We'll Always Have Venice: Escape to Italy with Leonie Mack for the perfect feel-good read

By Leonie Mack

‘I love her beautiful settings and brooding heroes!' Sarah Bennett

Who can resist the romance of Venice…

When Norah arrives in Venice for a ten-week internship she is surprised to discover that her guide for her work trips around the lagoon is the undeniably gorgeous and kind Gianluca. She can’t help thinking he might be too good to be true, with his endless fascinating local stories, and his infectious laugh.

Norah is still bitter after an accident left her with a serious injury and also meant the end of her long-term relationship. And besides, she's serious about her career and that means leaving Venice at the end of the summer.

Gianluca has had a summer fling before that led to heartache for him and he won't do it again. He enjoys the long hours out on the lagoon with Norah, but after a storm strands them on a picture-perfect island for a night, they agree they should just be good friends for the summer.

But life doesn't always go to plan, and when it's time for Norah to go, they have to decide whether what they have between them is really just a friendship, and not something more…

Leonie Mack is back with another fabulously romantic escape, perfect for all fans of Mandy Baggot, Jo Thomas and Carole Matthews.

What readers are saying about Leonie Mack:

'I read a lot of romance books and I have to say this book is one of the best in terms of chemistry. Readers - we’re talking red hot!'

'A hot and sizzling read!'

'An uplifting, intelligent novel with a lot of substance and of course, plenty of romance'

'I can't stop thinking about this book!'

'Beautifully written, this is a great take on the opposites attract theme.'

'A delight to read with lots of fun, romance and funny bits along the way.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Apr 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781801623964

Leonie Mack

Leonie Mack is an author of romantic comedies with great international locations. Having lived in London for many years her home is now in Germany with her husband and three children. Leonie loves train travel, medieval towns, hiking and happy endings!

Book preview

PROLOGUE

‘Saffron, will you marry me?’

Norah froze. This wasn’t happening in reality, right? A relative stranger asking her mother to marry him. On Christmas Day, during the gift giving. No way.

She must have been back in the hospital, on a cocktail of medications, imagining the middle-aged man on his knee in her sister’s living room. A twinge of pain shot down her bad leg on cue.

‘Neal, I – I’m so happy! I’d love to marry you!’

Unfortunately, the passionate smooch Saffron smacked on Neal’s lips, complete with kissy noises, was not a hallucination.

Norah met her sister’s equally horrified gaze over the tops of their bobbing heads. If Didi was seeing this too, it had to be real. With a whump, the feelings hit her all at once: doubt, fear, annoyance and, worst of all, jealousy.

Saffron, who’d rarely kept a boyfriend for longer than a phone contract, was slipping a diamond onto her finger, while Norah had committed everything to Andrej and all she had left was the taste of disappointment, still sour after six months.

Should she be happy for Saffron? Could she fake it? Was she a terrible daughter for doubting Neal would last, despite the diamond? She dreaded the prospect of attending a wedding. She hadn’t been formally engaged to Andrej, but they’d both pictured it in their futures – until she’d faced the challenge of learning to walk again.

He’d been gone before she’d even woken up from surgery. Maybe Saffron and Neal did have a chance. What did Norah know?

But who the heck was Neal and how well did Saffron know him after a whirlwind romance on a cruise? He was mild-mannered and polite, and he’d bought an enormous rock for a woman who’d previously only worn amber and crystals. And he apparently did public displays of affection. Ew.

Her sister looked green. Didi was the sister who’d always had everything together. She had a good job she loved and owned her own flat in London, while Norah had half a PhD in Marine Biology and a pair of titanium rods screwed into her spine. But even Didi looked shaken by this Christmas development in their lives.

The lovers finally pulled apart and Saffron turned to wink at Didi. Oh, God, no. Norah cringed, but Saffron had another unwelcome wink for her younger daughter. ‘I think I’m just about ready for marriage, at sixty-three!’ she said gleefully.

‘Congratulations, Mum,’ Didi managed, her voice gravelly.

Saffron patted her on the knee. ‘Someone needs to show you how it’s done, sweetheart,’ she said.

