Sudden Pleasures

Chapter 9

They were happy together. Ryan was working out a system of cameras that would allow his whole office and workshops to be viewed from his computer at home. He had decided to go into town only once a month for a day. If there was an emergency he would, of course, be available. And he was always available for clients. He had hired Bill away from the car service that had brought his family out to Egret Pointe in mid-October. And he had traded his sports car for a Town Car tricked out with every device he might need. Bill, a bachelor, was offered an apartment above the garages, where a chauffeur used to live when the house had employed a full staff. It even had its own small kitchen, but Bill could eat with the Byrneses, which he preferred to do most nights. He had the weekends off, as Ryan didn't need him then.

Ashley had brought her new employees out to Egret Pointe, and with Nina's help was training them. Lacy Nothings on the Upper East Side and in its suburban mall location would be ready to open on time. On the thirtieth of October, Suzette and Mrs. Babcock, along with their new staffs, departed Egret Pointe. Their stores would be ready for business on November first. Ashley was relieved to have everything going so smoothly. The new catalog, shot in August and mailed in late September, was already bringing in more early orders than she had anticipated.

She and Ryan had taken to eating together in the den now. The porch was closed up for the winter, and the formal dining room was just too big for a single couple. Byrnes set up a table in the den's bay window, where they could watch the moon come up over the bay while they ate in the evening.

"I have to go to Venice next week," Ryan told her one night.

"For how long?" Ashley asked him.

"Just a few days. An old friend, the Contessa di Viscontini, has found a wonderful seventeenth-century wardrobe in a small town over the Austrian border. It's alleged to have belonged to a doge who was her ancestor. She's had it brought to her villa in Venice, but she wants R &R to restore it and make any repairs that are necessary. I don't trust anyone else to oversee the packing of this piece. If it's authentic then it's too valuable to leave in clumsy hands. So I'll go to Venice and see to it myself," Ryan said.

"I'll go with you," Ashley suggested. "The new stores are open as of last weekend, and Nina can handle the shop here, with Brandy coming in Saturday and after school. We haven't had a real honeymoon. I can't think of a more romantic place to have one than in Venice, and I've got the time now. Once the Christmas rush begins I'll be too busy, and as I recall I did promise to throw away my birth control pills once the new stores were up and running. What if I get pregnant? I can't take a honeymoon then."

"November isn't the prettiest month to go to Venice," he said.

"Venice will still be Venice no matter the weather. The Piazza San Marco and the Campanile will still be there whatever time of year it is," Ashley reasoned.

"Venice is one of my favorite cities," he said. "I want you to see it first at its best, not in a month that's apt to be cold and rainy."

"What if it sinks into the sea before I finally get there?" Ashley wanted to know.

Ryan laughed. "Okay, I give up," he told her. "You can come to Venice with me. I suppose you're right. Venice will be Venice no matter what. And better with you. And we'll be staying at the contessa's villa. You'll like Bianca. She's a very cool lady."

"Wouldn't a hotel be better?" Ashley wondered.

"Nope, and besides, Bianca would never let us," he replied.

"How do you know a Venetian contessa?" Ashley asked her husband.

"The summer I was sixteen, Dad took Mom, Deirdre, Frankie, and me to Venice. There was a great craftsman there, Paolo Venutti. My father wanted to learn his technique, and he took only one student each summer. Dad was on his waiting list, and that summer's student canceled. Venutti called Dad, and the next thing I knew we were on a plane. Venutti arranged for us to rent the Conde di Viscontini's guesthouse. He was old and sick, but he needed the income the rental would bring in, and they didn't entertain any longer. His wife was much younger, I guess in her late thirties or early forties then. She welcomed us. She showed Ma where the best markets were, and how to get around the city easily. She found friends for Deirdre, who was twenty then, and really pissed she had to come with us, but my folks weren't leaving her home alone, and the other sisters were all married. None of them wanted the responsibility for her. I don't blame them. Dee was a pretty wild kid then."

"How old was Frankie?" Ashley wanted to know.

"Fourteen, and the contessa found a few friends for her too. They spent more time at the Lido than anywhere else that summer. There was always an older woman, someone's relative, with them to keep them out of trouble." He laughed.

"And what did you do in Venice that summer?" She smiled at the thought of Ryan at sixteen.

"I explored the whole city. I even took Ma with me now and again. Sometimes I went with Frankie to the Lido. And the contessa taught me to speak Italian. In return I taught her English. It was a great summer, as I recall. I hated to come back."

"You've been back since?"

"Three times. The first time was two years later, when Bianca's husband died. My father felt the family should be represented, and so I was sent. The conde's funeral barge, all decked in black, traversed the length of the Grand Canal and back again. I paid my respects and those of my family, and was on the plane again for home. And I've been back twice since, but the contessa was never there when I visited., I haven't seen her in years. Venutti used to do all her restoring, but I imagine he's dead now. I'm surprised she remembered us, but then R &R's reputation is the best."

"Will you take me for a gondola ride in the moonlight?" Ashley asked her husband. "And can we listen to a band concert on the Piazza San Marco?"

