The next day was cold, but bright and sunny. Everything gleamed in the vivid light of the hour before sunset. The colors of Venice — red and gold and ochre caught between the blue lagoon and the blue sky — shone and shimmered.

The Venetians knew how to do pageantry right, Anya thought as she looked out over the crowd in St. Mark’s Square. Everyone was waving the blue, gold and green flag of the Accords, and everyone was excited.

Nobody knew how close they had come to not having the Accords at all. She couldn’t bear to think of the chaos and violence that would have ensued. Centuries of hatred and distrust breaking out again, worse for having had hopes dashed.

But now it was a done deal. At the podium, erected right in front of St. Mark’s Cathedral, the very symbol of the marriage of East and West, covered in blue, gold and green bunting, the heads of state of the six signatory guarantor countries had just finished signing the Accords, printed on parchment and bound as a book as thick as the Gutenberg Bible.

The United States, the United Kingdom, Russia, China, France, Saudi Arabia. Forty other countries would sign the Accords after that. The 120 NGOs, including Peace and Jobs, would be signing at the gala dinner and her boss would be here for that. He was in the air right now, his plane about to land.

The final signing was here at last, after which there would officially be peace in a part of the world that had been at war for a millennium. Quite an accomplishment.

As the signing ceremony ended, twenty trumpeters in bright medieval garb, and in the colors of Venice — red and gold — rose, put the long, shiny, medieval trumpets to their mouths and sounded a loud fanfare. A thousand doves were released and rose in the air with a loud flutter.

“Hope they weren’t recently fed.” Cal bent over and whispered in her ear, with a quick wink.

“Pigeon guano,” she whispered back. “A longstanding Venetian tradition.”

The fanfare ended, the bright brassy notes lingering in the clear air, so pure you could almost see them shimmering. A conductor in tails stood up, baton in hand, brought his arms up and sharply down, beginning a thrilling rendition of Sheherezade from the orchestra seated on the right-hand side of the colorful podium.

Anya and Cal were sitting on bleachers to the left, together with everyone who had worked directly on the Accords. At least two thousand people stood in the piazza to honor the Accords, standing stock still, in utter silence. Many had tears running down their faces.

Anya was too happy to cry, even tears of joy.

Today’s ceremony was the culmination of years and years of unremitting effort that was ultimately successful and would change millions of lives for the better.

She was feeling just fine. Last night, Cal had taken her back to her hotel, posted his company’s guards on the floor of her hotel room, assuring that there was a second perimeter of Italian police, and guarded her sleep. He’d understood that she was too exhausted and traumatized for sex. He hadn’t even mentioned it, though she couldn’t help but notice that he’d sported an impressive erection. Not that he’d tried to act on it. Not at all.

He’d gently washed her and put her to bed as tenderly as a mother with her child. And then he’d sat in a chair by her bed, holding her hand. When she woke up in the early afternoon, he was there, clear-eyed, wide awake.

She’d slept deeply, for over twelve hours.

Cal had ordered room service — truffle tagliatelle and a glass of Pinot Grigio, perfection itself — and waited while she dressed. Then they’d walked the short distance to St. Mark’s Square along the Riva degli Schiavoni for the late afternoon ceremony.

He’d arranged for her bags to be packed and delivered to his suite at the Hotel Danieli. As if aware of the fact that he was being bossy, he lifted his eyebrows while arranging this with her hotel’s concierge and she nodded. It was all okay.

Anya felt strange. Good, but strange. The long and deep sleep, watched over by Cal, had restored her. But she felt light, as if she could float away at any moment. The signing ceremony had freed her, in a way. Like taking ten years to climb Mount Everest, and then you stood on the peak and you were done. Free.

She’d worked so very hard for the Accords, believing in them with every fiber of her being, putting everything else in her life aside. And now they were signed. There were going to be complex negotiations to iron out the details of the 1,300 page Accords. It was a done deal, but something this complex needed breathing space and dialogue.

Her job was over.

Anya hadn’t much looked beyond the completion of the Accords. Her boss had offered her a renewal of her contract but she’d neither accepted nor declined. But now she knew that her job there was done and a new door had opened and she was going to walk through it with Cal.

Her phone pinged. She didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but she saw the name on her screen.

“June!” The face on the screen was her friend, smiling and happy. Completely different from the tense, terrified face she’d seen there last night. “You’re ok!”

June smiled, her pretty face beaming. “Yes, more than okay. I’m being protected by a SEAL team, my series on the attempted assassination and coup will be on the front page of the New York Times for three days in a row, I’ve had two offers from publishers for a book and your boyfriend is going to fly me back to New York on a private jet. Not to mention the fact that the Accords will go through. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

Anya reached out a finger to touch the image of her friend’s face. It was just pixels but at that moment, June felt very close. “I’m so glad.”