Norah choked, watching Didi’s pallor change from green to white. She knew Didi hated the hints about getting a boyfriend and Saffron had no right to judge, after the example she’d set her daughters. It was one of the reasons Norah had been so happy with Andrej: she’d pictured them together forever, in contrast to her mother’s revolving door of boyfriends.

She stood, her brain whirring into gear as she grabbed her cane. She’d drag Didi into the kitchen on the pretext of doing the dishes. Then she remembered that Didi had been slaving away all afternoon in the kitchen.

She glanced at Didi’s guest – an Italian artist called Piero, who appeared to have invited himself. Whatever the weird vibes between him and Didi, he could at least make himself useful.

‘I’m going to do the dishes,’ Norah announced. She caught Piero’s eye and tipped her head in Didi’s direction.

He caught on quickly. ‘I have a… long walk back to my hotel. I… got a little lost on the way. Perhaps you can show me back to the main road, Didi?’

Norah reached the relative safety of the kitchen and released her breath as slowly as she could. She set her cane against the wall and rolled up her sleeves. She didn’t want to deal with the soap opera in the living room today.

She was sick of the shocks, the loneliness and the helplessness. She needed to step out on her own and work out how to deal with her new life, without her mother’s drama and even without the safety net of her sister’s care. She needed to accept that the old Norah, the one who was going to marry Andrej and share a glittering career of rational scientific inquiry, was gone. She would try to get to know the new Norah.

For that, she needed a change of scenery. She just had to find somewhere to go.

1

FIVE MONTHS LATER…

It was the first day of the rest of her life and she was going to a bloody wedding.

Norah stood in her finery – the only dress she’d brought in her luggage for her internship – and waited for her new boss. She was here to bury herself in work, to study the unique ecosystem of the Venice lagoon and to forget about the disaster of her personal life, but even here, in the long foyer, the ‘portego’ of a Venetian palazzo, the past year haunted her.

The eyes of a maiden in a tapestry on the wall – yes, there was an actual mediaeval tapestry on the wall – followed her as she wandered the tiled portego, clutching her cane. The Greek marble bust seemed to look through her with his sightless eyes. The cherubs in the corners of an enormous tarnished mirror were whispering behind their hands about her and wiggling their little bottoms. They hung from the frame precariously, as though, any minute now, she’d hear a crack and a little figure would fall onto the black-and-white tiles.

A grand but worn marble staircase led to the upper floors, including Norah’s tiny studio apartment underneath the aging beams of the roof – her home for the summer. The apartment was cramped and the ceiling was low, but at least it didn’t have creepy décor that appeared to watch her every move.

Worst of all was the damn bird.

It was a bas-relief phoenix in an elaborate marble portico over the door. A phoenix. Of course there was a bloody phoenix. And she knew it would haunt her for the next ten weeks, making her think that she might still make something of her life, that Norah York could rise from the ashes of hurt and failure and face her future. Norah Phoenix York, to copy precisely from her birth certificate.

She’d always thought Saffron must have been high when she’d filled out the forms registering her birth. Now it felt as though her mother had planned all of this, giving her a ridiculous middle name in a conspiracy to make her believe there would always be hope for the future.

She wasn’t ready for hope. Bitterness had been her good friend this past year. And this ‘new start’ was a poorly paid internship at an environmental NGO, not the prestigious PhD programme she’d left behind. But at least she was out of London, out of the clutches of her loved-up sister and her mother, the bridezilla.

Instead, she stood in a Venetian palazzo, the ancestral home of Emanuela Delfini, world-renowned biologist, philanthropist and sustainability campaigner – who obviously struggled with interior decorating.

She scowled at the phoenix. Its beak and the tips of its wings looked as though they’d once been gilded, but there was only a patina remaining, a ghost of gold. Perhaps this phoenix was approaching five hundred years old and was about to go up in a puff of smoke. Good luck to it in its next life.

A dark portrait of a menacing-looking woman with a stiff lace collar was watching her, now, as though she were whispering, ‘For the crime of being young and naïve and thinking you are in love, you are cursed to attend weddings endlessly! Mwahaha.’ At least she was now only one of those three things – although she certainly felt older than her twenty-five years after the past twelve months of pain and heartache.