"I don't think they do outdoor concerts in November," he told her. "Next time we'll go in summer. But even now there will be lots for you to see while I'm working, and yes, I'll take you for a gondola ride, if I can find a gondola, but I can't guarantee a moon." Ryan chuckled.

"What do you mean, if you can find a gondola? I thought Venice was full of gondolas," Ashley said. "If I go to Venice I have to ride in a gondola. You can't say you've been to Venice if you haven't had a trip in a gondola."

"The gondolas hibernate nowadays," he said. "And it is late in the year. But if the weather is good and there are still some tourists in Venice, then there will be a few gondolas to be had, and we'll go for our ride," he promised her.

"Is there an airport in Venice?" Ashley wanted to know.

"There are two, north of the city. When I went as a kid we flew to Rome, visited some of Ma's relatives, and then took the train into Venice. I remember Frankie and me leaning out of the open window of the first-class carriage Dad had booked, and taking pictures as we came into the city across the lagoon. When we came out of the station we took the vaporetto, which is like a bus, to Piazza Viscontini, and then, lugging our suitcases, we walked the rest of the way," he recalled.

"So how are we going? And do I have to carry my suitcase?" she asked him.

"There's a direct Delta flight from the city to Venice. It's a nine-hour flight. Book us two first-class tickets as soon as you can get us on the plane," Ryan said.

They departed Kennedy two nights later. They had checked one bag each onto the plane. Ashley carried only her handbag on board, and Ryan brought nothing on the plane but a small book on Venetian furniture. They took off their shoes, which were carefully inspected, walked through a metal detector, put their footwear back on, and picked up the book and the handbag. They were then allowed to board. She was glad she didn't have to do a lot of flying these days. It was getting to be more and more of a hassle.

Ashley had been surprised that there were first-class seats available, but it was an odd time of year to be going away for pleasure. And Thursday night wasn't exactly a night for business travel. Their plane was a new one, with seats that turned into single beds. After dinner she and Ryan turned in, falling asleep holding hands. The steward woke them an hour before landing. Looking outside the windows, Ashley noted that it was a beautiful day. A stewardess brought them breakfast: scrambled eggs, croissants, and cafe au lait. They landed right on time.

Aeroporto Marco Polo was six miles north of the city. Claiming their bags, they boarded the shuttle bus that would take them to the dock. Ryan had booked a private powerboat to take them to their destination in the city. When they reached the boats they saw a young man holding up a sign that read, mulcahy, and they headed for him.

"Signore Mulcahy?" the man asked as they reached him.

"Si, Ryan Mulcahy e Signora Mulcahy," Ryan said.

"I speak English, signore. I'm Pietro. Let me take your bags." Reaching for them, the boat captain quickly stored them. Then he helped Ashley into his vessel, followed by Ryan. "I like to practice my English, signore, if you don't mind. It helps me with the tourists in the summer," Pietro told them. "I know the signore speaks Italian, for the contessa has said so.",

"You know where we're going then?" Ryan inquired.

"Palazzo di Viscontini, signore, sz!"

"I take it this isn't a vaporetto," Ashley said, smiling at her husband.

"No. This is first class," Ryan replied with a grin. "The weather is good?" he asked the boat's captain.

"You have brought the good weather with you, signore," Pietro replied. "They say for the next week we will have sun. Unusual for November."

Out in the open water the boat sped its way across the lagoon. Ashley could see the city ahead of her. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, all gold, blue, and with terra cotta roofs. "Where are the gondolas?" she asked Pietro.

"There will be a few still out," he answered her. "Most have been put away for the winter. Not many tourists come to Venice in the winter months, signora."

As they drew closer to the city, Ashley was delighted to see a variety of boat traffic suddenly surrounding them as Pietro slowed down to keep pace with what was definitely a traffic pattern. Ryan pointed out a vaporetto which was the Venetian method of public transportation. Ashley could see it was crowded with rush-hour traffic. What a fun way to commute if you had to commute, she thought. There were other powerboats such as the one they were in. There were barges carrying all manner of goods, but the one that fascinated her was unloading fresh vegetables and fruit at what was obviously a marketplace. They stopped once to allow a boat that was marked as an ambulance to speed by. Everything seemed to use the water here. Finally their boat slowed and turned down a narrow canal. Beyond the buildings on its corner there were trees and gardens on either side of the waterway.

"Canal Viscontini," Pietro said. "It is very special. Even the great palazzos on the Grand Canal do not have this, signora. In the great days the two buildings that we have just passed served as warehouses for the di Viscontini. Like all the seigneury families, their wealth came from trade. To have such a private garden in the midst of the city is unheard-of, and the contessa could gain a great deal of money if she would sell."

"But she will not," Ryan said with a small smile.

"Ah, you know the contessa well, then," Pietro said.

"I stayed with my family in her guesthouse one summer when I was a boy," Ryan said. "She taught me Italian, and I taught her English. Look there, Ash. It's the guesthouse." He pointed to a charming mini villa in the middle of the contessa's gardens. "And look ahead of you. Here is the palazzo. God, I don't think it has changed at all."

