This Haunted World Book One: The Venetian: A Chilling New Supernatural Thriller by Shani Struthers Page B
Authors: Shani Struthers
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tempted she could see.
“Erm… no come on, another bar, and then food, we need pasta, lots of it. Bruschetta too, or whatever they call it, undo the damage we’ve done and are about to do more of.”
It was later, much later that they stumbled into a restaurant – the same one as last night despite Rob wanting to try somewhere new. It just so happened that the second bar they’d been lingering in, laughing, chatting, leaning into each other, behaving like the couple they’d once been, with no cares, no worries, was close to it. They could literally fall out of one door, walk down one or two alleyways, under the same archway as before, the one in the painting, and fall into another. Initially Rob protested that they should go somewhere else, but he could see the logic of the situation, besides which, the food had been good, really good; they knew they were in for a treat.
Pushing their way in, it was as packed as the previous night. They had to wait over ten minutes in the cold entrance for a table to become free, Louise enjoying the banter of the waiters as they hurried back and forth, and their good-natured gesticulating. Eventually they were shown to their table – not ideal, it was close to another couple – very close. Louise hated it when that happened, but it was too late to turn back, despite her casting a longing glance towards the door. It’s too late . Even after she sat, those words kept repeating.
Chapter Eight
Leaning in towards Rob, Louise realised she was mirroring the woman beside her, as if they were each, in their own way, trying to mark their territory – this man is my man, this boundary is our boundary, don’t overstep it – another fanciful notion that made her laugh.
“What’s the matter?” Rob’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Nothing,” she replied, feeling coquettish. “I want to be close to you that’s all.”
“You want to sit on my lap?”
“I do actually.”
“I dare you.”
Louise placed her menu on the table and made to rise, keeping her eyes trained on Rob all the time, loving the amusement in his eyes. When he didn’t falter, she did, collapsing back down again, stifling her giggles, trying not to disturb the other couple – and failing.
They were looking at her, both of them. Similar in age, she guessed, to her and Rob, around their mid-thirties, both were dark haired, slim and well tailored. The man had aquiline features and dark eyes, his eyelashes so long any woman would envy them. She considered the woman attractive, her features just slightly too sharp to be considered pretty, her skin alabaster, and the nails on her hands manicured.
It was the man who smiled first. “ Ciao ,” he said. “You look like you’re having fun.”
Although heavily accented, his English was perfect. Immediately Louise apologised, mortified that their drunken behaviour had interrupted their meal. Not interrupted exactly, as there were no plates set before them, just glasses of wine – they’d either finished or hadn’t started yet. It turned out to be the latter, as starters were delivered to their table, a small round plate for each of them with round potato dumplings arranged in the middle. She knew what it was: gnocchi in a crab sauce, she’d been tempted to order the same. As they picked up their cutlery, she’d thought they’d concentrate on each other rather than them – she was wrong. Once they’d broken the ice, they were dead-set on continuing.
“English, yes?” the man continued, spearing a piece of gnocchi and lifting it to his mouth. “You are on holiday?”
“We’re here for the weekend,” Rob informed him. “What about you, do you live here?”
“Si, we live not far away, in the Cannaregio sestiere.” His fork now empty, he gestured around him. “This is a good restaurant, good food. It is mainly the locals who eat here.”
Rob glanced at Louise, a smug ‘ I told you ’ expression on his face. “We came here last
“Erm… no come on, another bar, and then food, we need pasta, lots of it. Bruschetta too, or whatever they call it, undo the damage we’ve done and are about to do more of.”
It was later, much later that they stumbled into a restaurant – the same one as last night despite Rob wanting to try somewhere new. It just so happened that the second bar they’d been lingering in, laughing, chatting, leaning into each other, behaving like the couple they’d once been, with no cares, no worries, was close to it. They could literally fall out of one door, walk down one or two alleyways, under the same archway as before, the one in the painting, and fall into another. Initially Rob protested that they should go somewhere else, but he could see the logic of the situation, besides which, the food had been good, really good; they knew they were in for a treat.
Pushing their way in, it was as packed as the previous night. They had to wait over ten minutes in the cold entrance for a table to become free, Louise enjoying the banter of the waiters as they hurried back and forth, and their good-natured gesticulating. Eventually they were shown to their table – not ideal, it was close to another couple – very close. Louise hated it when that happened, but it was too late to turn back, despite her casting a longing glance towards the door. It’s too late . Even after she sat, those words kept repeating.
Chapter Eight
Leaning in towards Rob, Louise realised she was mirroring the woman beside her, as if they were each, in their own way, trying to mark their territory – this man is my man, this boundary is our boundary, don’t overstep it – another fanciful notion that made her laugh.
“What’s the matter?” Rob’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Nothing,” she replied, feeling coquettish. “I want to be close to you that’s all.”
“You want to sit on my lap?”
“I do actually.”
“I dare you.”
Louise placed her menu on the table and made to rise, keeping her eyes trained on Rob all the time, loving the amusement in his eyes. When he didn’t falter, she did, collapsing back down again, stifling her giggles, trying not to disturb the other couple – and failing.
They were looking at her, both of them. Similar in age, she guessed, to her and Rob, around their mid-thirties, both were dark haired, slim and well tailored. The man had aquiline features and dark eyes, his eyelashes so long any woman would envy them. She considered the woman attractive, her features just slightly too sharp to be considered pretty, her skin alabaster, and the nails on her hands manicured.
It was the man who smiled first. “ Ciao ,” he said. “You look like you’re having fun.”
Although heavily accented, his English was perfect. Immediately Louise apologised, mortified that their drunken behaviour had interrupted their meal. Not interrupted exactly, as there were no plates set before them, just glasses of wine – they’d either finished or hadn’t started yet. It turned out to be the latter, as starters were delivered to their table, a small round plate for each of them with round potato dumplings arranged in the middle. She knew what it was: gnocchi in a crab sauce, she’d been tempted to order the same. As they picked up their cutlery, she’d thought they’d concentrate on each other rather than them – she was wrong. Once they’d broken the ice, they were dead-set on continuing.
“English, yes?” the man continued, spearing a piece of gnocchi and lifting it to his mouth. “You are on holiday?”
“We’re here for the weekend,” Rob informed him. “What about you, do you live here?”
“Si, we live not far away, in the Cannaregio sestiere.” His fork now empty, he gestured around him. “This is a good restaurant, good food. It is mainly the locals who eat here.”
Rob glanced at Louise, a smug ‘ I told you ’ expression on his face. “We came here last
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