The dangerous one.
The sleek motorboat turned its nose toward us and floated stealthily across the water, making all other boats look like they were put together with popsicle sticks and glue. The music switched to a hip-hop remix of “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye. Two girls in the seats at the front of the boat squealed and got up to dance, reaching beckoning hands towards Fed. They were both slender and tanned. The blond one wore a bikini top and a short skirt and the other wore a tiny, skin-tight dress. They were both ridiculously beautiful. Hood ornaments. Then shame heated my cheeks. I didn't know these girls.
The motorboat slowly began to turn, like a sleepy sea monster. It drew alongside us and Fed grabbed the edge. The music was turned down.
Two of Fed's friends waited to help us board. A blond man dressed in a white fedora, lean as a pro-cyclist, and a big man with a fierce black beard and topknot. I thought he must be Karim until I saw another man who dwarfed all. He was bald and was holding a water bottle in his paw of a hand. He looked deep in conversation with the driver.
Fed boarded first, and then me.
"You must be Saxony?" the slim blond man asked, holding out a hand. "I'm Jacopo."
"Yeah, that's me." I took his hand and he pulled me in and kissed my right cheek, then my left.
"Piacere," I said.
"Nice to meet you, too. Take a seat."
I sat as the boat drifted away from the boat jam. We sliced through the water like a predatory fish. Jacopo sat down beside me, a half-full beer bottle in his hand.
Fed already had a plastic cup of some pink liquid in her hand. "Everyone, this is Saxony."
Her friends lifted their drinks toward me, except for the driver, who had his back to us.
I grinned. "Ciao, y'all."
"Something to drink?" Jacopo asked. He lifted a seat cover and exposed a cooler. "We have beer, or Stefania can make you a spritz, or one of these iced tea things..." He pulled one up and peered at it. He looked older than the rest of Fed's friends. He was deeply tanned with visible lines across his forehead.
"That iced tea thing sounds great, grazie." I took the cold can from him.
"Fed says you're Canadian?" he asked, his voice rising as the dance music was turned up a notch. The other men in the rear of the boat listened for my answer, too.
"Yes, from Eastern Canada. I'm here for the summer. You're from Venice, I assume?" I opened the can and took a sip. It was sweet and definitely alcoholic.
He laughed. "No, not very many of us are from Venezia. I'm from Napoli. Marco here is Roman." He nodded toward his friend. "I moved here for a work a few years ago. I manage two hotels here in Venezia and one in Verona."
I blinked. Fed's friends were not high school kids. "Wow, that sounds busy. How did you get into that line of work?"
As I listened, I scanned the view of Venice from the boat. Street lamps lined the walkway in front of the square, sending their light across the water in undulating lines. The crowd covered every surface of the island, including roofs. People shrank to the size of ants as we left the island behind. The boat soon slowed in a patch of open water. The driver turned off the engine and the vibration stopped. He was the only one who hadn't greeted me yet, or even looked at me. He had to be Dante. I studied his back, curiously.
He was not overly tall but he was wide at the shoulder and slender at the hips. He wore a pastel pink polo shirt with yellow and white horizontal stripes, powder-blue cotton shorts, and white leather flip-flops. I thought that maybe Fed was a little overzealous by referring to him as 'dangerous.' With all that pastel, he looked like cotton candy.
As Jacopo told me about his career in the hospitKarimty industry, I couldn't tear my eyes from Dante. He moved gracefully to the beat of the music. One tanned arm reached down and plucked a plastic cup from a cup holder. I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the outer edge of his left wrist but it was so small I couldn't tell what it was. Finally, he turned and looked me full in the face.
I no longer heard a word Jacopo was saying. Dante was not cotton candy.
Nine
Everything about him said that he knew who he was and what he wanted out of life. I had the sense he'd been born with that look. When he'd turned, he didn't look anywhere else, he knew exactly where I was sitting and his eyes found mine and held them.
A tiny vibration began in me. It wasn't that he was so good-looking, although he did have nice features. It was his expression. I wasn't sure I could look away even if I wanted to. His almond shaped, dark brown eyes were slightly upturned at the outer corners, giving him a mischievous look. A smile played about his lips. In his expression was a challenge, like he was daring me to look away. Let him challenge. I wouldn't drop my eyes first even if the boat caught fire. I lifted my chin just a little and he cracked a lopsided smile. I relaxed.
He crossed the short space between us and Jacopo moved over to make room. Dante sat beside me and threw an arm over the back of the seat behind me as though he'd known me his whole life. I shifted to face him.
"Who are you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
I canted my head to mimic him. "I'm Saxony. Who are you?" On the outside I was all sass, but my heart was pounding like the drum of a warship.
"Yeah, but who are you?" he repeated. He lifted his hand from behind me and took a stray curl between his thumb and forefinger. A whirlwind of butterflies took off in my stomach. He hadn't touched my skin, but somehow he sent a message to everyone on the boat that I was the only one who mattered. I was conscious of the looks we were getting, but I was too captured by him to care.
I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued, "Look at this hair."
His eyes finally left mine to roam the mass of curls on the top of my head. He put a hand into his pocket, lifting his hips to reach his fingers inside. He pulled something out but it was hidden in his palm. I had no time to react as he snapped open the butterfly knife and lifted it to my hair. I gasped as he cut something, quick as a snake.
My hair fell down around my face and shoulders. I half expected a hank of curls to go tumbling onto the floor of the boat, and I touched my head to make sure. “Did you just cut my hair?”
"Only the elastic. This is much better." He snapped the butterfly knife closed and put it back in his pocket. He leaned back to admire his handiwork. He fluffed my curls with one hand, setting them as though he was a practiced hairdresser.
My mouth hung half open in shock before I snapped it shut and narrowed my eyes. What would I have done if he had actually cut a few locks? Jack’s face flashed before my eyes for a moment and I took a breath. "You're very, very lucky," I said, punctuating every word.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jacopo look over at the sound of my voice.
"Oh, she's proud of her hair," laughed Dante.
I stiffened. Was he mocking me? Then he stopped laughing and a look of admiration came over his face.
"She should be." His finger touched my cheekbone. He leaned in close and lowered his voice, "She is very, very beautiful." He said it like he really meant it.
My shock at his boldness dissolved. "He is very, very silver-tongued."
"Silver-tongued," he repeated. "I like this term, can I use it?" He leaned back with a crooked smile. He didn't wait for an answer. "We should spend some time together. I think you're a girl good with words, no? I like words. I like to collect them. I don't know so many of these phrases in English. Teach me more." He looked at me with anticipation.
Dante and I talked and laughed as though we were the only two people on the boat. He was unlike anyone I had ever met and I was fascinated. My blood hummed as I finished my iced tea. At some point, another drink appeared in my hand, dripping and cold.