"Very little changes in Venezia, signore," Pietro remarked as the powerboat came to a stop beside a stone quay. He tied the vessel to an iron ring in the stone and, climbing out, reached down to help Ashley, and then Ryan. "I will bring your bags," he said.

The door to the palazzo had opened, and a woman came forward to greet them. "Ryan?" She was a beautiful, small woman with flawless skin and red-blond hair cut in a short, fashionable bob. "Ryan! I cannot believe it is you! Dio mio, you are taller than Finbar himself, aren't you?" She reached up as he bent and kissed both of her cheeks. "Welcome back to Venice, cara !” Then the contessa turned and smiled. "You are Ashley, Ryan's bride. I am so glad that you have come. While Ryan fusses with my wardrobe and scolds me about dry rot, you and I shall sightsee. You have never been to Venice, have you? I recognize the look on your face. It is the look that everyone gets who comes for the first time." She kissed Ashley's cheeks. "Welcome! Now come into the house with me, and we'll get you both settled. Have you eaten?" She linked her arms in theirs.

"On the plane, yes, thank you," Ashley said. A palazzo! She was staying in a palace. It was so beautiful. As the boat had come up the little canal she had studied the elegant building ahead of her. It was of red brick that had been worn by wind and weather until it was a rich rose color. It was three stories high, with colonnades and arches. The wide stone quay that they walked across was dotted with great terra-cotta pots filled with rosebushes and ivy. It had obviously not been that cold in Venice yet, for some of the bushes were still in bloom.

They entered the house, and the contessa led them into a beautiful white-and-gold salon. A servant was immediately there, offering them tiny cups of espresso and small pastries. "You were such a boy when I last saw you, Ryan," the contessa said. She turned to Ashley. "But he was quite charming." She laughed. "He thought himself very sophisticated. He roamed all over the city by himself, investigating everything. Considering that he was an American I was very impressed. Never once did he ask me where he might obtain a hamburger."

"What did he look like at sixteen?" Ashley wanted to know.

"Not so tall, but with those same expressive brown eyes and a headful of dark hair," the contessa said. "I thought of him as a young Heathcliff. And he had beautiful manners, which I appreciated." She smiled again. "You must both call me Bianca," she said. "Do you remember that that is my name, Ryan?"

"Yes, I do," Ryan said. He turned to Ashley. "Ma was furious when she heard me address the contessa by her first name. She thought I was being fresh." He chuckled. "Tell me, Bianca, where is the wardrobe?"

"Ah, you are barely off the plane and you wish to work? You are indeed your father's son, Ryan. Old Venutti always said that Finbar Mulcahy was the best student apprentice that he ever taught. He died several years ago."

"Is that why you called me?" Ryan had suspected it.

"Your reputation is exceptional," the contessa told him. "This is a rare piece with a wonderful provenance. I want only the best man to restore it. You are that man. But I am being rude. Let me have one of the servants escort you to your room. Then come back, and I will take you to see the wardrobe. Si?"

"Si," he agreed.

Ashley and Ryan followed upstairs the serving man who answered the contessa's call, and they were shown to a large, airy bedroom. Ryan assured the servant that he could find his way back downstairs again, and then they were alone. Ashley went over to the windows of the room and pushed open and back the long shutters. There was a wrought-iron railing at each window, and to her surprise the view over the garden and the rooftops beyond was of the Grand Canal. "It's beautiful!" She gasped. "It's like being in another world, Ryan!" Turning, she hugged him. "Thank you for letting me come!"

"I'm glad you're with me, baby," he told her. Then, turning her from the windows, he said, "Look at that bed. Is that not the most baroque piece of furniture you've ever seen? It is a bed made for lovers, Ashley." He flopped down on the bed, and then he grinned. "Come here," he said.

"You've got to go to work, remember?" she admonished him.

"I know, but I want you to see something." He beckoned her over.

Ashley joined him on the big bed. "What?" she said.

"Look up," he said.

The bed had a wooden canopy, and it was painted with cupids, naked full-breasted maidens, and well-endowed gentlemen cavorting about an oval mirror that had been set in the very center of the canopy.

"Oh, my God!" Ashley exclaimed, feeling a blush rising.

"Indeed," Ryan said, chuckling.

"I cannot make love with you in this bed with that mirror hanging over us," she said. "It's… it's… it's… obscene!"

"It's fun," he replied. "You'll like it, Ash. It'll be a real turn-on seeing me fucking you, and when I watch you riding me I'm going to love it. I can't wait until tonight, baby. Just seeing us here side by side is getting me all excited."

Ashley jumped up from the bed. "Don't you dare go downstairs to look at her wardrobe with a hard-on," she scolded him.

He chuckled wickedly. "I missed you last night."

"I was sleeping right next to you," she said.

"I didn't have a chance to initiate you into the Mile-high Club," he teased her. "We'll have to do that on the way home next week."

"You're terrible! Don't you ever think of anything else but sex?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do think of other stuff, like the business, but I seem to be married to a very sexy woman, and I can't seem to get enough of her." He got up.

