Love Victorious in Venice: The Italian Bachelors, #2

By Shanna Delaney

She knows what she wants from her life, her music, and herself. Until Venice… and him.

 

Megan knows better than to make decisions based on passion, but even she can't resist a summer performance internship nestled in the romantic waterways of Venice. The handsome but aggravating tenor she accidentally knocked into the canal should be easier to resist.

 

Should be easier.

 

And yet, both this city and this man spark something deep inside her, tempting her to open her heart… to dream.  

 

Lorenzo is a singer who lives for his dreams, even if sometimes that means doing odd jobs to pay the bills. He has no patience for anyone who doesn't live with the same level of devotion to their art. So why can't he ignore Megan, who keeps her desires so carefully under guard that he can't help trying to drag them out? And how can her stifled heart feel the soul of Venice the way his own does -- the way he thought only a native Venetian ever could?

 

She swore she'd never date a musician.

 

He has no desire to date an American.

 

When the person you're stuck with is attractive, talented, and infuriating, something has to give… and in this case, it might be both their hearts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Thousand Fables
• Release date: Aug 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9798201971137

Shanna Delaney

Shanna Delaney loves traveling and writing stories that take readers to new places. When she was a teen, she could never go to a new place without imagining the perfect romance for that location; now that she’s happily married with three kids, she continues the daydreaming but lets her characters take the starring roles.

Book preview

Chapter 2

Megan clapped both hands across her mouth and stared in horror as the man came up sputtering and began swimming for the nearest boat dock. Grabbing her suitcases, she rushed over to meet him as he climbed out and stood dripping on the edge of the canal. He wore slacks and a blue polo shirt that was now plastered to a nicely built frame. His hair, which had looked blond as he'd fallen through the air, now looked brown and was slicked to his forehead. His eyes, so wide as he'd fallen, now narrowed in a glare.

I’m so sorry, Megan said, looking him up and down desperately as though there were something she could do to fix this, so, so sorry.

Sorry? He jabbed a finger toward the canal. Do you know what's in the water? Because I do. And you should be a lot more than sorry. If I get sick from this... He crossed his arms, which sent dribbles of water flying, looked around at all the people who were staring and whispering, and shook his head once. I have to clean up. He started walking away.

Hey! Megan said, grabbing her suitcases and running after him. You're the one I was supposed to meet, right? To take me to Tom?

He spun so sharply she almost ran into him. Yes, well, you've changed the plans, haven't you? He stretched the wet hem of his shirt and shook it, sending water at her. Megan flinched as one of the drops hit her cheek. He groaned and rolled his eyes to the sky. You can follow me or you can wait here. But I'm not going to stay like this.

Megan hurried after him, doing her best to keep up as he wove in and out of the people and into the line for the water bus. She eyed the edge of the dock warily. I'd rather not take my cello over the water, she said. But her arms and back were aching, and the thought of possibly sitting down sounded amazing.

He raised an eyebrow sarcastically. Afraid of falling in?

It was an accident. I said I was sorry.

But not sorry enough to let me get home in five minutes instead of the twenty it could take by foot?

Megan shut up.

It was not until the water bus had arrived and they were about to climb on that Megan realized she hadn’t bought a pass to ride it.

Looking even more annoyed than before, if that was possible, the man she'd knocked into the canal swiped his pass twice and gestured elaborately for her to enter before him. But he didn't offer to take either of her suitcases, and she had to wrestle them across the planks into the boat herself.

The water bus, of course, was full. Megan found herself pushed over against the wall, her view entirely blocked as tourists pushed to the rails to see out. Her aggrieved guide stood next to her, and then closer, and closer as the ferry drivers allowed more and more passengers onto the boat until every available space was full.

Megan watched the man out of the corner of her eye, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. She'd heard the canal water was gross, and that hadn’t been wrong, apparently. It was hard to reconcile how good-looking the man was with how bad he currently smelled—because even dripping wet, his nearness made her very, very aware of him. But that smell...

It must have shown on her face. He smirked and slid his feet closer, making her lean back a little. A pleasant scent, isn't it? Perhaps they’ll want to sell it as cologne.

