It's peak season in the world-famous beauty that is Venice, Italy. With 118 islands, you would think people would choose another one. The walkways are crowded with tourists and kids kicking around soccer balls. Queues string from many of the attractions. Ducking and weaving is now an acquired skill.
"The Floating City."
"La Serenissima." I give one of the many nicknames for Venice.
Glancing over to Marcel, I find an impression in his heightened brows. Something tells me this trip is going to be interesting.
With a light-hearted shrug, Marcel proposes a buyable idea. "We can extend our stay; so you can become fluent. It's only right." He pulls his lips to the side, making the suggestion no longer buyable, but a non-negotiable one.
My coy ways drag my eyes away from his and down to my black, biker boots, watching them stride along the cement trail. Picking them back up, I say, "You seem like the type to pick up on languages well."
Adamantly denying the claim with a shaken head, Marcel goes on to say, "It's just memorizing phrases. What's your favorite language?"
"French actually." I step closer to Marcel as people pass on my side. As he halts his long-legged stride, I pause as well, looking for a reason for the disruption.
"You know," He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. I look down the cobblestone street we just walked down. What? "I always liked school. I wouldn't mind enrolling again."
"Marcel," My lessened sigh shifts into a chuckle after watching him take his first step in the wrong direction. "shut up." I take his arm to correct his path.
"I've always wanted to come to Venice." He tucks his hands into his pockets.
"You haven't? Wow." Considering how much he roves Europe, I thought he would have mastered this place years ago. "It's an impressive city. There's no way to see all that it has to offer in such a short amount of time." I look up to read the various shop names. Different scents filled my nose every 10 steps. Blissful overload. "But with all of these delicious flavors in the air, I'm ready for the pasta."
"Pizza." He chooses. Hold on, man. I said pasta. Okay, pizza too. Let's do that.
"We're going to roll out of here." I rub my stomach, envisioning how much it's going to be protruding. I don't care. I'm looking forward to it. Peering over to Marcel's clothed stomach, dismissal bounces off my shoulders. "You'll be fine, because you work out."
"You were checking me out this morning."
He clears his throat as I watch him swipe his thumb past his pointed nose. His brows furrow acting as if he found something interesting in our passing of a fish market. OH MY GOD! Here you go!
"I had to make sure it was you coming through the door. Who doesn't look at the door when someone walks in?"
My explanation is common sense and valid, but Marcel rejects it to go with his theory. "No, you were checking me out."
"No, I wasn't."
"Then how did you drop your phone?" His knowing eyes dip over to me. By this point, his lethargic expression can't be compromised. Stop flattering yourself.
"Ella yelled at me." I lie, making him kiss his teeth and roll his eyes. I'm standing by my little white lies today. "Okay, to be real," I draw a deep breath, hoping he'd take this one and lay the issue to rest.
"Hm?" Marcel prepares to kick this fib to the side, the same direction as his tightened lips.
"I got upset because I thought you went swimming without me. I dropped my phone for dramatic effect." I tell another lie; this one more expressive and light-hearted as I laugh.
Marcel shakes his head as an amused smile creeps across it. "Like I said... complicated."
"We're going here." I point as I take a detour, having Marcel follow.
"A gondola?" He's muddled to see the pier accompanied by the long, narrowboat.
Crossing his arms, his eyes flick up and down me, possibly wondering when I had time to schedule this. Looking over to the gondolier, a soft huff passes his pinched lips.
"You wouldn't come to The Floating City without getting on a gondola, would you?" I question, mockery filling my tone. "And there's no way you'd come to The Floating City if you're prone to seasickness, right?"
"Absolutely not."
"So don't sound so shocked." I knock my hair off my shoulder and go to greet the fellow about our tour.
After confirming our reservations, Marcel and I come to the edge of the pier to find the Venetian boatman arranging red flowers around the gondola. Although it was stunning, I did not arrange for flowers to fill the boat like a basket. I get so caught up in the decorations that my cheeks hurt by the time the boatman notices our presence.
"You did this?" Marcel points to the flowers. He doesn't let shit slide.
"I did and didn't."
"You told them it was a Couples Tour?"
His cheeky smile sets fire to my soul, because that's exactly the name of the package. I said 2 people and they said a word I was trying to avoid, couple. I mean... It's Venice. It's a romantic city. What do you want from me? I look over to the water just beneath our feet debating a retreat. Drown in Marcel's eyes or this canal. I choose–
"Ah." The gondolier wears a black and white striped shirt, red ascot, and flat hat. I thought that was only something you saw in the movies or read in books, but no, it's a real thing. "Ciao bella. Mi chiamo Sebastian." Warm and amicable energy radiates off of him.
"Salve signore. Mi chiamo Angel" I greet our guide as he takes my hand to help me onto the gondola; leaving Marcel and his assumptions behind me. Let's go off without him Sebastian. We don't need his derisive energy. "Come stai oggi?" I ask how's he doing today.
"Sono grande. Coma stai?" He tells me he's doing great and asks how I am.
"Sono felice," I tell him I'm happy with a lively smile. We both look over my shoulder at Marcel. He's obviously confused by our conversation.
"Per colpa dell'uomo?" The guide asks if the doofus behind me is a contributor to my happiness.
I could have lied, but sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger. "Sì"
"Bellissimo." He says as he helps Marcel.