"Go downstairs and think dry rot," she told him.

"What will you do while I'm gone?" he asked.

"Unpack," she answered. "Now get out of here, Ryan!"

He left her with a grin, and Ashley couldn't help but grin too. She spent the next hour unpacking their two bags, carefully hanging up garments in a baroque wardrobe. Other garments she placed carefully in the drawers of the wardrobe. Then she tucked the two suitcases beneath the big bed. Their bedroom had a bathroom, and Ashley inspected it. It was all black-and-white marble and tile. There was a bidet and a commode, a sink, a shower, and an old-fashioned tub. Everything was spotless, and nothing showed any wear. Ashley laughed to herself, thinking back to the first time she had seen a bidet. It had been that Paris trip when Ben had joined them. He had her convinced it was for washing her feet until a shriek from the chambermaid, followed by her explanation of what a bidet was really for, cleared it all up. Ben and Grandfather had both laughed until they were crying at her outrage and embarrassment.

Ashley felt the tears come. She really missed her brother and her grandfather. She wished they had gotten to meet Ryan, but then, if Ben were alive there would have been no necessity to get married, and she might never have met Ryan Finbar Mulcahy. Was it a good trade? she wondered. But why couldn't she have had both, her brother and her husband? She had not brought her birth control pills with her. If she had a little boy she was going to name him after Ben. Benjamin Kimbrough Mulcahy. Then she would have both Ryan and Ben in her life again.

The manservant came to escort her back downstairs. She followed him.

"It's got some dry rot, Bianca," she heard Ryan saying to the contessa as she entered the smaller salon to which she had been escorted. "But it's in surprisingly good condition, considering its age and its travels. How the hell did it end up in Austria?"

"About three hundred years ago a di Viscontini virgin was married to some Austrian nobleman. I suppose it was part of her dowry. It had originally been made for a doge who was faintly related to the family. How it came into our possession I have no idea. One of my friends was in a small antique shop in Austria a few months ago. He found the girl's name on the inside of a drawer. Lucrezia di Viscontini was her name. It was too good a piece to have belonged to some peasant girl, so she called me. I checked the family records, and sure enough a Lucrezia di Viscontini was married to Count Otto Von Brunner back in 1653. The wardrobe was listed among her dowry possessions."

"Amazing!" Ryan, said running his hand over the door of the wardrobe. "Okay, Bianca, how much restoration do you want done? The piece is walnut, and it's filthy. Do you consider dirt antique value, or do you want it cleaned back to its original state? There are two schools on that. Some people think removing the grime takes away the antique value. Others don't."

"I want the piece to look the way it did originally, and I do not believe the filth of several centuries adds anything to it," the contessa said. "Clean it up, Ryan, and do whatever else needs to be done to bring it back to its original condition."

He nodded. "You're also missing a hinge and some hardware. I'm going to take them all off the wardrobe and see what I can match here in Venice. If I can't match the missing stuff here, then I have a man back in the States who can. He'll make molds of the originals, and then cast new hinges and hardware."

"You are very thorough," she told him.

"My father always said it wasn't worth doing if you didn't do it right," Ryan answered her. He turned at the sound of Ashley's footfall. "Here's my girl."

"And it is time for luncheon, and then siesta," the contessa said. "Come along." She led them from the room where the wardrobe stood, and into a small dining room.

A servant seated the contessa while Ryan held out Ashley's chair before seating himself. Immediately the food was brought. First small plates of bigoli, a whole-wheat pasta, were served with a light tomato sauce. This was followed by a lemon chicken with steamed zucchini. Finally a bowl of fresh fruit was brought. There were red grapes, slices of green and yellow melon, and small brown pears.

"I like to serve the bigoli with a salsa of onion, oil, and anchovies, but I did not know if you would enjoy it," the contessa said. "Americans are more used to a tomato-based sauce."

"I like fish," Ashley said, "but I will admit that anchovies are not a favorite of mine. The pasta was lovely, and your sauce wonderful."

"We eat dinner late in Venice," the contessa said. "Eight or nine o'clock. I hope you will not be hungry before then. Now, I am going to let you rest for the remainder of today, but tomorrow, while Ryan works with the carpenters to build the container in which to ship my wardrobe, I should like to show you my Venice."

"That is so kind," Ashley replied. "I do not wish to be a bother."

"You are no bother," the contessa insisted. "This is my home. I was born and raised in Venice. I love showing it off."

"Then I accept," Ashley said with a smile.

"'Bene!" the contessa responded. "And now I shall go and take my siesta."

They left the dining room, and Ryan and Ashley returned upstairs to their bedroom.

"I think I could take a nap," Ashley admitted. "I think the jet lag is beginning to catch up with me." She kicked off her shoes and yawned. Then, slipping off her travel clothes, she pulled on a silk robe over her nakedness.

"I want to go back downstairs and check out that piece again," he said. He had watched her undress swiftly, and enjoyed the glimpses of her lush body.

