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St Mark’s Square, Venice, Italy. May 22, 11.45pm.
Piazza San Marco was dark as they approached by boat, the lagoon dancing with lights from the watery city, the smell of salty ocean on the light breeze.
Morgan had been to Venice for the Biennale with Elian late one summer. Her memories of the place were colored with golden light reflecting on the water in the city of lovers. The air had been filled with music as string quartets played on the streets and the mood was champagne fizz and dancing. But the only strains of music she heard now were a lament for those lost days.
She pushed those heavy thoughts away as the motorboat pulled alongside St Mark’s Square wharf.
Gondolas bobbed in the water, gold trim glinting in the dark as water slapped against their sides in the quiet night. B