I take a seat and rub a velvety-soft, red petal between my fingers. Looking down the canal, I sigh at the beautiful bridge ahead. Behind me, I admire the scaling buildings. Is this seriously my life?
"Good morning, sir. How are you?"
Marcel's an ass to me, but the sweetest, most perfect gentleman to everyone else. Shoot, I was going to say he was sweet in the beginning, but he spat at me in our first encounter. This man can literally fool anyone. He has such a wholesome mien to him – from the way he dresses to the way he speaks. You'd think he's the most square soul. Shit.
I sat back touching my nose with my thumb, almost snickering at the thought. Licking my lips, I pull them into my mouth as I look up to the English kid.
"I'm great. Thank you. How are you?" The guide looks at me with a wink. I nod back, accepting that I can't wink.
I knew Sebastian spoke English, but it's fun to have an advantage on Marcel. Having him stand by cluelessly as we spoke about him was rewarding.
"I'm having a good day," Marcel claims.
Sebastian leans towards Marcel and tells him something I can't hear. I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS! I wanted to be the only one with secrets! Narrowing my eyes, I can't make out what Marcel says back.
With a pat on Sebastian's back, Marcel finally comes and sits beside me, resting his arms over the edge of the boat with a huge smile.
"What?"
"Nothing." He looks in the opposite direction.
"Cosa hai detto?" I ask what he said to my company. Sebastian grabs his oar and says,
"Niente." Nothing.
"Aw." I pout, using puppy-eyes as an accomplice, until Marcel orders,
"Quit pouting."
"Keep bothering me and I'll toss you over this boat." I sit back and cross my legs.
"I'll grab your hair," He reaches, watching himself play with the ends of a lock. "and you'll come with me." He tugs it. If my hair were a wig, it would have been gone and floating down the canal.
"Ow!" The yank snatches a startled gasp as I take his wrist.
Marcel's jaw drops, realizing how unprepared I was for the pull. The concern in his face causes me to erupt with laughter. He releases my hair to bow his head, giving into the overruling amusement.
Throughout our tour, Sebastian told us the history behind their bridges. There are 400 bridges in Venice, but only 4 spanning over the Grand Canal, their major water transport. There's another crossing over the canal, but it's not considered a bridge for the gondolas. My favorite has to be The Rialto. It's the oldest and shortest, but boy was he handsome.
Each time we went under a bridge, Marcel would pinch my side. As payback, I would stick my head into the frame of his pictures with a goofy face. If it wasn't my head, it was my hand. I even got my foot high enough. To stop me, Marcel had to lock me up in his arms. Eventually, he got his shots. He just had to work a little harder for them. Sebastian seemed to enjoy our antics.
"Did you enjoy the tour?" Sebastian asks as we're balancing ourselves.
"Yes, your city is beautiful. Thank you so much."
"It was a great tour." Marcel shakes Sebastian's hand with both of his ring-clad ones. "Thank you." He praises as he takes the camera from around his neck.
"Let me help." Sebastian takes Marcel's camera, handing it to an employee.
"Go first." I sit my hand on his back. He grabs the ladder and starts up. Once Marcel's at the top, he waits for me. "Thank you again. You gave a beautiful tour." I praise Sebastian.
"You're welcome. Enjoy the rest of your time here." His Italian accent leaves a sweet imprint on my morning.
I climb up the ladder, soon to take Marcel's extended hand. As I'm pulling down my white t-shirt and dusting my hands of loose dirt, I feel a nudge. Oh no! Losing my footing, the canal expands, taking up everything I see and soon feel. Squeezing my eyes shut, I make impact with the water.
Feeling a rush of bubbles leave my nose, I open my eyes, seeing a distorted ray of light. Bringing my arms up to spread, I aim toward the glaring beam. Snatching a huge inhale, I smooth back my hair and swipe past my eyes, ruining my eye makeup as I search for the guilty party.
After finding Marcel beside me, I scream "Ahhh!" and grit my teeth.
Marcel grabs my waist, laughing as he secures his arms around me. I think he did it more for his safety, because God knows I wanted to swing.
"Marcel!" I rattle as I shout his name. "Why would you do–" I break my serious query as he continues to laugh through his drenched, curly locks. He finds no issue in our current predicament. This has to be illegal.
"Stooooop!" I whine, trying to take his arms from around me. I wanted to hit him, but looking up, dozens of eyes are pierced over the pier and speculating. "Marcel." My giggle breaks as he rests his head on my shoulder. Can he take anything seriously? "Fuck you." I kick my legs.
"You said you wanted to go swimming." He releases me, then directs a small splash. I flinch at the water, then pull my lips into my mouth as I deny the dirty water from getting into my eyes.
Sebastian is frantic as he runs around the dock to meet me at the ladder.
"I'm fine. I'm fine." I climb up to have everyone staring and talking mess. I pick up Marcel's camera and dangle it over the water.
With a few leftover chuckles, Marcel's head pops up from the pier. Once he finds me with his most prized possession, he doesn't find anything funny.
He reaches for it before he can get up the ladder. "Angel."
"5," I count.
"Angel, I swear." He stops his climbing.
"4,"
"Shit." He climbs faster as I take steps back.
"3, 2," I watch as I drop the camera, just catching it by the strap.
"Angel!"
"1."