"Go ahead," she told him, and lay down on the bed as the door closed behind him. She tried to avoid looking up, but it was impossible. She giggled when she did. Ashley wasn't certain whether she could allow her passions free rein in a bed with a mirrored canopy. She suspected she was going to find out, however. Ashley yawned again. She hadn't realized how tired she really was, and then she fell asleep. When Ryan came back an hour or more later, he found his wife sleeping soundly. He smiled down at her. She looked so cute all curled up, a ray of afternoon sunlight touching her bare feet, which stuck out from beneath her silk robe. He stripped off his clothes. It wasn't even four yet, and dinner would not be served until after eight. Lying down, he spooned up against her, one hand reaching around to clasp a breast beneath her robe. He fondled the breast, teasing at the nipple, kissing the nape of her neck.

"Ummmm," she murmured.

"I want to make love to you," he said softly. "Here on a beautiful Venetian afternoon. Now." He pressed up against her tightly.

"There's a mirror over us," she replied low. "I don't think I can do it in a mirror."

"You don't have to look," Ryan said. He pinched her nipple. "You always close your eyes anyway when we get to a certain point."

"I won't be able to look away," she said.

"Stay on your side then," he suggested, pushing up the silk to bare her buttocks. "I know what we can do," Ryan said. "Get over on your tummy, Ash."

The bed shifted beneath them as she complied.

"Now bring your legs up beneath you, and stretch your torso and arms forward so that your butt is elevated. Yeah, that's good."

Ashley felt the mattress shift again as Ryan knelt behind her. He ran his hands over her rounded bottom slowly, seductively, and she shivered.

"Can't see the mirror now, can you?" he asked.

Ashley had to admit she couldn't see the mirror even if she turned her head. She felt him reaching beneath her to find and play with her clit. She squirmed as he began to arouse her lusts. Twice she squealed with pleasure. Then she felt him positioning himself, and his thick long cock slid into her vagina. "Oh, God, yes!" she sighed. "Why is it, Ryan, that you feel so good?"

"Because my dick was fashioned just for that tight cunt of yours, baby." He groaned. Then, fastening his big hands about her firm hips, he thrust hard, deep. "Damn!" he moaned. "You feel so good. You're tight and hot, Ash. I could stay inside you forever, but right now I just want to fuck you." He began to drive himself in and out of her with hard, fast strokes. Looking up, he almost came then and there. The antique mirror gave a golden hue to their bodies, and seeing himself, his cock deep inside her, her round ass raised up, was more exciting than anything he had ever watched before.

"Make me come, Ryan!" she sobbed. "Make me come!"

He realized that he had slowed his pace, so fascinated j was he by the tableau in the mirror. He increased his rhythm, r struggling to hold his own climax in check until she was I near hers. And then he felt her tightening about him, and [the spasms came. He let himself go and flooded her with his j cum.

"Ohh." Ashley sighed deeply. "That was soo good, darling."

“Yeah, it was," he agreed. He fell back on the bed and pulled her onto his smooth chest. "Do you want to know how we looked in that mirror? It was the sexiest thing I've ever seen, Ash. The mirror is so old that it gives our bodies a golden look."

"But you could see what you were doing without looking up," she said.

"But I wanted to look up, and what I saw in the mirror was even more exciting than what I could see right before me," Ryan told her. "I had one hell of a time holding back."

"You were wonderful," Ashley purred. She nibbled at his shoulder. "And you taste good too." She licked his skin with leisurely strokes of her tongue.

"Behave yourself," he said sternly. "You're going to make me hot again, and I can't let you exhaust me, baby. I have to begin work tomorrow."

"So," she replied, "having satisfied your lust, you're going to toss me aside now?"

"I will never toss you aside, but you've already had a little nap while I worked downstairs. Now I need a nap so that when we go down to dinner the contessa doesn't think we've been doing nothing but fucking all siesta," he told her.

"If she didn't think we would be making love," Ashley reasoned, "she wouldn't have given us a bed with a mirror in its canopy."

"I imagine the other bedrooms are even more sensual. It's the nature of a sixteenth-century Venetian palazzo to be devoted to the pleasures of the senses," he said. "You should see the bedroom ceilings in the guesthouse before we go back. My poor mother was horrified. She had the servants stretch sheets across them so we wouldn't be able to see them and be led astray." He laughed. "But I figured a way to loosen the sheets to look at the ceiling in my bedroom at night, and then cover it again in the morning. I was one horny sixteen-year-old."

Ashley giggled. "And you're one horny thirty-nine-year-old," she told him, snuggling now into the curve of his arm. "Good thing I love you, Ryan."

He smiled into her hair. "Good thing I love you too," he told her.

They slept, awakening to see the sky beyond their windows darkening with evening. After bathing and dressing, they joined the contessa in a small salon for an aperitif before dinner. And after dinner they sat again in the salon talking, until Bianca di Viscontini arose and excused herself.

"I am not," she said, "as young as I once was." And she smiled. "I now must seek my bed before midnight, but Ryan, feel free to take your lovely wife and explore some of Venice's nightlife."