‘Buongiorno, cara.’ Her host Emanuela – or ‘Manu’, as she’d told Norah to call her – swept into the portego. She clasped Norah’s shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks, which seemed a little familiar after less than a day, especially in combination with the ‘cara’, which she thought meant ‘dear’ or something that sounded similarly patronising to Norah’s English ears. But at least Manu was friendlier than her house.

Manu had neat dark hair clipped back at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp. She was as elegant as her aristocratic background and her forty-something years and just looking at her made Norah stand up straighter. She wore a flowing dress, simple, but stylish with an asymmetrical neckline and three-quarter sleeves.

Norah patted her hair, rolled up as neatly as she could in some kind of chignon. She’d never had the patience for her long hair, but Andrej had liked it – a feminine touch, he’d said. Hindsight made her wonder if he’d meant that she was too much of a tomboy, but she reminded herself crossly that wondering wasn’t doing her any favours now.

She smoothed the A-line of her frock. Manu had said nothing about a wedding in the stack of materials she’d emailed in preparation for Norah’s stay.

‘You look perfect,’ Manu assured her. ‘Although…’ She glanced critically at Norah’s shoes. Norah had put on the pretty slingbacks she’d inherited from Didi even though the low heel made her feel wobbly. Looking at Manu’s fabric slippers made from thick embroidered silk, she wished she’d stuck with her comfy espadrilles.

‘Oh, it’ll be all right,’ said Manu with a dismissive wave. ‘Come. Let’s go catch our boat.’

‘What kind of wedding is it, anyway?’ Norah asked as they made their way down the stone steps to the ground floor. Manu had assured her she was invited, but had said little else. Norah hoped there would at least be decent food.

‘You’ll see,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Manu swung the door open and Norah jumped. She couldn’t be certain whether it was because of the suddenness of the movement or the creepy bronze door knocker that looked like an angry demi-god in mid-yawn.

They stepped out into the cool, shaded alley at the back of the house. There was bright sunshine somewhere high above them, but it didn’t penetrate the alley at this time of the morning. Manu set a brisk pace through the labyrinth of Santa Croce, past mask workshops, under an archway bearing a skull and crossbones and around so many blind corners, they would have collided with at least six tourists if the hour had been any later.

Before Norah realised how far they’d come, they’d reached the Rialto Bridge. Manu steered to the right, avoiding the little stands selling all manner of tat, and they walked along the stone balustrade and over the Grand Canal.

The air was still fresh with dawn, although the sun came up early in mid-May. The canal shone golden in the long rays, sending glittering ripples over the palazzi along the canal. The buildings were red and pink and terracotta, with white detailing and awnings in bright red or green. Boats bobbed gently, although there was little breeze.

Norah was struck by the immensity of the sky. Cottony clouds hung lazily over the city, but it was otherwise wide and blue and stretched in all directions, as though Venice sat on clouds, rather than sandbanks and ancient tree-trunks.

It was a stunning setting for a wedding. The thought made Norah scowl.

From the Rialto Bridge, it didn’t take long to reach the heart of the city, the Piazza San Marco. Norah’s steps faltered when she walked out from under the arches into the famous square, but it had nothing to do with her cane or her damaged nerves. It was the sudden shock of being here, in Venice.

She’d tried to tell herself she was excited about her work: the lagoon, the unique geographical and environmental challenges. But it was impossible to think about algae when she was confronted with the overpowering golden grandeur of the Basilica di San Marco and the countless arches, hewn from bright white stone.

She could stare at it all day, watching the figures and creatures on the façade come to life.

‘Are you coming, Norah? The basilica won’t leave without you, but our boat might.’

She shook herself and hurried to catch up, feeling sluggish in comparison to her lively hostess. They bustled through the smaller square, the piazzetta, past the pale façade of the Doge’s Palace, to where a crowd was gathered at the edge of the lagoon. But the crowd was nothing in comparison to the flotilla of boats dotted across the basin. There were hundreds of them, from tiny two-man craft to larger vessels with rowing crews of twenty or more, all wearing matching striped shirts and holding their long oars. Aside from the sound of jovial voices, the basin was silent. No motors, only hundreds of oarsmen.

A gilded barge was docked in front of the crowd, decked with long, thin flags in red and gold, and in the bow stood a band in mediaeval costumes of red velvet, holding bugles.

