Venetian Valentine Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Read more like this

  Get your copy now

  More exciting books!

  About the Author

  My Bloody Valentine

  VENETIAN VALENTINE

  KRISTIAN PARKER

  Venetian Valentine

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-104-3

  ©Copyright Kristian Parker 2021

  Cover Art by Claire Siemaszkiewicz ©Copyright February 2021

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Pride Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2021 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  My Bloody Valentine

  Venice at Valentine’s? Andrew didn’t bargain on outrunning the Mafia, fighting for his life…or meeting Sergio.

  Post break-up Andrew, in Venice for Valentine’s Day, isn’t alone and pining for very long before handsome local Sergio sweeps him off his feet—and into his gondola.

  What should have been the most romantic evening of Andrew’s life turns into the deadliest when a dying policewoman they rush to help slips them a vital piece of evidence…and they’re accused of shooting her.

  With both the Mafia and corrupt cops in hot pursuit, Andrew and Sergio must deliver the evidence to the only man who can clear their name. The only problem is he lives at the other end of Italy, which sends them on the most action-packed Valentine’s date ever.

  It’s going to take some serious Valentine’s magic for the shy Englishman and the sexy gondolier to have a second date, never mind a chance at a relationship…

  Dedication

  This is for Parky’s Angels.

  I couldn’t do anything without you.

  Author’s Note

  I hope you enjoy this story.

  In order to make it as exciting and fun as possible, a little artistic licence has been used here and there, particularly around timings of things such as day and night and journeys.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG

  Clark Kent: DC Comics

  Disney: The Walt Disney Company

  Ferrari: Ferrari N.V.

  Fiat: Fiat Italy S.p.A.

  iPad: Apple, Inc.

  James Bond: Eon Productions

  Mercedes: Daimler AG

  Orient Express: Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits

  Superman: DC Comics

  Volvo: AB Volvo

  Chapter One

  “Pronto, vuoi un passaggio?”

  Not even in Venice yet and already asked if I wanted a ride.

  I nodded and stepped onto the water taxi. Yes, there were cheaper options, but this being my first trip to the famous island, I wanted to arrive in style.

  The crisp February air hit me as we got out onto the water. Even so, I had no intention of sheltering inside the wooden boat. I hadn’t paid a ridiculous amount of money to miss everything below deck.

  Then I saw it. Venice.

  It took my breath away. Beautiful pastel-coloured buildings lined the coastline with the iconic St Mark’s Campanile dominating the skyline behind. Butterflies filled my stomach as we sped towards our destination. So much history calling to me to discover it.

  Whatever the driver hollered to me, I couldn’t hear above the wind in my ears. I wouldn’t have taken it in anyway, not when the island looming larger in front of me had all my attention.

  Soon it stretched out and filled my eyeline. Details became clearer. The shoreline was busy with traders and visitors and all manner of people. A market selling the usual rubbish was an irresistible call to the tourists. Huge boats tugged gently against their moorings outside big houses. What a life to live in one of those. In this world of water, I couldn’t have been further away from the crowded London streets I was used to.

  We pulled up to a jetty and excitement built inside me.

  “Come ti piace Venice?” asked the driver, spreading his arms wide like an orchestra conductor.

  “Bella.” Yes, I thought Venice beautiful, all right.

  Safe on terra firma and more than ready to dive into this city, I paused at the edge of a group of people congregating on a bridge having their picture taken. They dispersed to reveal the Bridge of Sighs.

  I gawked. This had been high on Matt’s sightseeing list when we’d planned the trip. But he only had himself—and his wandering hands—to blame for missing out.

  I snapped out of it. The bridge before me had seen worse heartbreak than mine—they’d named it the Bridge of Sighs as convicts would get their last view of Venice before succumbing to their gruesome fate in the dungeons down below, and they would sigh.

  I stood staring, absolutely transfixed. I’d only been here for five minutes, but I could understand why those sighs would be filled with such loss.

  Things got even better when I got my first glimpse of a gondolier, expertly steering his craft through the city and under the bridge. I’d been dismissive of the gondolas and their high prices, but now I saw one drifting through the canals, it tempted me. Would I feel like a bit of a loser taking one on my own?

  This city could be full of possibilities for me and I refused to dwell on being alone for this trip. Lots of people travelled solo and now I’d joined their ranks.

  I took a selfie with the bridge in the background and sent it to my friend, Jodie.

  Here safe and sound. Speak soon x.

  Almost immediately I got a reply.

