“A pigeon.”

The way I say it, well, I hope she understands what’s behind it.

Because I’m smiling. Because I can’t fucking help myself.

I’m not laughing. At least, I’m definitely not laughing at her.

But Nicole—she smiles back, and I think she understands.

“Who would’ve thought?” she asks, mirroring my own thoughts.

My affinity for birds and animals of all stripes is very well established in my life.

But, pigeons...

I mean, I feel like an asshole even thinking about my usual attitude about them, but there’s a fucking million of them, everywhere—especially here in Venice.

Yet, the concern that I not only see in Nicole’s eyes, but I can still feel coming from her almost tangibly, is very quickly changing my attitude towards a lot of things.

The concern about the poor little bird, and the concern about my portrait, now sailing free above the canals through the evening air.

To be clear, I never had anything against pigeons, they just never seemed that novel to me, compared to other creatures. Feral pigeons ruled my backyard growing up, and they can always be counted on to crowd any open, public space on both sides of the Atlantic, so they always seemed more like background scenery than anything else.

But sensing and feeling the way Nicole feels towards this helpless creature, lost in a big, bewildering city, I see these countless birds as more alive than I’ve ever seen them.

Bear with me here, because that makes me realize that I’m alive.

I know, right? What the fuck?

But it really makes me feel like I’m alive out here on this goddamn hotel balcony, and it makes me feel like even that portrait of me, flying free through the Mediterranean air, is also somehow alive.

Limitless.

She’s limitless.

And so fucking hot—I could stand here staring at her dumbly forever, but I don’t think she’ll have much patience for that. I think she wants to see more of this amazing city that I’m lucky to have as a backdrop.

“Uh, so yeah.”

Holy shit, I’m not used to getting nervous, but it’s starting to happen now. Like I said, it’s a good thing I’ve got Venice.

“Have you ever heard of Harry’s Bar?”

“No. Is that in Venice? It doesn’t sound very...Venetian.”

“That’s because it’s named after this guy Harry, from Boston, who gave this other guy Giuseppe, from Italy, the loan to open the bar. It’s not far from here.”

“Hmm.”

Sensing Nicole is getting bored, I try to quickly wrap up the lecture.

“Chaplin, Ernest Hemingway, Truman Capote, Orson Welles, Hitchcock—they used to hang out there all the time. Kim Kardashian still does, sometimes. We could get a drink there, some carpaccio...”

“Are we really going to run into the Kardashians there? I don’t know if I can keep up with that list of celebrities you mentioned.”

Nicole’s dusky, soulful eyes are glittering as they lock on mine.

“They wouldn’t be able to keep up with you. Any of them.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

A subtle smile emerges from Nicole’s lips that tells me that she does indeed know.

That she may be well aware of the power she has, but it’s no big deal to her.

So what if she could outdo every last person on earth in terms of class, beauty, and just pure fucking sexiness?

I’m sure she doesn’t think of herself in those terms, but in a way, I think she knows all of it. The sexiest thing of all is it’s no big deal to her.

“Just for a drink, Nicole. And maybe an appetizer. And then we’ll see where the Venetian evening takes us.”

“If it brings us some food, that’ll be a start.”

Her eyes are slaying me with their dark, sparkling power. Luciano is long gone, exploring the great indoors. My portrait is also long gone.

It’s just Nicole. And me.

It’s time for us to maximize this evening, to live it to its fullest potential.

“The evening’ll bring us whatever we want, and it’ll bring you whatever you want. And if it doesn’t, I’ll kick the evening’s ass.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that. Does Harry’s Bar have more than just carpaccio?”

“Like I said—whatever you want.”

“Good. Let’s go, then. Luciano will be fine, right?”

The faint fluttering somewhere behind me tells me Luciano’s doing better than ever.

“He probably needs some alone time. He’s not used to hanging out with people, so we don’t want to overdo it tonight.”

“Not for him, at least.”

Nicole’s eyes are going into overdrive now or something like that. They’re about to burn two holes straight fucking through me if I keep standing here—that’s for damn sure.

“Let’s go get that fucking drink, and whatever else you want.”

“Whatever else I want. Sounds perfect.”

And it does. And it is perfect—starting with the walk to Harry’s.

It’s just a walk, no fancy gondolas or canal crossing necessary. Just the warm, evening air, the quiet streets, and the pigeons winging lightly in the distance. Nicole’s full, chiming laughter is an unstoppable recipe for perfection.

It’s a recipe that’s coming out more delicious than any fucking carpaccio, although the first thing I notice after holding the door for Nicole and following her into Harry’s is the scent of thinly sliced meat covered in that famously guarded preparation of a sauce.

The brightly colored, dinner plate-sized appetizer is being plunked down on one of the old, heavy wooden tables as we walk in.

“That looks...authentic,” Nicole muses, her eyes following the same carpaccio-led path as mine.

“Oh, it is. But what’s even more authentic are the Bellinis.”

“Now that sounds Venetian. That’s a drink, right?”

Nicole is wide-eyed, taking in the lived-in, almost haunted atmosphere of the place. I’m taking it in, too, while I’m also taking in Nicole.

