The city was like a painting come to life, every turn revealing a masterpiece of history and beauty. Kara McAllister stood on the edge of the Grand Canal, her sketchbook balanced on her arm as she tried to capture the interplay of light and water. Venice was everything she'd dreamed it would be-romantic, vibrant, and brimming with stories waiting to be uncovered.
If only her heart were in the mood to appreciate it.
She frowned at the page, her pencil pausing mid-stroke. Lately, her art felt... off. As if the break-up with Evan had stolen not just her trust in people but also her creativity. Shaking her head, she flipped the page and tried again, forcing herself to focus on the intricate façade of a nearby palazzo.
"Excuse me, signorina," a voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see a gondolier grinning at her from his boat. "Beautiful sketch! But Venice is even better without the paper."
Kara smiled politely and waved him off, gathering her things. She didn't have time for distractions. Her internship at the Museo di Arte Veneziana was everything she'd worked for-late nights studying, endless research papers, and surviving her professor's cutting critiques. Romance, especially the kind Venice was known for, wasn't on the agenda.
Her phone buzzed.
Kara groaned. A fancy gala wasn't her idea of fun, but if Dr. Moretti said jump, she had to ask how high. It was the price she paid for the privilege of working under one of the most respected art historians in Europe.
Her phone buzzed again, pulling her back to reality.
Dr. Moretti: Don't be late, McAllister. This is important.
She sighed, tucking the phone into her bag. "Important" was code for networking, a skill she had yet to master. Kara didn't belong in the world of high society. She belonged in dusty archives, running her fingers over faded manuscripts, or at her easel, losing herself in the vibrant chaos of oil paints.
Still, she wasn't about to disappoint her mentor. Dr. Moretti had taken a chance on her when she'd been just another faceless applicant, giving her a shot at the prestigious internship. If it meant donning a gown and pretending to enjoy champagne, so be it.
Hours later, as Kara stood in front of the mirror in her tiny rented apartment, she frowned at her reflection. The dress-a simple black sheath borrowed from her roommate-clung to her figure in a way that felt both elegant and unfamiliar. She'd paired it with the only heels she owned, a pair she hadn't worn since her cousin's wedding two years ago.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, smoothing a stray curl from her face.
Her reflection didn't respond, but the flutter in her chest did. It wasn't nerves exactly-it was the feeling of stepping into a role she wasn't sure she could play.
The gondola ride to the De Luca Hotel was surreal. The soft lapping of water against the gondola, the distant strains of a violin from another boat, and the golden lights of the city casting shimmering reflections on the canal-all of it felt like a scene from a movie. Yet Kara couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't quite belong in this cinematic dream.
When she arrived at the hotel, she paused at the entrance, taking in the grandeur. Massive chandeliers sparkled like constellations above marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen. The scent of roses and expensive perfume hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread from the hotel's kitchen.
She adjusted the strap of her bag-a plain black clutch she'd bought on sale-and took a deep breath before stepping inside.
---
The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of colors and movement. Women in jewel-toned gowns and men in tailored suits mingled under the warm glow of candlelight. Waiters glided between the guests, balancing trays of champagne flutes.
Kara clutched her glass tightly, hovering at the edge of the room. She had no idea where Dr. Moretti was, and the sea of unfamiliar faces made her stomach churn.
"Excuse me," she said softly, stepping aside as a couple swept past her. She felt like a shadow in the vibrant crowd, unnoticed and out of place.
Her gaze wandered to the walls, where masterpieces hung in gilded frames. A Tintoretto here, a Titian there-each painting a testament to the city's artistic legacy. For a moment, she forgot the crowd, her mind drawn to the details: the way light and shadow played across the canvas, the brushstrokes that spoke of passion and genius.
"You're admiring the wrong thing."
The voice startled her. She turned to find a man standing beside her, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that made her insides twist-a sharp jawline, perfectly tousled hair, and a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
"Excuse me?" she replied, her tone sharper than intended.
He gestured to the room. "Everyone here is admiring the art on the walls. But the real masterpiece is Venice itself. This"-he waved a hand toward the paintings-"is just a reflection."
Kara raised an eyebrow. "And who are you to decide what's worth admiring?"
His smile widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. "Alessandro De Luca. And you are?"
Her heart sank. Of course, he was the host-the heir to the De Luca empire, if she remembered correctly. She'd read about him in one of the glossy magazines her roommate loved, but in person, he was even more insufferable than she'd imagined.
"Kara McAllister," she said, refusing to let him intimidate her.
"Well, Kara McAllister," Alessandro said, his gaze steady on hers, "what brings you to my little gathering?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, an older woman appeared at Alessandro's side, beaming at them both.
"Alessandro, darling! And who is this lovely young lady?"
The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Alessandro hesitated. Kara could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way his expression shifted.
"She's my fiancée," he said smoothly, a devilish grin spreading across his face.
Kara froze. "What?"
The older woman clapped her hands together. "Oh, how wonderful! I knew there was something special about tonight."
Before Kara could protest, Alessandro leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "Just play along, cara. Trust me."
Her heart pounded as whispers began to ripple through the crowd. This wasn't what she'd signed up for. Not at all.
---