  Go get ’em, tiger.

  My phone told me my hotel lay on the other side of St Mark’s Square. All my life, I had yearned to stroll across one of the mo
st famous squares in the world. Taking a deep breath and channelling my inner chic Italian, I set off to discover what Venice had in store for me.

  Just my luck, the biggest rain shower I’ve ever encountered ruined my picture-postcard arrival. Huge dollops of rain bounced off those iconic cobbles as I dragged my case across them, making it spin out of control. In the end, I just picked it up and made a run for it. Being a lanky six foot two, it was hard for me to run stylishly, and so I ran full pelt. My painstakingly styled blond spikes were flopping with all the water, the hair gel running into my eyes and making them sting.

  I must have looked like a drowned rat by the time I burst through the unassuming doors of the Hotel Buon Sonno, which caused much amusement for the achingly handsome receptionist who greeted me. I ignored his smirk as I dripped on the marble floor, although I did feel like the least glamourous person in Venice.

  He seemed to take an age to check me in and the elevator had to be as old as the city itself as it slowly dragged me to my floor. Finally, I made it to my room and what a treat lay before me. It had a big bed and chaise-longue to the side, causing my inner chic Italian to perk up again. I could imagine myself lazing on there after a hard day’s shopping.

  I unpacked, stashing my money and important stuff in the safe. Jodie had told me about the pickpockets of Venice to the point of paranoia. After that I had a long scrub in the huge walk-in shower to wash the journey away. The monsoon jets soon brought me back to life.

  I lay on the bed in my bathrobe, flicking through the guidebook, when my stomach growled as though a bear had woken up in there. Would anywhere be doing meals this early? Well, time to hit the streets of Venice to find out. Go get ’em, tiger.

  I threw on some clothes and headed out to see what this place had to offer. This time I took my umbrella.

  Hopefully looking a little more presentable, I smiled at the receptionist as I passed him. I might not have been on the romantic getaway I’d hoped for, but why should that stop me having a little—or a lot—of fun? He didn’t return the smile. I supposed with him having seen me at my worst, my best wasn’t likely to impress him.

  Opposite the hotel sat a kind of gondola park. The boats jostled together, awaiting their turn. So did the gondoliers, who laughed and joked to pass the time until their next customer appeared. It might have been February, but that meant Carnival week as well as the romantic epicentre of the year. Plenty of people queued up to pay their extortionate prices. Still tempted to take a ride, I watched a few set off, bearing smiling passengers. My hunger won out this time—my ride could wait for another day.

  I had only just set off in the direction where I thought I’d seen a few restaurants from my window when, suddenly, a gondolier jumped in front of me. He looked so handsome in his standard striped T-shirt and straw hat set at a jaunty angle. He took his hat off and bowed in a ridiculously dramatic fashion. As someone who is easily flustered, I could feel my face going bright red.

  “Well, hello there, stranger. My name is Sergio, the best gondolier in this whole city.”

  All the other gondoliers were laughing and nudging one another…which didn’t help my out-of-control blushes.

  “H-hello,” I stammered.

  “Ah, he is English! I knew it. I said to my friends, here comes a member of the English aristocracy.”

  I might have been named after Prince Andrew, but the similarities ended there. An auntie had traced our family tree once upon a time and found nothing but mill workers and servants. But in Venice, I could be whoever I wanted to be.

  “And you were right,” I said in my poshest voice. “My grandmother, the Queen of England, told me Venice is the only place to be on Valentine’s Day.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. I had never seen someone so jaw-droppingly perfect, from his shiny eyes to his perfectly groomed stubble to his strong arms which held the railing as he leaned backward. I didn’t dare look any lower.

  “Then surely you wish to experience everything Venice has to offer?”

  “Of course I do. But I’ve only just arrived. I want to sample some food first.”

  He winked. “Sergio will help. There is a beautiful pasta place just around the corner. Tell them I sent you.”

  “Oh yes? Will I get a discount?”

  “No, but I will next time I am in.”

  With that, he laughed his infectious laugh and went back to join his fellow boatmen. I watched him go. God bless the gondoliers in their tight black trousers. What a view.

  I decided to take his recommendation. I didn’t fancy spending the evening going from restaurant to restaurant, trying to decide where to eat.

  It paid off. The pasta tasted amazing. The sauce, a local delicacy made with three types of tomato, went perfectly with the white wine they brought me. My table overlooked the Grand Canal, the feature of so many paintings. As evening fell, the restaurants lining the banks turned on strings of bulbs entwined around their awnings, giving it a magical feel. They reflected in the water and cast a dappling light on the grand Rialto Bridge.