To be honest, I’m not just gaping at how good she looks, like people might expect a guy like me to do.

“It’s as Venetian as it gets, Nic. Prosecco, peach...something or other.”

“Juice?”

“You know your stuff.”

Nicole has finished absorbing the ambience, and now she’s back to smiling at me, knowingly.

“So, they invented peach juice here? Along with all those old and/or dead famous people—and Kim Kardashian—hanging out here?”

“I knew you knew your fucking stuff. They did invent the Bellini right here at Harry’s, but, really, who gives a shit?”

Just a small step across the old, wood floor—not a step of my foot, but a step of Nicole’s towards me—just that one small step, and I start transforming into an anxious, tongue-tied teenager.

Not that I ever even was a tongue-tied teenager, but as Nicole approaches me slowly, no words are coming to me naturally—or at all. Dumb, awkward, and insatiable fucking yearning is consuming every bit of me.

So, I just do what she’s doing.

I smile. And I don’t go in for a kiss. I almost take a step backwards—but I stop myself just short of doing that.

Somehow, when I asked that silly question, I broke down some kind of barrier between us. We both felt it collapse, and Nicole’s taking the opportunity to get a bit closer, literally.

Okay, I take a step back after all.

There was no hesitation in Nicole’s stride as she stepped towards me that I could sense, but that doesn’t mean there’s none there at all.

There’s also some sense of yearning and need in her eyes that reflects my own, but there’s something in her gait, in the way she holds herself now, even in the way she’s looking at me, that makes it crystal goddamn clear that she’s venturing into territory that for her is fully uncharted.

And to me, that means she may not realize what she’d be getting into, or even what she really wants right now.

“I certainly don’t,” she says softly, almost whispering, but not quite.

“You don’t want, Nicole? I plum fucking forgot what...”

“I don’t give a shit. But, I do want a drink.”

Yep, I’m still grinning through it all. I just can’t help it—especially when she says shit like that.

“That’s why I m...yeah, forget that joke. Let’s get a table so we can get a Bellini.”

Harry’s may not be the most smoothly run joint in the world, but they sure have enough fucking tables to suit every tourist who strolls through the door.

I take a page from the Book of Nicole and do away with any fucking sense of hesitation as I take a seat at a table by the window—facing away from it so Nicole can look out.

“So, you don’t need reservations here?” Nicole asks as she sits down across from me.

“It’s just a bar.”

I must be regaining some idea of the right thing to say, because just like that, a waiter appears out of the fragrant goddamn thin air of the bar.

His face is some blend of self-possessed and relaxed as fuck, that you really only see on this continent.

“A Bellini for the signora.”

This motherfucker must’ve been listening to us or something because he already has two yellow cocktails ready for us in champagne glasses.

At the moment, I’m not bothered by it at all. When you’re taking someone like Nicole out on the town, you better make sure that town has chilled fucking cocktails ready the moment you mention them.

And, thank fuck, things just start flowing smoothly.

A couple more Bellinis. A plate of carpaccio, fucking naturally.

Rice pilaf a la Vienzia.

Cipriani Risotto, Chilean Sea Bass alla Carlina, and something called Italian Love Cake...

I know—what’s up with that name, right? It was so fucking good, though.

Not as good as the conversation—at least, what I can remember of it. My weird jitters just fucking melted almost as soon as those first drinks came out—and the ensuing drinks that came out with each course didn’t hurt, either.

That carafe of red wine we shared at Canal Bar afterwards hurt even less.

“Isn’t it nice to get away from the States, with our puritanical public drinking laws, and enjoy a glass of Cabernet out here under the Venetian stars?”

“Are the stars Venetian, Dante? Don’t they belong to the cosmos?”

“I should fucking hope so. I love Neil Degrasse Tyson.”

“Remind me why I married you again, Dante? I mean, obviously I’m also a Degrasse Tyson fan, but I’m only human.”

That’s Nicole, deflating every vestige of discomfort I would, and by all rights should be feeling, while at the same time looking so goddamn amazing that I almost trip and fall into the canal at the start of our post-drinks gondola ride.

The ‘post-drinks’ part may be affecting my coordination just a tiny bit, too.

“Smooth, Dante. Don’t trip and drown on your way out of purgatory, buddy.”

“I guess I need your help finding paradise, Beatrice.”

“I knew you’d find a way to call me that sooner or later.”

Nicole’s smile and the depths of her eyes make my knees start to feel like gelato as we settle into the gondola, but I couldn’t be fucking happier. I pay the gondolier a generous amount so he leaves me in charge. I reassure him that I’ll leave his precious gondola at the Aman for collection later.

As I push us off into the still night, I’m amazed how attracted to this woman I am. Even the notion of trying to have sex with her tonight is fading faster than my Bellini and wine buzz as we glide through the cool, quiet canals.

“You know, I think you’re right, Dante.”

Nicole’s gazing up at the night sky, and I’m gazing over at her.

“I think the stars are Venetian. Each and every one of them.”

My heart is pounding so loud I fear she might be able to hear it. I abandon any notion of sex with her tonight. I just watch her enjoy this incredible evening.

After everything she’s been through, it’s all I could want for her.