It had been raining while they were watching the performance, and water was still dripping from awnings and balconies. Gina sometimes thought that Venice was at its most spectacular after a rainfall, with the ancient buildings reflected in the puddles, and the pink light from the ornate lampposts shining on the flagstones. The clouds above were thick, obscuring the moon and threatening another shower.

‘Well, I’d better be heading back,’ Gina said, surprised to find that she felt reluctant.

‘To the hotel?’

Gina shook her head. ‘I’m going home. I live in Dorsoduro, near the university.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’

‘You don’t have to …’

‘It’s no problem. I’m in San Polo, so not far.’

‘OK … thank you.’

‘You can never be too careful,’ Marco said seriously. ‘Especially during Carnevale. There are all kinds of strange characters around.’

Gina thought back to the other night, and the uncomfortable encounter she’d had with the three costumed men. Then the mysterious hero had swooped in to save her, and the two of them had shared a magical evening. Gina couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she’d started to have the craziest idea … He’d been around Marco’s height and build, though it was difficult to tell with the costume, but no, that couldn’t be the case, the man she’d met at the carnival had blue eyes and Marco’s were brown, she was sure of it …

‘Did you go out for the opening night of Carnival?’ Gina asked as they walked through the quaint streets surrounding La Fenice, unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

‘Yes,’ Marco nodded, and Gina felt a jolt of adrenaline. ‘I went to the Enterprise Guild Ball.’

‘Oh,’ Gina replied, her excitement fading. Of course it hadn’t been him, however much she might have been secretly hoping it was. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘Fine upstanding Venetians that they are, the Guild aren’t the most wildly exciting companions to have for Carnevale. I just wanted to go home to Daniela. Although afterwards I—’

He broke off as there was a flash of lightning followed by a deafening roll of thunder, and then the heavens opened. There were cries of alarm from party-goers in their elaborate costumes, and the streets emptied quickly as people ran for cover.

‘In here,’ Marco called, as Gina hastily followed him out of the rain and into a nearby bacaro. Inside it was dark and smoky, with round wooden tables and cosy velvet chairs, the interior dimly lit by candles. The place was packed, but Marco found one of the last remaining tables and the two of them squeezed into the cramped space, pressed closely beside one another. Their bodies were touching as they shrugged off their jackets, shaking the rain from their hair.

‘Let’s get a drink while the rain passes?’ Marco suggested. ‘Hopefully it’s just a shower.’

‘Sure,’ Gina agreed, as the waiter approached their table and the two of them ordered Spritzes, a traditional Venetian cocktail made with bitters and Prosecco, topped up with soda water.

‘So,’ Gina began, at the same time as Marco said, ‘Well.’

They both burst into laughter.

‘You go ahead,’ Marco said chivalrously.

‘I was going to ask how the movie’s coming along,’ Gina smiled.

‘It’s going to be pretty spectacular, from what I can tell.’

‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from Brad Redford.’

‘Exactly. The man’s a perfectionist. He’s incredible at what he does.’

‘You’ve worked with him before, right?’

‘Yeah, a few years ago. He’s a great guy – he wants the best, and doesn’t take any crap, but he’s incredibly professional and makes everyone feel important on set, from the director to the most junior runner.’

‘It’s a shame he had to leave early,’ Gina mused. ‘He must have been exhausted.’

‘I’d never have believed it – he always has so much energy, so much stamina. But I guess even Brad needs to rest sometimes.’

‘I’m sure Issy will take good care of him. She seems to have everything under control.’

‘Who does that remind me of?’ Marco grinned, as Gina sat back in her chair and stared at him, narrowing her eyes in thought. ‘What?’ Marco asked suspiciously.

‘You know what? When it’s dark, and I really squint, you do look a little like Brad Redford,’ Gina teased. ‘But only a bit. And only when the lighting’s really low.’

‘Yeah, but when the lights are on, I’m even better-looking,’ Marco said, and Gina burst out laughing, enjoying his sense of humour.

Marco peered out of the window, noticing the shrieking groups rushing past, and the couples huddled together beneath umbrellas. ‘It doesn’t look like the rain will be stopping anytime soon. Shall we order cicchetti? I’m starving.’

‘Mmm, I’d love to.’

‘What do you like?’

‘Everything,’ Gina said honestly, making Marco laugh.

‘I’ll choose then,’ he said, speaking to the waiter. A few minutes later, two more Spritzes arrived, followed by little plates of fig and ricotta wrapped in prosciutto, grilled polenta topped with sardines, deep-fried meatballs, and marinated stuffed olives. Venice was famous for its cicchetti in the same way Spain was known for its tapas; both were traditional savoury dishes, made with local produce.

‘This is delicious,’ Gina groaned.

‘It’s not bad at all,’ Marco agreed. ‘But not quite as good as at L’Ombra. That place does the best cicchetti in the whole of Venice.’

Gina looked offended and shook her head vehemently. ‘No, Osteria del Portico, just off Campo Santa Margherita – when you taste their salted cod, it’s as though you’ve died and gone to heaven.’ Gina closed her eyes, her expression blissful at the memory.

Marco shrugged, looking unimpressed. ‘Any half-decent chef can make baccalà. At L’Ombra they serve the most exquisite mussels, baked with breadcrumbs and garlic and lemon, all washed down with a perfect glass of Soave from a tiny, family-run vineyard just outside Verona. There’s an idyllic view over the canal, out towards the lagoon. Whatever the season, it’s the most perfect place to lose yourself for an hour or two.’

‘It’s sounding more appealing by the minute,’ Gina smiled. ‘I think you might have convinced me.’

‘I’ll take you there one day,’ Marco promised, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Gina told him boldly, the alcohol flowing through her blood and making her fearless.

A moment passed between them, a crackle of electricity in the air, before the people beside them got up to leave, breaking the moment as they squeezed past with profuse apologies.

‘Tell me all about yourself, Gina Bellini,’ Marco began, sitting back in his chair and staring at Gina. ‘Are you a true Venetian?’

Gina shook her head, ignoring the pangs of anxiety that always surfaced whenever she was asked about her background. She felt relaxed with Marco, and as though she didn’t want to have to hide herself from him. ‘I grew up in a village, in the mountains north of Milan.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘Why did I leave my tiny, boring village for the most beautiful, exciting city in the world? Hmm, let me think …’