Nick straightened up, quickly took Stu’s outstretched hand. “Pleasure.” He then took Marilyn’s hand and said, “Ma’am, I’m Nicholas Sullivan and I had a wee misunderstanding with your daughter so I’m here to get it sorted.”
Marilyn held on. “Well! Welcome to Venice, Nick. Or should I say, Brock?”
“Mom.”
“She told me everything. I’ve never laughed so hard–”
“Mom!”
“Where are you staying?” She didn’t look at her daughter when she said, “Swanling, why don’t you see if they have availability here?”
“I actually found a place over there.” Nick waved a hand to the right, considered, and waved again to the left. “Or possibly there. Thank you, though.”
“We’re staying on the ship, but I wanted Swan to be able to immerse herself in the city, so we put her up here. Her first time in Venice and all.”
Nick’s eyes turned to Sewanee. “First time in Venice?”
She met his eyes. “The real one.”
“You’ve been here before, Nick?” Stu asked.
“Not since I was a lad. We’d holiday in Lombardy occasionally and my aunt had a thing for Vivaldi.”
“Oh,” Marilyn breathed and Sewanee watched it happen, watched the Nick Spell settle itself over her mother. Dammit. “Nick, you should join us for dinner tomorrow night. Stu, can we make the reservation for four?”
“Mom!” Sewanee’s voice was overloud in the quiet garden. She course-corrected. “That’s very thoughtful, but Nick just got here and I’m sure Stu–”
“Leave it to me, Swanners.” Stu turned to Nick. “Rest up, buddy boy, this isn’t a dinner, it’s an experience. We went there the last time the ship came through Venice and–”
“Let them go in blind, Stu,” Marilyn interrupted, “the way we did the first time.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Stu nodded, but had to add, “I’ll just say this: wunderkind chef, twenty-eight. Michelin star. On an island. And the entire place . . . at a Marriott. A Marriott! Can you believe it?” He turned to Marilyn. “Okay, I’m done.”
Nick glanced sheepishly at Sewanee. “That’s so kind, really, thank you so much, but I’m not sure–”
Marilyn patted his hand. “The boat leaves at seven from the St. Mark’s dock. We’ll meet you there.” She brooked no argument. She turned to her daughter and kissed her cheek. “It’ll be fun! Ciao!” And she and Stu hurried away down the path.
Nick and Sewanee stood in silence for a moment. When she finally opened her mouth, Nick handed her his phone. “Press record.”
“What?”
“Frame me up.” He stepped away, turned back around, faced her. “Is it recording?”
No idea what was happening, Sewanee pressed the big red button on his phone’s screen and said, “Uh, yeah?”
Nick dropped to his knees and, after a moment, bent over. He laid fully out, arms forward, in child’s pose.
“What the hell–”
“I’m not worthy!” he yelled into the pavers. “Have mercy!”
“Oh my God, Nick!”
He began crawling forward. “I will kiss your feet now!”
Sewanee jumped backward. “You most certainly will not, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry!” Still yelling. “Do you accept my apology?!”
“Get. Up.”
He explained, at normal volume, “I can’t get up until you accept my apology.”
“What?”
“I promised Mark,” he mumbled into the ground. “He needs video proof.”
In spite of herself, Sewanee laughed. She flipped the phone around and said into the camera, “I forgive him. Okay? You sadist. Jesus.” She turned the camera off. “He’s such an asshole. Please, just get up.”
Nick sat back on his knees, but he didn’t stand. He gazed up at her. “I am sorry. I should have seen how upset you were. I should have seen that side of it. But in the moment, I found it funny as all hell, and now I see it’s not funny, not funny at all, you were right–”
“No, you were right,” Sewanee shrugged, “it is funny as all hell.”
Nick dropped his head back, closed his eyes, groaned, “Oh, thank Jaysus, I haven’t been able to stop laughing.” He met her gaze again. “Still. Please understand, I never meant to–”