Norah recovered from her confusion quickly enough to snap a few pictures. She didn’t often regret deleting all of her social media accounts after the accident, but she would have enjoyed posting pictures of this event. Was this maritime fanfare normal for a Venetian wedding?

A priest in a black cassock and a purple silk stole greeted Manu with kisses on the cheek, as did a man in a grey suit and a sash in the colours of the Italian flag. He looked a little old to be the groom, but what did Norah know?

‘Where’s the bride?’ Norah asked when Manu returned to her side. Manu gave her a smile that suggested she was enjoying a joke at Norah’s expense, which didn’t help Norah’s mood.

She trailed Manu to another barge moored nearby, with no gilding, no trumpeters and no red velvet. It had the shape of a gondola, with a raised prong on either end, one of them bearing a viciously jagged metal comb, but it was much larger. Four wooden dining chairs stood at the stern, looking rickety and out of place behind the team of rowers. The boat bobbed and tipped in the waves, but the rowers stood in place, their feet planted.

Manu stepped on gracefully and took her seat while Norah shuffled closer with a deep breath. It could have been worse for her first time in a boat since the accident. They would be slowly bobbing across the canal, not roaring off. She could swallow her nerves in front of her boss. The phoenix was right: she had no choice but to face her fears.

Norah stepped out – only for the boat to rock at precisely that moment, and her foot slipped. Stuck with one foot in the boat and the other on the pier, she threw her hands out for anything that would stop her falling. The nearest object was a rower.

She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and hung on as the boat tipped and swayed. For a second, she hung out over the water, staring into the murky turquoise of the lagoon.

She dimly heard Manu’s cry of alarm, but it was an indication of Norah’s mental state that all she could muster at the prospect of a drenching in the lagoon was a cynical groan. She hated weddings and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

2

The rower Norah was holding on to was surprisingly solid. He staggered, but remained upright so she could claw her way up until she had both feet on the deck. She let go of his shirt hesitantly and plonked her backside into the seat.

That was when she remembered her cane. She cursed and glanced around for it, expecting to see it sinking into the lagoon, but, small mercies, the thing could float. It bobbed innocuously a foot or two away from the boat.

She reached for it instinctively, but a hand closed around her wrist and a sharp voice reached her ears, although she couldn’t understand the words. She glanced up at the rower and her mind blanked.

Even if he’d been speaking English, she wouldn’t have understood a word. She could only stare. He was beautiful. There was no other word for those warm brown eyes, thick lashes and sculpted features.

Norah swallowed.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ she murmured.

He switched to English. ‘I’ll get it.’ He turned away before she could thank him, lifting his long oar to fetch her cane. In comparison to the sleek polished wood of his oar, her medical-issue aluminium cane looked stumpy and cumbersome, but she sighed with relief when she held it in her hand again.

‘Thank you, grasie,’ she said, trying not to stare at his cheekbones.

‘Gnente,’ he said with an easy smile.

‘Buongiorno, Gianluca,’ Manu said, rising from her chair.

His smile tightened and he hesitated before turning to her. ‘Ciao, Manu.’ He kissed both of her cheeks.

‘I didn’t know you’d be part of our company today,’ she said, but his only response was half a shrug. ‘This is Norah,’ Manu continued. His gaze flickered over her again, taking in her dress and heels.

She held out her hand, ‘Ciao, come xeła?’ she said carefully. She’d asked her sister’s boyfriend – the Italian artist who’d witnessed the debacle at Christmas – to teach her a few phrases in Venetian dialect and, when the rower’s smile widened, she was glad she had.

‘Stago ben,’ he said, inclining his head. He took her hand and shook it once. It was long enough for Norah to notice he had calluses. And very nice hands. ‘I’m Gianluca.’

‘Norah is my student, the one you’ll be taking around the lagoon in your sanpierota.’

He froze, staring at Manu. Norah looked between them in confusion. The weird vibes were impossible to miss. Given her temporary boss’s poise and beauty, Norah wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that Manu had had a gorgeous, younger lover, who was apparently Norah’s tour guide for her sampling trips around the lagoon – but he didn’t look too happy about it.

‘That booking was from you?’

‘I thought you realised,’ Manu said with a careful smile.

‘It was under the name Signora Scienza. You could have just booked under Delfini if you wanted me to know.’