"Not tonight, Bianca. We are both still tired from our flight, and tomorrow I wish to begin the construction of the crate. Your workmen will be here early, I know," he said.

When they returned to their bedroom they discovered the bed had been remade and turned down for the night.

When Ashley awoke the following morning Ryan was already gone from their bed. Sleepy still, she turned over and fell back into slumber, awakening only when the sound of their bedroom door clicked open. Ashley turned over as a woman in a maid's uniform came in with a tray.

"Buon giorno, signora," the servant said. She set the tray down on a small table and, going to the bed, plumped the pillows so Ashley might sit up. Then, fetching the tray, she set it on Ashley's lap. "Ecco la prima colazione."

"Parla lei inglese?" Ashley asked.

"Si, signora," the maid answered.

"Where is my husband?"

"He is in the salon with the workmen."

"Grazie," Ashley said, and the maid left the room with a nod of her head.

On the tray Ashley found a plate with a small portion of scrambled eggs, a slice of melon, a croissant, butter, and a cup of cappuccino. To her surprise she discovered she was hungry, and ate it all, savoring the cappuccino, which Ryan had explained to her Italians drank in the morning, and not anytime of day. When she had finished her meal she got up, showered, and got dressed. She chose a pair of beige slacks in a mix of light wool and silk, and a cream-colored wool turtleneck. Her watch said ten thirty. She had really slept in. Ashley brushed her hair and put on some lipstick and gold earrings before heading downstairs.

Hesitating at the bottom of the stairs, she was rescued from her predicament by the contessa's butler, who, seeing her, said, "The contessa is awaiting you in the blue salon, signora. I will show you." And he did.

"Good morning," Ashley greeted her hostess. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I seem to have overslept."

"No, no," Bianca di Viscontini told her. "I am only just down myself. I have the habit of breakfast in bed at nine thirty each morning. It is a privilege I allow myself now that I am to be sixty. I am amazed to realize I have lived six decades," she said with a laugh. "My poor husband died when he was sixty-three, but then, he had been ill for so many years. It was why we had no children. Do you want children? I can see Ryan as a father." And Bianca di Viscontini smiled.

"Yes, we want children," Ashley answered. "Soon. I am not a young girl."

"You are beautiful, and perfect for him. You do not take him too seriously, or defer to him, as his mama and sisters were always doing. As the only boy he was very much spoiled, I fear," the contessa said. "Did Elvira bring you your breakfast?"

"Yes, it was wonderful. Usually Byrnes brings me coffee in the morning, but to have such a lovely little meal and a cappuccino was quite a treat. When will you be sixty? You don't look like a woman of sixty."

"December third," the contessa said. "I think sixty today is very different from when my own mother was sixty."

"You are December born? I am the ninth," Ashley told the contessa.

"Then we two Sagittarians should get on famously," Bianca said. "Are you ready to do a little sightseeing?"

"I am!" Ashley agreed.

"Come along then," Bianca di Viscontini said and she led her guest outside and across the broad cobbled street to the quay where a gondola awaited them. "I think you will enjoy the flavor of the city better if we travel by gondola rather than a powerboat," she told Ashley as they stepped down into the vessel and seated themselves.

"Buon giorno, contessa," the gondelier said as they entered his boat. Then as soon as he saw they were comfortably seated, he pushed away from the quay, and began to row down the small canal.

Ashley could feel the pull of the current as their gondola entered the Grand Canal, and she looked at the city about her. "This is so beautiful," she said. "The colors, the way the sunlight hits them. It really is an artist's city."

"It is even more brilliant in the summer, when the sun is higher," Bianca said. "For now the color is muted, more like the canvas of a French Impressionist painter. But it doesn't matter what time of year it is. I love this city!"

"I can certainly understand why," Ashley responded.

"I will take you first to the Piazza San Marco," Bianca said. "We are not far from it. But first you should know a little bit of our history, of how Venice came into being. At first it was just a few small joined towns built about the lagoon, perhaps late in the fifth century, perhaps a bit earlier. Rome was in its decline. The barbarians had fallen upon its civilization and were devouring it. At first the refugees from the violence would return to their destroyed homes, but eventually many made up their minds not to stay. They sought a place that would be difficult and unappealing to the Goths, the Huns, and the others who followed them to attack. I will not bore you with an in-depth history. We pledged our loyalties to the emperor in Constantinople. While Europe struggled in the barbaric time known as the Dark Ages, we organized and grew within the safety of the Eastern empire. We were known as Byzantium's favorite daughter, and the truth is we were a Byzantine city, yet different from other Byzantine cities. The city as we know it today, with its walls, its plazas, towers, and palazzos, emerged from the mud banks and waters of the lagoon. Sometimes we were protected by the armies of Byzantium. Sometimes we sent our mercenaries to fight for Byzantium." She stopped in her recitation. "Ah, here we are at the Piazza San Marco." The gondola slipped into a mooring, and the gondolier jumped out to help his passengers. "You will wait for us, Antonio," the contessa said in quick Italian.

"The American is very pretty," the gondolier replied in the same language.

