was going to hurl tap water in the elevator. He closed his eyes against the killing glare of the fluorescents and focused on his breathing, then staggered out of the elevator with a real sense of accomplishment: no barf left behind!
He ignored the guest babble in the lobby, though normally he liked talking to strangers, especially female strangers. Not today. If he had to focus on anything besides falling down, he would fall down. I’ll give everyone in the hotel a thousand bucks if they just don’t talk to me. Money well spent. He made it through the revolving doors once …
“Agh! Mistake, mistake! Stop the ride!”
… then twice around. The doors spat him out onto the sidewalk, where the sun immediately set about frying him like a T-bone.
Aaaggghhhh, my retinas! Who knew the sun was so huge and hot? In early spring, no less!
Eyes squinched to slits, he shuffled forward, breathing in the, um, fresh air—hmm. There was an odd smell; not bad, but distinct. Familiar. Wherever he was, he’d been there before. That alone was enough to cheer him up, and he squared his shoulders and took a few jaunty steps to his destiny while ignoring the people who were shouting behind him. Back off, strangers! It’s my time to shine! Or at least gobble some crackers.
Then he fell. Not far, thank goodness, but ack cold cold cold! The river/lake/ocean/what-the-hell-ever he’d plunged into was beyond bracing and well into hypothermia-inducing. He popped to the surface like a furious cork and wiped the water out of his eyes. So that’s what they were yelling about. Now would be a good time to start paying attention to my surroundings. Also, ninety seconds ago would have been a good time.
At first he thought the strangers were going to bludgeon him with paddles until he went down and stayed down, the perfect end to a horrific morning. Then he realized they were all extending poles and paddles and
(why????)
bottles of water.
“Venice?” he sputtered, spitting a stream of foul water back into the larger stream of foul water that was the Grand Canal. “I’m in fucking Venice?”
Another Prologue
NEW CHARITY DIRECTOR
Venice, Italy*: The executive director of Support San Basso Families has announced the hire of a new director, Ronald Kovac.
“Mr. Kovac brings to SSBF a decade of running American charitable programs, and we are very excited that he is joining the efforts to raise money for local families in need.”
Mr. Kovac, a native of Colorado, U.S.A., has announced that due to fund-raising efforts he undertook prior to officially taking the job, SSBF will be able to donate 200,000 euros to local families in need in time for Easter. The money will go toward housing repair and food.
“We are tremendously excited to have Mr. Kovac on board at our fine institution. We believe that, as San Basso was once a church and the building has been a part of our history for over a thousand years, SSBF is getting back to its roots, so to speak, by giving back to the community.”
Kovac is a graduate of Harvard Divinity School as well as Harvard Business School.
Media Contact:
SSBF Executive Director
Share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.*
—Hebrews 13:16
One
Months before fucking Venice …
Rake rubbed his forehead and fought down a groan as his twin took the seat across from him. They hadn’t seen each other in months, which was good for all: the two of them, their mother, the population of Las Vegas, society in general.
He sighed and tried to straighten. The movement sent a wall of pain slamming through his brain. “Not that I don’t love being treated to your scowling face in the wee hours—”
Blake sighed. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”
“—but why am I here?” Beside his brother, who sat with perfect posture and was wearing a suit at oh-God-thirty in the morning (though he was his own boss and could lounge in jeans and a T-shirt), Rake felt distinctly rumpled. Possibly because he was distinctly rumpled.
Blake’s dark blond hair