Manu shrugged, but Norah thought she looked a little sheepish. ‘Who else would make a booking for Madame Science?’ she said lightly. Norah snorted.

‘I thought it was a joke. You’re lucky I didn’t delete the email.’

‘You should take payment at the time of booking,’ she chided him. ‘One day your calendar will be full.’

‘One day,’ he said with a huff.

A shout went up over the lagoon and the sound of drumming made Norah jump. Gianluca’s hand landed heavily on her shoulder. ‘I’m not going to fall off,’ she insisted and he glanced at her cane. ‘Truly. I’m capable of sitting in a seat on a boat,’ she said tightly.

‘Scuxa,’ he said, those eyes much too warm. He was hospitable and polite and beautiful. It only served to remind Norah how grumpy and bitter she still was, nearly a year after the accident.

He turned and settled his oar into the bracket on the side of the boat near him, then called out to the crew, who followed suit. And with another shout, the boat pushed off into the basin, oars cutting through the water.

The wind whipped up immediately and Norah had to force herself to stop clutching the seat. A blue jet ski emblazoned with the word ‘Polizia’ zoomed past and she flinched, the roar of the motor taking her back to the day of her accident. She released a slow, measured breath.

‘Are you all right?’ Manu asked and Norah nodded stiffly. ‘I didn’t realise you walked with a cane. If you need help with anything…’

‘I’m fine,’ Norah insisted, because that was what the doctors had told her. She jumped again when the bugle players started up. ‘Is this a typical Venetian wedding, then?’ she asked, squinting at the fleet of boats, flags flapping in the breeze or trailing their soggy tips in the water.

Gianluca glanced back, one thick eyebrow raised as he looked at Manu. She blushed. ‘When I said this was a wedding… it’s not a wedding like you’re thinking. You’ll see.’

They followed the golden barge in the direction of the Lido di Venezia, one of the narrow islands that separated the lagoon from the Adriatic Sea. The crew rowed in rhythm and Norah tilted her head to study them as they pushed on their oars from a standing position. Norah felt as though she should be draped in silks and furs and gold, to have a matching crew of oarsmen hauling her through the lagoon on a giant gondola. Although, they weren’t all oarsmen. She counted three women among the crew.

Their pace was modest and the boats crawled through the lagoon as the May sunshine gathered strength, making Norah wish she’d brought her sunglasses.

When the boats approached the Lido, they bunched together, bobbing haphazardly. A crowd was gathered on the shore, cheering and applauding the approach of the gilded vessel, but they weren’t dressed for a wedding. No one appeared to be dressed for a wedding – except Norah.

Voices in Italian – or Venetian dialect, she wasn’t sure – sounded from a speaker and, with a sudden lurch, the rowers lifted their oars out of the water and held them vertically. Norah gripped her seat, staring at the water dripping onto Gianluca as he held up his oar in a Venetian salute, his back straight. He had shoulders for miles. Nice one, Manu. Being single and in her forties sounded pretty good if there was a guy like that in Norah’s future.

‘If that’s the groom, where’s the bride?’ Norah asked Manu.

‘The groom is the sindaco, the mayor, on his official boat, La Serenissima, which is built to look like the Doge’s bucintoro from history. The bride…’ said Manu, pausing dramatically, ‘is the sea.’

Norah blinked and then burst into laughter. She clapped a hand over her mouth when she noticed how the sound rang out over the solemn occasion she was witnessing on the breezy lagoon. A female rower shot her a look over her shoulder. But really, someone was marrying the sea? In a fancy gilded boat, with a bunch of buglers in tunics? Why was she the only one laughing?

She squinted to watch the mayor take a small object from a velvet cushion and toss it into the sea. It landed with a subdued plop, dragging its waving ribbon under the water after it. ‘The wedding ring?’ she guessed, with a snort of laughter.

‘Exactly,’ said Manu. ‘It’s called the sposalizio del mare, the marriage to the sea. It’s been performed in Venice for over a thousand years, off and on, around Ascension Day – the Festa della Sensa. And afterwards we celebrate with regattas and mass.’