"She is a married woman," the contessa replied.

"I like a woman with experience," he said with a grin.

"Behave yourself, you bad boy," the contessa scolded him. She turned to Ashley. "Are the columns flanking the piazza not glorious? That one is topped by the winged lion of Saint Mark, the spiritual guardian of Venice. The other is crowned with Saint Theodore, who was once considered our spiritual guardian. Long ago they hanged criminals from those columns, a poor use of such beauty to pair it with such ugliness as an execution."

The two women made their way across the piazza through large flocks of pigeons strutting about, cadging for food, and toward the great domed cathedral of Saint Mark.

"There have always been great festivals held in the piazza and before the cathedral," the contessa said. "The Fourth Crusade set out from here."

They entered the basilica of Saint Mark, and Ashley was rendered breathless by its beauty. "There is something very Eastern here," she said.

You are clever to have realized that," the contessa said. "Byzantium was very Oriental in its way, and Venice has traded with the Eastern lands for centuries. One of our doges asked that every ship trading with Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and the like return with objets d'art that could be used to beautify our city. The lion of St. Mark's, with his agate eyes, came from Syria. It is actually a chimera. And see the screen behind the high altar? We call it the Pala d'Oro. It was beaten into its great form by goldsmiths in Byzantium, and beautifully decorated by the finest jewelers in Byzantium. It seems to radiate light, doesn't it?" the contessa said.

After they had seen the great church, the contessa pointed out the Doge's Palace, which stood on one side of the piazza. Next the contessa led Ashley from the great piazza across a stone bridge into a charming small square. The square had several tiny shops, and a little cafe with tables outside beneath a striped awning. It was there they stopped to have a light lunch before walking back to their gondola to return to the palazzo for the siesta hour.

"Tomorrow at eleven," the contessa told the gondolier.

Ashley thanked the contessa for the morning, and went to see how Ryan was doing. She found him sitting with the workmen eating bread, sausage, and cheese, and sharing a bottle of Chianti. A huge half-finished crate was now taking up part of the salon, empty of furniture but for the wardrobe. "Wow, you got a lot done this morning," she said. "You should get it finished by day's end."

"Almost finished," he told her. "Remember, siesta. The men will eat, and then stretch out to sleep for an hour or more. Did you have a good morning?"

"Wonderful, starting with breakfast in bed," Ashley told him. "I could get used to this Venetian way of life, Ryan."

"Are you going upstairs now?"

"Uh-huh. Are you?" she teased him.

He sighed. "I'll take my siesta here," he said. "That way I'll be ready to go back to work when the men are. I want the crate finished by tomorrow morning. It's going to take another full day to pack it, and then I want to be here when FedEx picks it up the day after. Then we'll head home, baby."

"I'll go take my siesta alone then," she said with a smile at him, and with a wave of her hand she left him.

"Sposato?" one of the workmen asked.

"Si," Ryan replied.

"Ella e bella ragazza," the workman said, nodding approvingly.

"Mille grazie," Ryan told him with a smile.

The following day the contessa took Ashley to see the great church of San Giorgio Maggiore, and they visited the public gardens, a swath of green on the Bacino di San Marco. But then to Ashley's surprise the gondola headed back up the Grand Canal, bypassing the little canal that led to the palazzo.

"There is a woman I want you to visit," the contessa said with a smile as their vessel turned into a small canal and docked itself. "It is not far, and I see you are wise enough to wear sensible shoes."

Mystified, but nonetheless curious, Ashley followed her hostess into another of Venice's small, pretty squares, where Bianca led her into a charming little shop. Ashley's green eyes lit up when she saw the exquisite lingerie displayed.

"This is the shop of Valentina Sforza," the contessa explained. "She has a mulberry garden outside of the city where she raises silkworms. She has a coterie of village women who harvest the cocoons and then spin the threads into fabric. From that fabric she makes, as you can see, the most beautiful one-of-a-kind garments. I thought that perhaps you might be interested in her work."

Ashley was already examining the negligees and other intimate garments on display throughout the shop. They were beautiful, and the workmanship was the absolute best. "Yes," she said, suddenly all business. "I am most interested in this woman's work, Bianca. I should like to speak to her."

"As she does not speak English, and your Italian is charming, but scant, I will translate for you," the contessa said. "May I present to you Signora Valentina Sforza."

"Tell her I am delighted to meet her, and that never have I seen such exquisite work," Ashley replied.

Bianca spoke quickly to the dark-haired older woman who had been behind a counter since their arrival. The woman was dressed all in black. She chattered back to the contessa, who then said, "The signora thanks you. She wants to know if you wish to purchase something."

"Tell her I have three shops in the United States. We carry only the finest intimate garments for women. I want to know if she can supply me with her work."

Bianca spoke again. Signora Sforza spoke. The contessa then turned back to Ashley. "Signora Sforza says because her garments are handmade from her carefully raised silk, she is unable to supply in quantity like some factory."

