sisterly quarrels.
Trust me, that’s something we’re both good at.
‘Would someone mind filling me in?’
We exchange glances. Sheepishly Kate turns her attention back to her drink.
Which leaves me.
I hesitate.
‘Well?’ Robyn looks at me expectantly.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I mutter dismissively.
‘It sure as hell doesn’t sound like nothing,’ remarks Robyn, raising her eyebrows. ‘C’mon, I want all the juicy details.’
I think about resisting, but the beer is weaving a warm path inside me and I can feel my defences weakening.
‘Do I have to remind you that I stick needles into people for a living?’ She fires me her most threatening look, which couldn’t be less threatening, but still.
I swallow hard, my mind flicking back. ‘It was the summer of 1999. I was nineteen and studying art in Venice, Italy.’ I start talking quickly, the words tumbling out. I’m keen to get it over and done with. ‘His name was Nathaniel and he was twenty and an American on the Harvard summer programme, studying the Renaissance painters. Afterwards I went back to England and he went back to America—’
‘You’ve missed out the bit about the bridge,’ interrupts my sister.
Unknown
My momentum broken, I throw her a furious glance, but she’s...
I turn back to Robyn. ‘Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. First I should tell you how it all started.’ As the memory comes flooding back, my stomach starts whooshing giddily and I take a deep breath to steady my voice. ‘Let me tell you about the legend of the Bridge of Sighs . . .’
Chapter Three
‘Wow, how romantic.’ Robyn lets out a loud sigh.
As I finish telling the story, I zone back to the bar. Elbows leaning on the counter, chin cupped in her hands, Robyn’s got a strange, dreamy expression on her face. Like she’s in some kind of trance.
She’s not the only one, I realise, noticing several people along the bar who have stopped their conversations and are leaning in to listen. Seeing my captivated audience, I feel a prickle of self-consciousness and glance around awkwardly, only to see a group of girls sitting at a table behind me, waiting expectantly.
‘So did you kiss underneath the bridge?’ asks one of them, mascaraed eyes wide.
I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I’ve never been much of a public speaker and now suddenly here I am, orating to an entire New York bar.
h=“. I’ve ne=”justify">‘Well?’ coaxes her redheaded friend, clutching her martini glass to her cleavage with anticipation.
My mind wanders back to that evening, all those years ago. ‘We didn’t have enough money. We were totally broke in those days . . .’
There’s an audible groan of disappointment.
‘ . . . but Nathaniel bribed a local gondolier with some pot,’ I finish, laughing at the memory of the young Italian in his stripy shirt, stoned and giggly.
‘So did he take you?’
I hear a male voice and turn to see a burly banker type, shirt unbuttoned, tie loosened. The hope on his face is tangible.
‘Stop interrupting. Let her tell the story,’ shushes someone else loudly.
‘So we met at sunset . . .’ I continue, an image of the tangerine sky popping into my mind. It had been such an amazing sunset. Multicoloured streaks had lit up the sky in a blaze of colour, bathing the ancient buildings of Venice in a fiery glow. I’ve seen many sunsets before and since, but none has ever seemed as special. ‘ . . . and he rowed us out on to the canal.’
I can see Nate’s hand helping me into the gondola, feel his arm round my shoulder as we snuggle together on the worn velvet cushions, hear the water lapping against the banks of the canal.
‘Just as the bells started ringing, we reached the bridge . . .’
For a brief moment I’m right back there. The distant echoes of Venetian life are filling the warm evening air and I’m looking at Nate and he’s brushing the hair out of my face and we’re laughing like a couple of lovestruck teenagers. Because that’s what we are: a couple of lovestruck teenagers.
‘So do you think this is really going to work?’ he’s asking, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
Catching the laughter in my throat, I gaze up into his pale blue eyes, at the dark grey flecks around his irises, the pale blond eyelashes. I want to absorb every detail. I don’t want to forget a single thing.
‘I hope so.’ I smile back, nuzzling my nose against his neck and inhaling the soft, warm scent of