She made a show of turning her head and gasping for air before facing him again. Perhaps it will be as good at repelling ladies as your temper.

He scowled. Maybe if someone hadn't knocked me into the canal, I'd be in a better mood.

Her pulse raced as he leaned even closer, and she tipped back until her hair brushed the wall behind her. It really was an accident.

Malice or clumsiness—both unattractive traits.

She met his scowl with one of her own. Then you're welcome to move out of my personal space. I’d hate for you to have to get too close to someone so unattractive.

He raised an eyebrow, wrinkled his nose a little, and leaned back. Crossing his arms, he looked away, and Megan crossed her arms and tried very hard not to look back at him the rest of their short ride.

LORENZO GROWLED AND shoved the shower handle as far toward hot as it would go. He was supposed to be performing in three hours—that girl was lucky he knew enough to close his mouth before he’d hit the water. When he'd been a child, an occasional dip in a canal had been a funny summertime adventure with friends; but now that he was older and knew what was in them—how many sewers emptied directly into the canals...

He scrubbed harder, making sure the hot water ran into his ears.

It was bad enough that Tom had called him out of rehearsal to go get this American girl, and that he'd used the pretense of saying it was because Lorenzo ought to save his voice for the performance anyway. As though Lorenzo couldn't handle rehearsing and performing on the same day. But then to get knocked into the canal? Lorenzo just hoped this meant he'd used up his quota of bad luck for the week and his performance would go well. He had yet to get any official audition for La Fenice, but they sometimes sent scouts to the opera selections performances, so there was always a chance.

Lorenzo toweled off and yanked on a fresh set of clothes. There wasn't much chance scouts would be showing up at a matinee, but any chance was better than none.

Lorenzo looked at his watch and sighed. He still had to get this new girl—Megan—to her apartment. He was half-tempted to just give her directions and send her on her own, but he had to admit, she had dragged her suitcases without complaint, even though she was obviously exhausted, and that probably deserved at least a little forgiveness.

He came out of his room to find the girl absorbed in staring out the window of the little back balcony. Lorenzo didn't blame her; it was one of the reasons he'd rented this place. They were on the third story, and the balcony was tiny but at roof level of the place next to them, and across that you could see a small park, and beyond that, the lagoon.

The park was one of the few places in the old city with so many trees, and Lorenzo had gotten attached to trees while living inland the last few years. But he'd also never give up his water, so finding a view with both had been worth the steeper price.

He studied the girl who'd dumped him in the canal. She was short—not much taller than her cello case—and had her straight blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had a trim figure, and her tank top showed nicely defined shoulders—she was a strings player, he reminded himself, so nice shoulders should not be a surprise. Her high cheekbones were nice, too; overall, she was quite pretty. Unfortunately.

All the girls chosen for this scheme of Tom’s were pretty, and Lorenzo was sure that was why they'd been chosen. Who knew if this girl would even practice, or if she really cared about her art? She probably just wanted her chance to be on television, even if it was such a small opportunity as a university-produced reality show.

Tom had explained to them all how this would work—how they would use summer interns to help with the demanding high-season performance schedule while also filming them and using the frenzy for reality television to draw interest to the classics and spread the name of the company.

Lorenzo almost rolled his eyes again just remembering. Tom claimed that since it had worked for arts like ballroom dancing, it could work for theirs as well, but Lorenzo had seen clips from those dance shows, and he was pretty sure it was sequined bikinis drawing the interest there, not art. He eyed the girl by his window. How would she react if Tom told her to perform in a sparkling bikini?

She turned and saw him then, and he scowled, embarrassed at his own thoughts. Her eyebrows lowered to match his, and she crossed her arms in front of her. About time.

Lorenzo went over and grabbed the handles of both her suitcases. Come. I'll take you—

He was cut off by a knock at the door. He dropped the suitcases. Who...?

Walking over to the door, Lorenzo opened it and was immediately knocked backward by Stefano, who shouldered past him. Lorenzo’s childhood friend wore a simple, black, fitted t-shirt and dark gray jeans, and his dark hair, as usual, was perfectly styled—unlike Lorenzo’s at the moment, which he’d only taken time to run a comb through quickly after getting out of the shower.