As Norah imagined the ring slowly sinking through the cloudy water, pulling its ribbon, she could almost believe there would be a ghostly face tracking its progress with longing eyes: the spirit of the lagoon, wishing she could take human form and consummate her love for the city. Norah had to stifle another laugh.

Up went the oars again and Norah ducked instinctively. Those things were more like lances than oars, long and sleek and made of solid wood. She almost expected the boats to line up facing each other and perform a weird aquatic tournament where they tried to knock each other out. It would be a fitting celebration for a wacky wedding ceremony between an imaginary sea naiad and an allegorical city.

The trumpets started up again, and the sound of drums echoed around the lagoon, whipped up in the wind. Manu stood and Norah followed suit, gripping her cane. She applauded as best she could, but the lurching of the boat was proving that she’d lost her sea legs in nearly a year on land.

She glanced up to find Gianluca watching her, but he looked away quickly. She sighed. She must look like a complete liability. If she’d been given the task of ferrying herself around the lagoon, she wouldn’t be looking forward to it, either.

But she was here to collect samples and further Manu’s research, not to wallow in self-pity and certainly not to check out handsome men. She would do her job, no matter how much her body and mind conspired against her.

Gianluca stood on the pontoon with his hands behind his back an hour or two later, as a choir sang in front of the brick church of San Nicolò on the Lido. Winning the Regata della Sensa with his crew had been good for his pride, which always seemed to suffer when he conversed with Manu, but it had also resulted in his awkward position, facing the crowd, while they all waited for the song to finally finish.

The breeze pricked him. In mid-May, it wasn’t warm enough to be standing in the Adriatic winds, soaked in sweat. He needed to change and then he’d have to get back into the gondola and row Manu back to the old city – Manu and her new wide-eyed intern.

Manu was holding court near the mayor, the intern standing awkwardly by in her flirty dress, her long hair slowly coming out of its knot. She looked too young to be a graduate intern, and kind of insubstantial.

He’d have to check she could swim. It wasn’t any of his business why she walked with a cane, but if she couldn’t swim, she’d have to wear a life jacket. The lagoon wasn’t deep, but he couldn’t afford to take those risks when his second business hadn’t even got off the ground.

He eyed Manu. Why had she booked him? She could have hired anyone. She must have known he needed the money, but that almost made it worse.

The choir fell silent and the crowd cheered the end of the song resoundingly. With unnecessary fanfare, the mayor presented Gianluca, his best friend, Pino, and the rest of their four-man rowing crew with the winners’ flags. He grinned at his friend Chiara in the crowd as she whistled and cheered. She’d won the women’s event, as she always did, and then screamed her lungs out for the crew from their rowing club.

They posed for photos in their striped shirts and then he was free to leap off the pontoon and join the crowd for a rousing chorus of ‘Viva Venezia’, which sounded more like a football chant from his rowing club friends than the folky chorus sung by the grey-haired gondoliers for the benefit of the mayor.

The intern – Norah was her name – was taking photos of the ritual with a baffled smile. He could imagine it all looked strange to an outsider: the boater hats, the white embroidered robes of the priests, the mandolin and the bunch of sweaty rowing hooligans crooning in the background.

After the crowd dispersed, heading either for the market or into the church for mass, he took his bag from Chiara and fished out a fresh shirt, peeling off the sweaty one with one arm. He was about to tug the clean shirt over his head, when he caught sight of Norah, staring at him. She stood frozen, her phone up as though she’d been in the middle of taking a photo – when he’d stripped off.

Ah. This could be a problem.

He pulled his shirt over his head and shoved his arms into the sleeves. She hadn’t looked away, yet. His skin prickled and it wasn’t from the wind.

He caught her eye deliberately, keeping his brow low. He didn’t want to embarrass her, but he also didn’t want her to make assumptions about him. He was used to being watched and looked at and judged by a crowd of tourists who thought his home was a theme park and his job just for show, but he couldn’t handle the assumptions that, because he was single, he would know how to show a visitor a good time, no strings attached. He had strings. Big ones.

But when she met his gaze, she didn’t look embarrassed. She looked… annoyed, as though it were his fault she’d been staring at him. How strange.

He approached and finally a tinge of pink touched her cheeks, but he didn’t speak to her. Instead, he touched Manu’s arm lightly to get her attention. She turned to him with a smile that he