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    One Night in Venice
    One Night in Venice
    One Night in Venice
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    One Night in Venice

    By Marcella Rowe

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    About this ebook

    Dylan Kennedy is desperately in need of a fairytale. The young widow travels to Venice, Italy for the legendary carnevale expecting to find good fun and great food. What she didn’t expect to find was herself in the middle of a royal romance.
    Nikolai, Crown Prince of Denmark, is a playboy prince who is more likely to be photographed dating supermodels than single moms. But when he and Dylan collide, not even the masks they are wearing, can conceal the instant attraction. They also can’t conceal that the prince and Dylan come from very different worlds. Are they willing to risk more than just their hearts, if their romance is to survive for more than just one night?
    One Night in Venice, is a modern day Cinderella story enveloped in the magic and mystery of one of the world’s most romantic cities.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMarcella Rowe
    Release dateFeb 10, 2019
    ISBN9780999322741
    One Night in Venice
    Author

    Marcella Rowe

    I love journeys. I especially love emotional journeys. They are even better when there is a little (or a lot) of sex along the way. But you can be guaranteed that at the end of the journey for my characters and readers, you will always find a HEA/HFN. When I am not writing romance I am writing stories of a different kind as an Emmy and Peabody award-winning journalist. Enjoy and let me know what you think. I always read reviews and appreciate you taking the time to write them.

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      Book preview

      One Night in Venice - Marcella Rowe

      Table of Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      EPILOGUE

      Copyright © 2018 by Jillian O’Brien. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Published in the United States of America.

      ISBN: 978-0-9993227-2-7.

      Smashwords Edition

      CHAPTER ONE

      I was having a Cinderella moment.

      Ball Gown? Check. Ridiculously impractical choice of footwear? Check. I’d even managed to find my own fairy godmother, who’d managed the impossible. No, not turning a pumpkin into a stagecoach, but me into a vision of a fairytale princess.

      "La piu bella ragazza," Signora Franconi, aka my fairy godmother, announced as she held up her hands in appreciation, and divine gratitude, at the miracle she’d performed. The elderly Italian woman not only owned the small pensione where I was staying in Venice but had also been the costume designer for La Scala opera house in Milan. When she found out that I didn’t have a costume for carnevale, she quickly climbed into her attic and returned with the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

      Armed with a needle and thread instead of a magic wand, I was no longer an Irish-Catholic tomboy from the south side of Boston who these days prayed at the altar of our Lady of Perpetual Yoga Pants. I was a vision of classic femininity dressed in a velvet gown the jewel-tone color of the deepest emerald green. Signora insisted on the green, which would bring my eyes, she said. The arms were inset with ivory satin and held together by a series of gold hooks. The plunging neckline made me look like I had full, perky breasts. I wished my mother and grandmother were here to see it. They’d tried for years to get me into dresses only to fail as I scampered off with my many older brothers.

      "Graz… I started to thank her in the little Italian I’d picked up in the past week while in Venice. I didn’t even get the words out before all the air was suddenly forced out of my body with a whoosh as the signora tugged—no, not tugged, but pulled with strength of someone who felt bigger than the signora’s tiny and elderly frame. Isn’t that too tight?" I muttered, taking small breaths.

      No. This time protestation came not from the signora but from my best friend Sofia as she entered my room. It gives you curves, which is a miracle.

      Sofia had been given the room next door. Both were small and fitted with antique wardrobes and brass beds. They were cramped but with the quaint efficiency that led the website to call them bijou and charming. But my bathroom was nearly the same size as the bedroom, with an enormous clawfoot tub and a marble pedestal sink. It was the authentic European look design catalogs tried to recreate but always fell slightly short. The pensione was lovely, and more importantly, it was the cheapest we could find in the historic part of the city during carnevale. Sofia was the one who’d talked me into this winter getaway after she found a last-minute online deal that was just too good to pass up. So here I was, being trussed up like a Christmas goose.

      I can’t believe women actually dressed like this. I ran my hands down the intricately embroidered bodice. I didn’t shop at fancy designer stores. There was no point. I didn’t go anywhere fancy. But my grandmother did needlework, and I could only guess how much a custom gown like this one would have cost. It would have been more than the price for the entire trip.