Stefano threw his arms wide when he saw Megan. I knew it, he said in the Venetian dialect he and Lorenzo had grown up speaking. I thought I saw a girl through your window, and look!

Apparently Lorenzo hadn't used up all his bad luck before; surely his performance would be flawless after this much bad luck out of the way.

Stefano went over to Megan and clasped her shoulders, looking her over like a proud grandfather—except that he was an exceptionally handsome young Italian whom all the tourist girls loved fawning over. She looked in confusion from him to Lorenzo and back.

Stef... Lorenzo tried, but his friend cut him off.

She's pretty, but American? I thought you were dead set on marrying a Venetian? Preserving our heritage, and all that? Stefano smiled and stared flirtatiously into Megan's wide, uncomfortable-looking eyes. I could take her around instead. As a favor to you, of course. He dropped his hands and looked back at Lorenzo, then looked closer and grinned wickedly. Is your hair wet?

Lorenzo didn't know if Megan spoke any Italian, but was suddenly very grateful Stefano was speaking mostly in dialect. He scowled so hard he could feel the muscles in his forehead twitch. He couldn't explain his sudden shower without admitting he'd been knocked into the canal, and there was no way he was going to tell Stefano about that. He'd never live it down. Instead, he picked up the suitcases again and looked at Megan, gesturing toward the door with his head. Speaking in English, he said, Time to go.

Thankfully, she immediately slipped around Stefano and came to grab her cello case. Unfortunately, Stefano recognized the cello case for what it was, and his smile broadened.

I heard there were new interns coming. How come you always get the pretty coworkers?

With Megan safely in the hallway and unable to see his face, Lorenzo couldn't help a quick smirk at Stefano. Because I'm not a plumber.

Stefano's taunt followed him into the stairwell. But at least I can afford a girlfriend.

Determined to get the last word, Lorenzo shot back, Too bad you can’t keep one. Then he hurried down the stairs, but not fast enough to miss the sound of Stefano laughing behind him.

Chapter 3

The break had been just long enough to make Megan realize how badly she did not want to pick up that cello case again. But while this man's apartment had been nice enough, the temperature of the room had dropped drastically again once he’d emerged from the shower, bringing his frosty demeanor with him. If he’d just accept her apology, things would be a lot easier.

I'm Megan, by the way. But I think you knew that. What was your name?

Lorenzo. He walked on, a suitcase in each hand, not even bothering to look at her. At least he was helping with her bags this time. Still, she really hoped this was a one-time interaction and he was not someone she would have to work with.

Fortunately, they soon reached yet another doorway in a stone wall, where this time Lorenzo stopped.

Is this it? Megan asked.

Lorenzo rang the bell without answering. Almost immediately a dark-haired, middle-aged woman opened the door. She had a bright smile and waved them in, beginning to chatter in Italian.

Lorenzo looked at Megan. "Do you understand any of it?

She shook her head. She was catching a few words here and there, and within a couple days she’d probably be able to get around without help, but right now she was still second-guessing everything she thought she heard.

Rolling his eyes, Lorenzo nodded his head toward the stairs. Guess I'm translating, then.

Megan headed for the stairs, and Lorenzo directed from behind her.

Up one more. Turn. No, the other way.

He made it sound as though she were an annoying puppy he’d been asked to watch. By the time Megan reached the right floor, she wasn't sure which of them would be happier to see him out the door.

She walked into the apartment Lorenzo indicated. A quick search showed two bedrooms, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Both rooms already had personal belongings in them, but one had a set of bunk beds with the bottom bed bare of sheets or blankets. That must be hers. Megan eased her cello case off her shoulders and onto the bed. She sat heavily on the mattress, sighing with relief. What she wouldn't give for a pillow right now.

Lorenzo followed her in, dropping the suitcases at the door. The landlady said she'll bring your blankets later. Ciao. He turned to leave, but his phone rang, playing the tune of Nessun Dorma. He pulled it from his pocket and rolled his eyes before answering—maybe Megan hadn't actually offended him; maybe he was just like this with everyone.