Ashley smiled archly. The bargaining had begun. "Please tell Signora Sforza that I am not interested in quantity. I seek only quality. I would require six garments three times a year, to be delivered in November, January, and May. I will set up an account here in Venice with FedEx or DHL that will be my responsibility. Does she have a computer and e-mail?"

The contessa translated. "Yes, she has e-mail."

"Good," Ashley replied. "Then she will be able to communicate with me. My husband's Italian is good, and he can translate her messages to me, and tell me what to write to her. Now, can she deliver what I require?"

The contessa spoke. Signora Sforza spoke, and then Bianca turned to Ashley. "When would this arrangement begin?" she asked.

"I will, with her permission, pick out six garments today, and pay for them. She will prepare them for shipping, and I will send someone for them. I will expect the next six garments in January. Can she have them ready then?"

The contessa spoke earnestly to Signora Sforza. The conversation was longer than the previous ones had been, and Ashley wished she were able to understand. Finally the contessa said, "She wants to know where her creations will be sold."

"Tell her I have three shops, but her garments will be sold only in New York, where the rich and famous will clamor for them."

"She wants her label in them," the contessa said.

"Tell her no. I will pay whatever she asks within reason, but if her label is in the garment, people would know where they came from, and would trade with her directly. I must keep her exclusive to Lacy Nothings. If she prefers not to sell to me I will buy something for myself and let the matter go." Ashley turned away and began examining a nightgown. Her heart was hammering. She really wanted the signora's work, but she wasn't going to introduce it into the States, only to have Neiman Marcus steal the designer away from her. "You might tell her a large store will attempt to copy her work," Ashley said, "and then we will both lose."

The two older women exchanged more talk, and finally the contessa said, "She will agree to this arrangement for two years. After that your agreement must be renewed. Can you live with that?"

"Si," Ashley said with a smile, holding out her hand to Signora Sforza. "Mille grazie, Valentina."

The designer smiled and nodded. Then she said something to Bianca, who laughed.

"She says her creations will be very expensive," the contessa told Ashley.

Ashley nodded. "Let me pick what I want, and then she^s will tell me."

Returning to the palazzo, she thanked the contessa. "The New York store will have people going wild over the signora's work," Ashley told the older woman. "Very wealthy men at Christmas who can't spend the holiday with their mistresses will snap up these negligees." She chuckled. "And they will pay the price I charge."

"What will you charge?" the contessa asked curiously.

"I don't know yet," Ashley said. "I must work out what it costs me to purchase them. Not just the signora's price, but the cost of shipping and gift wrapping them, for they will have to be wrapped beautifully. The presentation is every bit as important as is the gift inside the box, especially when you are disappointing a woman."

"She overcharged you," the contessa said.

"I know," Ashley replied. "But it is actually reasonable by American standards. Thank you so much for introducing me to her work. It really is quite beautiful and very unique. I'm just sorry I can't carry it in Egret Pointe, but my trade there would not go the cost, nor would the mall shop."

They sat to have afternoon tea in the contessa's small garden.

"I must go to Milano tomorrow," Bianca di Viscontini informed Ashley. "I shall not see you again. I hope you will not mind being on your own in the palazzo. Antonio and his gondola will be at your disposal, but beware of him," she said with a smile. "He would like to seduce you. All these young gondoliers live to seduce an American lady."

Ashley laughed. "I'll take Ryan with me. They have already begun loading the wardrobe into the crate this afternoon. Why are you going to Milan?"

"I have the final fittings on my winter wardrobe," the contessa told her. "I saw several wonderful outfits at the autumn shows last spring. Now that I am a wealthy widow I find that gossip and fashion fill my world."

"I will miss your company," Ashley said. "You have been such a wonderful hostess to us, but I shall not mind staying in your palazzo for a day or two more and pretending it is mine, and that I am a princess."

Bianca di Viscontini smiled warmly. "I am so glad you have enjoyed your visit."

They had a wonderful dinner that evening, but Ashley awoke after they had gone to bed to find Ryan was not by her side. Hearing voices on the terrace below, she got out of bed and, going to the window, looked down. She could see the shadowed forms of two people stretched out together on a chaise. They were speaking Italian, but she recognized the voices of both her husband and the contessa. What was Ryan doing with Bianca di Viscontini so late at night? She stood next to the window's balcony railing, watching for some minutes. Then finally, to her relief, the couple on the chaise got up, embraced, and then went back inside the palazzo. Ashley got back into bed quickly, and shortly she heard the bedroom door open, and her husband slipped into bed beside her.

She pretended to be asleep, as she had obviously been when he had left her. And why had he left her? And why was he lying on a double chaise with the contessa? She didn't know how to ask him without revealing that she had been spying on him. Then she chided herself for being silly. They were old friends. The contessa was twenty years older than her husband. Tomorrow Bianca di Viscontini would be gone to Milan, and the palazzo was theirs, and she was going to look up into that mirror over them while Ryan made love to her, Ashley decided. But still her curiosity nagged her. Maybe one day she would ask her husband why he had gotten up in the middle of the night to speak with another woman. But not this day. Or tomorrow, or the tomorrow after that. But one day.