      It wasn’t just the dress, I was also wearing thigh-high sheer wool stockings because it was winter and the wind blowing off the canals was freezing. And my trusty Ugg boots, which were my winter uniform, had been tossed back in the wardrobe and replaced with a pair of sequined pumps with a narrow three-inch heel.

      Sofia was also dressed in a costume, but unlike mine, which was quickly turning into a torture device, her gown had an empire waist and flowing bottom that looked vastly more comfortable. It helped that Sofia was also blessed with the natural curves and dark almond-shaped eyes framed by even darker eyelashes of her namesake, Sofia Loren. She did not need to be cinched in at the waist at some abnormal level to make her look feminine.

      Stop complaining, Sofia admonished.

      But I can’t breathe, and really, it’s not going to make any difference. We’re going to be masked, in a strange city. Who are we trying to impress?

      You look amazing and you know it. She stood next to me and we both stared into the full-length mirror. My long red hair was piled into a mass of curls on top of my head, making me even taller so I towered over Sofia. Besides, tonight, something magical is going to happen. I can feel it.

      All I feel is hunger.

      You’re always starving. I can’t believe you can eat so much and still be so skinny.

      It’s called being a single, working mom. I spend all my time either cooking or chasing around a four-year-old boy.

      Not tonight, you’re not, Sofia said. Tonight is about romance, mystery, fun.

      She grabbed two masks from the dresser. The one she handed me was covered in gold foil and trimmed in black lace. It went around my eyes but the left the rest of my face uncovered. I tied the black satin ribbon around the back of my head. Many people chose full face masks for carnival but there was no way I was covering my mouth. Sofia was serious about partying but I was serious about the food. As a chef, it was an occupational hazard. Well, not really a proper, Michelin-starred chef. I owned a small café in Boston that was one step up from a coffee shop. But it was mine and I loved it.

      Before we left, I took one last look in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself.

      That’s the whole point of carnival. Sofia tied her own eye mask on. It was black except for the bright feathers in various shades of red that fanned out across the top and rippled like a wave every time she turned her head. I’m serious, Dylan. It’s been two years since Mick died. Two years since you’ve had any fun.

      That’s not true. I have fun.

      Sofia cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms across her chest. I figured underneath her ball gown her small foot was tapping with doubt. When?

      Well— I struggled to come up with an answer. Then I remembered and chuckled softly. The other week Mikey and I had the best time at the aquarium. Did you know you can touch a shark?

      I don’t mean with a toddler.

      Point taken, I conceded.

      She took my hands. I understand how hard it’s been for you. I do.

      I know.

      Mick was an amazing man. And you’ve done an incredible job keeping it all together for Mikey.

      Even though it had been two years since he was killed, I still had a hard time thinking of my husband in the past tense.

      I didn’t have much of a choice.

      But I knew Mick as long as you did. I know he’d never want you to stop living. He’d want you to find someone to love again.

      I can’t even imagine it. Mick was the best—

      Mick is gone.

      She wasn’t trying to be harsh. She’d been with me through the whole ordeal. I wouldn’t have gotten through it without her. No one imagines they’re going to start a Tuesday morning taking their baby boy in for his annual checkup but end it at the hospital staring down at their dead husband’s body. No one expects to be a widow at twenty-eight.

      You’re lucky if you get hit by that lightning bolt once. That unmistakable feeling when you first see someone and you know in that moment your life will change forever. But it’s a fairytale to think it happens twice.

      Well then it’s a good thing you look like Cinderella tonight.

      She gave me a supportive hug. I hoped some of Sofia’s excitement and anticipation would rub off on me.

      As we walked down the narrow hallway I could smell something wafting up from the floor below. The smell of fresh bread was universally enticing. Except to Sofia, who’d sworn off carbs, which made her a frustrating travel companion in Italy.

      If I could just grab some of the signora’s focaccia—it’s so good when she takes it out of the oven. The rosemary, the sea salt, just a hint of garlic.

      No garlic! Sofia protested. "How are

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