‘Yes. I adore it.’

‘So do I, although I’m not a native Venetian either. It’s as if the city has adopted me.’

‘That’s exactly how it feels,’ Gina agreed. ‘She gets hold of your heart and won’t let go.’

‘I love everything about it – even the freezing fog in winter and the stench of the sewage in high summer.’

‘It’s like we’re having a love affair with the city.’ Gina laughed lightly, but she was thinking of the man’s words; how he spoke so easily of love and had no fear of expressing his emotions. She felt so comfortable with him. Perhaps they’d known one another in a past life, she thought with amusement, the two of them attending Carnival together centuries ago, dressed almost identically to the way they were now.

Gina found herself imagining what the man looked like, then wondered why it mattered. What would he think of her if he saw her? And why did she care so much what a stranger thought?

For a crazy moment, Gina thought about removing her mask and asking him to do the same. She imagined he would have a kind expression, a trace of stubble along his jawline, and full, soft lips …

Bells rang out over the rooftops, as St Mark’s Clock Tower struck two minutes to midnight. Gina jumped up in alarm. ‘I didn’t realize how late it was. I have to leave.’

‘You’re just like Cinderella,’ the man laughed, but Gina was too flustered to acknowledge his comment. She couldn’t believe how swiftly the time had flown, nor how unprofessional she’d been to abandon the guests and leave Vittoria to deal with everything by herself. And now she would be late for the boat.

She headed for the stairs, but the man’s voice stopped her.

‘You don’t know the way. I’ll take you.’

‘Thank you.’

He clattered down the steps ahead of her, his boots heavy, his large frame solid and reassuring as Gina followed him. They encountered the crowds just a few streets away, and once again he took her hand to ensure they weren’t separated. Gina held on tightly, enjoying the sensation of his warm palm enfolding her own.

St Mark’s Square was heaving, the atmosphere feverish as the clocks struck midnight and the intoxicated revellers made the most of the celebrations.

‘I have to go now,’ Gina said. ‘But thank you for … everything, it’s been an unforgettable night. I don’t even know your name.’

‘I’m—’

Gina was jostled from behind by a group of revellers, her hand slipping from his. When she recovered her balance, she couldn’t see the man anywhere. She whirled around, hoping desperately for a glimpse of red and gold, and realized she was still wearing his cape. She stroked it softly, feeling unexpectedly crestfallen, a sensation which was swiftly followed by foolishness. The man had been little more than a stranger; no doubt she’d imagined a connection that wasn’t really there.

She didn’t even know his name, and would likely never see him again.

With one final, hopeful scan of the crowd, Gina turned and made her way back to the boat, finding herself smiling.

Still just a romantic dreamer, Gina. That’s what her mother would say to her now. But her mother wasn’t here.

It was only when she got back to the boat that Gina realized her bracelet was missing.

Chapter 6

‘Buongiorno, principessa.’ Marco smiled as Daniela entered the room. She sat down at the kitchen table, stealing a pastry from the plate on the table, the rich, warm smell of freshly made cappuccino drifting in the air. ‘How was the party?’

‘I had so much fun. Sofia’s mamma and papà dressed up too, and they played music and we all danced, and I ate so many sweets!’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ Marco smiled.

‘It was. And how was yours?’

‘It was … as expected. Dull. I left early.’

‘No, I don’t believe you!’ Daniela exclaimed. ‘You weren’t here when I went to bed, and that was almost ten o’clock.’

‘Well, I didn’t come straight home,’ Marco confessed. ‘I walked around the city a little to soak up the atmosphere.’

‘Did you see the flotilla, and the fireworks?’

‘I might have done,’ Marco teased, the memories of the previous evening flitting through his mind.

‘Can I come with you next year?’ Daniela begged. ‘Or maybe we can go on Sunday to see the Flight of the Colombina,’ she continued, naming the famous spectacle where a mechanical dove ‘flew’ from St Mark’s Campanile.

‘I have to work this Sunday,’ Marco said apologetically, as Daniela’s face fell. ‘Perhaps Rosina can take you? We’ll go next year, I promise.’

‘Next year is ages away,’ Daniela shrugged, pouting, pouring herself a glass of milk.

Marco grinned at his daughter as he sipped his coffee. ‘Don’t sulk, principessa. Your face may get stuck that way.’

Daniela pulled an even sulkier face before they both burst out laughing. ‘You seem very happy this morning, Papà.’

Daniela was watching him as she took a bite of cornetto.

‘Do I?’ Marco asked.

‘Yes, you keep smiling but I don’t think you realize it. Oh!’ Something across the table caught Daniela’s attention and she stood up to reach for it. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, holding it up to the light where it sparkled. It was a beaded bracelet, in shimmering blue and silver.

‘It’s … something I found last night.’

‘Can I have it? It’s beautiful,’ Daniela said, slipping it onto her wrist and stretching out her arm to admire it.

‘You can look after it,’ Marco corrected her. ‘But we must try to give it back to the person who lost it.’

Daniela frowned, looking up at him. ‘Like Cinderella and her slipper?’

‘Yes,’ Marco laughed, thinking of the woman last night, and how she had seemed to melt into the crowd at midnight. ‘Just like that. Right, come along, my princess. Take it off now and leave it somewhere safe. Rosina will be here shortly, and I have to go to a boring meeting.’

Half an hour later, Marco strode into the offices of Elicotteri Conti. The company was based in the San Polo district of the city, the smallest and, in Marco’s opinion, most beautiful of all the sestieri. It was only a few minutes’ stroll from his apartment to the office, but during Carnevale Marco had to dodge the crowds of tourists, out and about in their costumes even first thing in the morning. Today, it was grey and misty, but that somehow added to the city’s magic.

‘Buongiorno,’ he called out to Francesca, the office manager. Marco was an amiable guy, well-liked by the team. The fact that he was good-looking and charismatic didn’t hurt either.

‘Ciao, Marco. Nicolò’s just arrived,’ Francesca told him. ‘He’s waiting for you in the boardroom. Would you like a coffee?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Double espresso? I’ll bring it in.’

Marco walked into the boardroom, a glass-fronted office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Grand Canal. They were near the Rialto Bridge, and the ancient stone structure looked atmospheric as it emerged through the morning fog, a lone vaparetto chugging underneath. On the walls of the boardroom were pictures of helicopters with the distinctive Conti logo on the side, above shelves which held the plethora of industry awards they’d won.