The Plague Doctor's Daughter

29. Giovanna

"Giovanna, we have arrived." Matteo's soft baritone nudged her awake. Opening her eyes, Giovanna's first glimpse was of her own hand resting on his chest. As his heart thumped rhythmically underneath her ear, her fingers gripped the soft fabric of his doublet. A bit further up and dangerously close, his chin (with the start of dark stubble), lips (plump, yet firm), nose (noble and straight), and eyes (intently watching) came into view.

"Hello," he whispered.

She bolted to a sitting position, angry with herself for allowing such intimacy, but thankful that no one else had been witness to the indiscretion. She must have fallen asleep, and now they had reached San Marco. Her embarrassment was unbearable.

"My apologies," she muttered, swinging the door open. Although the rain had slowed to a drizzle, the air was cold, and it felt like a thousand tiny blades against her face.

"It is quite all right," Matteo said with a hint of joviality in his voice.

Her heart sank. He no doubt found her actions amusing, probably even common. But what else would he have expected from the daughter of a plague doctor? Unlike him, she was raised to merely survive, not prosper. They were nothing alike and she'd been a fool to think they could work together to save Ottavia. Her impropriety was a perfect—and much needed—reminder of it.

Pulling her cloak's hood over her already soaked hair, Giovanna rushed out of the cabin without even saying goodbye.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Matteo yelled as she grabbed a wooden pillar and hoisted herself up to the dock. "Will you not wait for me?"

Giovanna didn't pause for an answer. Her feet splashed in the puddles as she cut across the piazzetta and ran past the Campanile before rounding the tall bell tower. Taking refuge under the adjoining arcade's sheltered walkway, she finally stopped and leaned against one of the stone columns. The torches lining the square cast nothing more than an eerie glow across the vast space shrouded in the rain's misty veil, but it was enough for her needs.

She had intended to run straight home, but suddenly Giovanna was reluctant to go. Telling herself she'd wait just a moment longer until her breathing was normalized, she eagerly searched for any signs of Matteo's approach. His short journey home would undoubtedly take him across her line of sight. She'd left him so abruptly—so rudely, in fact—that making sure he arrived at his destination was the least she could do, even if it only served to ease her own conscience.

Yes, that was all. She had no other reason for wanting to linger. Not to catch one more glimpse of his face, to perhaps see a longing in his gaze for the girl who'd disappeared into the night. That would be almost as bad as falling asleep in his arms.

The heaviness of her wet cloak weighed on her tired body, and Giovanna leaned against the stone colonnade for support, resting her cheek against the smooth surface. Shutting her eyes, she could still recall Matteo's beguiling scent: salty like the sea air constantly surrounding him, acrid from the smoke they'd escaped, and earthy thanks to the ambergris perfume he so fondly wore. When she looked up again, no matter how hard she squinted into the darkness, there was no movement at all in front of the basilica.

Had Matteo been held up by someone, and if so, was it friend or foe? Did he perhaps change his mind about going home and instead had taken the gondola elsewhere? Was he so little concerned by her sudden getaway that he wouldn't even try to follow?

The possibilities reeled in her head as Giovanna's labored gasps for air became more shallow again, but this time not from exertion. Ready to turn homeward before an attack of hysterics, it was only the appearance of a cloaked figure in the distance that made her pause. He walked with purpose, his long strides carrying him across the wet, stone surface. The rain made it impossible to distinguish his features, but it could have been no other than Matteo. In just a few hundred meters, he'd be across the piazza and at the threshold of his ancestral home. He'd disappear behind the wooden door before shutting out all remnants of their disturbing adventure.