After a conversation in Italian that was much too quick for her to follow, he shoved the phone forcefully back into his pocket and rounded on her. I'm supposed to bring you to rehearsal. Let's go.

Megan looked longingly around the room, and at the box of snack pastries she could see on the counter. She was exhausted and starving, but she wasn't going to risk making him any more irritated than he already was. Without complaint, she stood and followed him from the apartment, though her legs protested every step of the three flights down.

The closer they got to St. Mark's square, the thicker the crowds got. Megan lost her guide twice by getting distracted and looking at the sights and then looking back to realize she had no idea where Lorenzo had gone. Each time he found her, he was more annoyed.

Finally, they reached the practice hall—not that it looked any different from the rest of the grand buildings around them, but there were posters advertising opera and orchestra performances, and two men sat at a table out front selling tickets.

Lorenzo greeted them with a smile, which was shocking to finally see. Maybe it was just Megan who he didn't like. Her and whomever had been on that phone call.

They entered to the sounds of stringed instruments being tuned, and Megan felt a rush of familiarity. She'd felt lost ever since she'd arrived, but this—this she knew. Several people looked up as they entered. An Asian girl with a viola was chatting with a dark-haired man wearing glasses, and Lorenzo pointed to them. That’s who you need to talk to.

Okay, thanks for... He had already walked away before she could finish her sentence. Megan barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at his retreating back.

As she got closer to the man in glasses and heard his voice, she realized this was Tom. He turned to greet her, and looked her up and down as he did so. Megan wished she’d had time to change before Lorenzo had dragged her over here.

She looked him over as well, but tried to be less obvious about it. He was in his forties or so and had short-cropped facial hair and a nose that was a little on the large side. His hair was combed into a wave in the front and looked like it probably wouldn’t move if the wind blew.

He smiled and held out his hand. You must be Megan.

She shook his hand, but he didn't let go of hers, instead tucking her hand through his arm and hollering to the room, Our last cellist has arrived!

Several of the musicians looked over, and a couple waved, but they all went right back to their tuning. Tom turned back to Megan, patting her hand where it rested through the crook of his arm. You're the last one here. He looked around. Where's your instrument?

Megan stuttered. It’s at the apartment. I didn't know I would need it today—I could go—

He cut her off with a wave his hand. No problem, no problem. We usually store the instruments here so you don't have to carry them every day, but you can bring it tomorrow.

That would have been great to know when she’d been in this area less than an hour ago. She shot an annoyed look at Lorenzo, but he had his back to her and was chatting with a white-haired man holding a bass.

Suddenly dropping her arm, Tom checked his watch, and his eyebrows bounced up dramatically. I have to go. He waved to the Asian girl with the viola next to him. "This is one of your roommates and competitors, he stressed the word, Ada. Ada, show her around, would you?" Without another glance at Megan, he hurried away.

Ada smiled and waved her bow at Megan. Hey, welcome. I just finished practicing; let me put this away and I'll show you around. She had an Australian accent.

Thanks. Megan stuck her hands in her pockets and looked around while Ada went over to where her viola case sat against the wall. It was pretty easy to tell the interns from the regulars—the biggest giveaway being that all the interns were under thirty. Most of the core ensemble had gray hair, and several who didn't looked like theirs was probably dyed.

Megan wasn't sure how many interns were part of this contest, but a quick glance around showed a tall guy holding a violin who had short hair, high cheekbones, and gorgeous ebony skin. A blond guy hung out over by the wall, chatting with a guy with shaggy dark hair who dressed like a member of a boy band.

None of the competitors were in tuxes or anything, but none of them were wearing an old Singin’ in the Rain shirt and yoga pants, either. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and the smell of resin and wood instantly made her feel better.

She opened her eyes to find Ada had returned. All done. Come on. The next few minutes, Megan mostly just tried to catch all the names flying around. Everyone was friendly, though, and she was feeling much better. Then they got to a girl who wore heavy makeup and had chestnut hair in a style that must have required a lot of hairspray—poofed up