Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

23. The Grand Canal

It's peak season in the world-famous beauty that is Venice, Italy. With 118 islands, you would think people would choose another one. The walkways are crowded with tourists and kids kicking around soccer balls. Queues string from many of the attractions. Ducking and weaving is now an acquired skill.

"The Floating City."

"La Serenissima." I give one of the many nicknames for Venice. 

Glancing over to Marcel, I find an impression in his heightened brows. Something tells me this trip is going to be interesting.

With a light-hearted shrug, Marcel proposes a buyable idea. "We can extend our stay; so you can become fluent. It's only right." He pulls his lips to the side, making the suggestion no longer buyable, but a non-negotiable one. 

My coy ways drag my eyes away from his and down to my black, biker boots, watching them stride along the cement trail. Picking them back up, I say, "You seem like the type to pick up on languages well."

Adamantly denying the claim with a shaken head, Marcel goes on to say, "It's just memorizing phrases. What's your favorite language?"

"French actually." I step closer to Marcel as people pass on my side. As he halts his long-legged stride, I pause as well, looking for a reason for the disruption.

"You know," He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. I look down the cobblestone street we just walked down. What? "I always liked school. I wouldn't mind enrolling again."

"Marcel," My lessened sigh shifts into a chuckle after watching him take his first step in the wrong direction. "shut up." I take his arm to correct his path.

"I've always wanted to come to Venice." He tucks his hands into his pockets.

"You haven't? Wow." Considering how much he roves Europe, I thought he would have mastered this place years ago. "It's an impressive city. There's no way to see all that it has to offer in such a short amount of time." I look up to read the various shop names. Different scents filled my nose every 10 steps. Blissful overload. "But with all of these delicious flavors in the air, I'm ready for the pasta."

"Pizza." He chooses. Hold on, man. I said pasta. Okay, pizza too. Let's do that.

"We're going to roll out of here." I rub my stomach, envisioning how much it's going to be protruding. I don't care. I'm looking forward to it. Peering over to Marcel's clothed stomach, dismissal bounces off my shoulders. "You'll be fine, because you work out."

"You were checking me out this morning." 

He clears his throat as I watch him swipe his thumb past his pointed nose. His brows furrow acting as if he found something interesting in our passing of a fish market. OH MY GOD! Here you go!

"I had to make sure it was you coming through the door. Who doesn't look at the door when someone walks in?" 

My explanation is common sense and valid, but Marcel rejects it to go with his theory. "No, you were checking me out."

"No, I wasn't."

"Then how did you drop your phone?" His knowing eyes dip over to me. By this point, his lethargic expression can't be compromised. Stop flattering yourself.

"Ella yelled at me." I lie, making him kiss his teeth and roll his eyes. I'm standing by my little white lies today. "Okay, to be real," I draw a deep breath, hoping he'd take this one and lay the issue to rest.

"Hm?" Marcel prepares to kick this fib to the side, the same direction as his tightened lips.

"I got upset because I thought you went swimming without me. I dropped my phone for dramatic effect." I tell another lie; this one more expressive and light-hearted as I laugh.