"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Not to me, but to yourself. Have you ever tried to do that, beyond believing that all your prejudices had been proved correct?"

"I don't have to listen to this."

"Fine, run away."

Justine looked all around her. Water everywhere.

"Well, I can't, can I?" she seethed. "I'm trapped out here now."

"Ah, yes! I never thought of that."

"Like hell you didn't."

He grinned.

"Will you please start this engine and take me back to Venice?"

"I've got a better idea," he said. "Why don't we go below and have something to eat?"

For a moment she glared at him, then relented. "All right, but it's under protest!"

"Of course. You'll find the smoked salmon tastes just as good under protest."

She aimed a friendly punch at him. It was too glorious a day for anger.

The picnic hamper was full of the very finest from the hotel. As she unpacked and they reclined against the cushions, she asked, "How is it you were able to take the day off?"

"I did well out of those catering assignments, so I could hire some extra help for a few days. This is more important."

As he'd promised, the food was exquisite. For once she forgot about healthy eating and indulged herself. Afterward she was suddenly sleepy, and when he drew her back against his shoulder she nodded off at once.

She awoke to find him watching her and had a sudden conviction that he'd been doing that all the time.

"Now tell me about yourself," he said. "I want to know everything."

Chapter Seventeen

Held in the safety of Riccardo's arms, Justine struggled with memories that usually she tried never to think of.

"Until I was eight years old I thought I had a happy home. I knew my parents loved each other more than they loved me, but there was love to spare for everyone, or so I thought." Justine let out a sigh. It was difficult for her to talk about this.