  I had truly arrived in Venice. I caught myself checking every gondola for Sergio, which bugged me. The first man to pay me a bit of attention, and I fall hook, line and sinker. Thankfully, he didn’t make an appearance. I wanted my first night in Venice to be for me and not side-tracked by some man…no matter what lay beneath those tight trousers.

  On the way back to the hotel, I had a couple of drinks in a bar. As I curled up in a black wingback chair and sipped my smooth red wine, I looked at my fellow patrons. Carnival fever dominated the bar, with many people in masks and outrageous outfits. A couple in front of me were intertwined, her hanging off his every word and laughing. Tiredness overcame me. It had been stressful travelling on my own for the first time. Draining my glass, I decided an early night could be excused.

  The heavens opened again as I wandered back to my hotel. The gondolas had called it a night when I got there and there was no sign of Sergio. It would have been nice to share the big bed with someone, instead of missing Matt. I fell asleep reciting the reasons why I had split up with him.

  It made for a scarily long list.

  Chapter Two

  I opened my eyes in an unfamiliar room. Sunshine peeked through the blinds and I remembered Venice lay on the other side. I pulled them open to look over the rooftops. I had shaken off the sadness of the previous night and today I’d dive straight into being a tourist. Hours of guidebook reading would not go to waste.

  After a quick shower, I came down to a packed restaurant for breakfast. There were no free tables and I hoped I wouldn’t have to share with someone.

  “Sir, would you like to breakfast with a wonderful view?”

  The waiter pointed to some little Juliet balconies overhanging the canal. An ideal place to sit and eat and, as luck would have it, a couple had vacated one.

  “I would love that.”

  It couldn’t have been more perfect, sitting there eating my croissant. Across from me, the gondoliers were getting their boats ready for the day ahead. They shouted to one another, making jokes or singing loudly. It seemed to be a nice life, being a gondolier.

  I sensed eyes on me, straight ahead from where I sat. My stomach flipped to see Sergio waving madly at me.

  “Buongiorno!”

  I raised my coffee cup, that familiar heat rising up my neck. People around me were staring.

  “Good pasta?” he shouted.

  “Bella.”

  I had hit a wall in the Italian I had tried to memorise from the guidebook.

  The other boatmen laughed. One threw a rag at Sergio, who faked falling to his death. I couldn’t help but laugh with them. He gave me another kilowatt smile before continuing to scrub the boat.

  I crammed such a lot into my first proper morning, doing all the tourist sights, which were heaving. It seemed the idea of spending Valentine’s Day in one of the world’s most romantic cities had been on a lot of people’s lists.

  For lunch, I
stopped at another of the restaurants in the shadow of the magnificent Rialto Bridge. Sipping a chilled glass of prosecco, I watched an argument between two rival waiters, which looked as though it could have a deadly outcome.

  After another huge plate of pasta, this time shrimps in an almost criminal cream sauce, I spent the afternoon wandering around to my heart’s content. I would be spending most of the next month in the gym after this trip, so why not go for it now?

  Jodie had told me I should allow myself to get lost in the winding streets of Venice, that there are usually surprises around every corner. After an hour or so, I had well and truly fallen in love with this beautiful city. Timeless drifting put my worries on the back burner.

  Carnival was everywhere. The streets were once again packed with people dressed in all kinds of outfits and feathers and bright white masks. It gave the already fantastical streets an air of mystery. Going past probably the hundredth shop boasting them, I thought about getting one. No, it would be a bit sad for a lone traveller to wander around searching for a secret assignation. Chance would be a fine thing.

  Dutifully and completely lost, I went round in many circles until I saw a sign for St Mark’s Square. By the time I got back to the hotel, my feet were killing me, yet I didn’t want to let the city go and sit in my room. Instead, I decided a glass of wine on the balcony where I’d had breakfast could be a good choice.

  Sitting amongst my frankly ridiculous number of shopping bags, I sipped the cool wine and exhaled. I could get used to this solo traveller game. It made a nice change to have no-one telling me what they wanted to do and definitely no-one telling me everything I did wrong.

  Being a dedicated people watcher, seeing the gondolas lining up to take on all manner of passengers couldn’t be better. I took another healthy slug of wine and closed my eyes, feeling the mid-February sun slightly warming my face.