frilliness. He’d forgotten that even the most of ornate fasciae were constructed of much simpler, cleaner elements.
If he took Ruby’s idea and pared it back, using simpler shapes, overlapping and juxtaposing them to create something, not exactly elaborate, because that wasn’t his style, but something more intricate that still kept that essence of simple elegance.
He grabbed one of Sofia’s scrap-paper sheets and a pen and began to scribble. Semicircular arches here and here, intersecting to create a more pointed version, with slender pillar for support. His hand flew over the paper, sketching shapes and lines, at first for the arches in the atrium, but then taking the same idea and applying it to other aspects of the space, giving it all a cohesive feel.
He could see it so clearly. Just a hint of gothic style, built in glass and steel. Modern materials that echoed back to classic design. It was just what he needed to tie the new wing and the existing institute building together and make them feel like one space.
He kept going, filling sheet after sheet, until he suddenly realised he’d been at this for ages.
Ruby!
He still hadn’t gone and apologised.
He shoved away from the desk, sending a stack of Sofia’s colourful drawings flying, and then sprinted down the corridor in the direction of her and Ruby’s rooms. He didn’t bother knocking when he got there, just flung the door open and raced inside, expecting to find her shoving clothes into her rucksack, a scowl on her face.
Wrong again, Max.
She can pack in under ten minutes, remember? Sometimes five.
Where Max had expected to find Ruby stewing and muttering insults under her breath, there was nothing but empty space.
Ruby Lange was gone.
* * *
Ruby shivered as she waited on the little creaky dock outside Ca’ Damiani. The clouds had sunk closer to the water and coloured everything a murky grey. A drop of rain splashed on her forehead. Great.
Her rucksack was at her feet, leaning against her lower legs, and she craned to see if the light bobbing towards her, accompanied by the sound of a motor, was the taxi she’d ordered. She needed to get out of here and she needed to do it right now.
This was so not how she’d imagined seeing Venice by water this evening.
More raindrops, one after the other. She could hear them plopping into the canal near her feet.
The approaching craft turned out to be a private boat that puttered past and stopped outside one of the buildings opposite. Ruby felt her whole body sag.
Stupid, stupid girl. You take on a job you know nothing about—just because some random guy says he needs you—and you think he’s going to see past all of your inexperience and believe you’re something special? Get real. The only thing Max Martin believed about her was that she was a flaky screw-up, just like everyone else on this planet.
She hugged her arms tighter around her, wishing she hadn’t packed her jacket in the very bottom of the rucksack.
Not everyone believes you’re a screw-up.
Okay, maybe she was being a little dramatic. A number of her bosses over the years had begged her to stay when she’d realised the job wasn’t for her and had given in her notice. They’d said she was competent and organised and they’d love to promote her, but she hadn’t been able to ignore that itchy feeling once it started. The only way to stop the intense restlessness, the only way to scratch it enough so it went away, was to move on. But Max was wrong. She didn’t run away. She ran to the next thing. There was a whole world of difference.
The rain began to fall harder now. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes. It was already damp. Where was that taxi?
There was a creaking behind her as the boat door that led to the dock opened. Ruby’s blood solidified in her veins. She refused to turn round.
She expected another angry tirade, braced herself against it, but when his voice came it was soft and low. ‘Ruby?’
‘That’s my name,’ she said, and then grimaced, glad he couldn’t see her face. What was this? High school?
‘Don’t go.’
She spun round to face him, arms still clutched around her middle, as if she was afraid she’d fall apart if she didn’t hold herself together. ‘What?’
The anger was gone. She could see none of its vestiges on his features. Part of her breathed a sigh of relief, but another, deeper part, sighed with disappointment. The anger had been horrible, but it had been a little wonderful, too.
He walked forwards. Ruby was tempted to back away, but that would mean taking a dip in the canal, so she had to stay where she was. Cold drops peppered her skin and she shivered. Off in the distance there was a muffled rumble of thunder.
‘I want to apologise,’ he said, looking so earnest her heart grew warm and achy inside her chest. ‘I should never have let off at you like that. It was totally uncalled for.’
‘Thank you,’ she said in a wobbly voice. ‘And I should probably apologise for the verbal—and non-verbal—assault. That wasn’t very professional.’
A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘I deserved it.’
Her stony blood started to warm and melt. It danced and shimmered and sang. Stop it, she told it. You’re making it very hard to leave.
And so was he, looking at her like that.
The itchy feeling returned, stronger this time. Unable to stand still, she walked in a small circle. The falling rain multiplied the lights of the city, but a cold breeze wrapped around her, stealing her breath.
‘It was my fault the plans got mixed up with Sofia’s drawing paper,’ he said, not breaking eye contact. ‘I left them in the salon the night before. I’m sorry I accused you of that.’
She nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.
He looked down at his feet briefly before meeting her eyes again. ‘Forgive me.’
Revenge, passion and utter, utter devotion. The words spun through Ruby’s head.
‘Okay,’ she croaked.
He nodded, his expression still slightly grim. ‘Then stay...please?’
Ruby blinked. Up until now, she hadn’t been sure that word was part of Max Martin’s vocabulary.
She looked away, even closed her eyes for good measure. She’d wanted to go so badly. So badly... It was a surprise to discover the tug to stay was just as strong. Not to stay and be Sofia’s nanny, although she was sure she would enjoy another week of that, but to stay here. In Venice. With Max.
She sucked a breath in and held it. Thank goodness he had no idea about the silly things she’d been feeling. Thank goodness he probably thought she was acting out of hurt pride. And fear, yes. He’d been right about that. She did run when things got too hard. Always had. How could you save yourself the