June smiled, showing a dimple. “He’s the one, right? The one who broke your heart.”

Anya felt Cal shooting her a glance. “No, actually, I broke his. But — it’s okay now. It’s all good.”

“Excellent!” June’s smile got even bigger. “Let’s have lunch at the Flowering Lotus soon. When will you be in New York next?”

Good question. Anya lifted her eyebrows, looking at Cal.

He squeezed her arm. “Whenever you want,” he said.

“Soon, Junie.” Anya turned back to the screen. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Me, too,” June said fervently. “It was touch and go there. I was holed up in the house of a friend but I didn’t know if I was putting her in danger and I didn’t know if I’d live out the night. It was awful. I don’t know who sent in the SEALs here but I am eternally grateful. Talk to you soon. Bye!”

“I think Farris got in touch with someone who got in touch with someone,” Cal said. “And I heard that that fucker Ash is in custody, charged with treason. Pity he’s not military, I’d love it if he could do time in Leavenworth. But they’ll find somewhere suitable for him.”

“We’re civilized now, but he deserves to be drawn and quartered,” Anya said indignantly. That wasn’t quite true. She’d seen medieval woodcuttings of the torture and it was horrific. But Ash Morris had had a hand in attempting to scuttle the biggest peace initiative in the history of mankind and had he been successful, hundreds of millions of lives would have been nastier, and crueler and cut short.

Not to mention arranging to have her tortured. There was that, too.

The orchestra finished and the crowd went wild, clapping and whistling and shouting.

A streak of red from the setting sun painted the lagoon crimson.

A soprano came to the podium, a young, pretty Middle Eastern-looking woman with flowing dark hair. The crowd quieted. She touched the microphone as two more doves were set free at her feet. She stood at her ease, a remarkable feat for someone who looked so young. It was a momentous occasion, one that was being filmed by every single TV station on earth, broadcast to over five billion people. And yet she stood quietly, relaxed, a gentle smile on her face.

She sang a cappella in a strong yet delicate voice.

The Long and Winding Road.

There was utter silence in the square as her voice rose, floated above the crowd that had just witnessed history being made. Something textbooks would be analyzing for the next thousand years. Maybe what had happened here today even represented a true turning point in human history. Maybe peace would be forever from now on.

Anything was possible.

Peace and hope were in the air, almost palpable.

Certainly peace and hope and joy were in her heart.

Lead me to your door …

The door to her heart was wide open.

The last lingering notes of the beautiful song floated in the air. The setting sun burnished the buildings in St. Mark’s Square a deep red-gold, a color taken from antiquity.

There was a hushed moment as if the thousands of people in the piazza had been holding their breath, then they broke out in wild applause, echoing off the walls, so loud it must have been heard throughout the city.

Cal grabbed her hand. “Our cue to leave.”

“Oh! There are going to be fireworks later. Don’t you want to see them?”

“Sure. But my suite looks out over the lagoon. We can watch it from my balcony and sip champagne.”

“Being rich does have its advantages,” she said drily. “And thanks for the private jet for June. I think it makes her feel safe.”

“That and four SEALs en route with her. Make anyone feel safe.”

“Yeah.”

In the incredibly crowded square, Cal was managing to steer her through the masses of people with minimum fuss and maximum efficiency. Everyone was happy, everyone was smiling, as they moved and shifted out of their way.

The Hotel Danieli was not far from St. Mark’s Square and the streets there weren’t crowded. With the setting sun, the colors grew deeper, the city almost impossibly beautiful. Nothing had changed in Venice for centuries. Except for the way she and Cal were dressed, they could have been citizens of La Serenissima from the 17th century out for an evening stroll.

The Hotel Danieli was stunning, the finest hotel in the city, one of the finest in the world. The budget of Peace and Jobs didn’t stretch to five star hotels. Her own hotel was nice, but nothing like this.

It looked like something out of the 1001 Nights of Sheherezade that they’d just listened to — sumptuous, marble and teak walls, huge crystal chandeliers, huge, richly decorated vases full of fresh flowers, whose perfume mixed with the perfume of the guests and the brine of the lagoon and the hope in the air.

Cal collected the key at the elaborate, teak front desk. It was an old fashioned, huge, brass key with a dusky pink silk tassel. When he opened the door to his suite and gestured her to enter, she walked in and smiled, bedazzled.

A special place for this special day seemed really right.

The suite was enormous, a living room area, a dining area and a huge bedroom. Big French windows with gauzy curtains floating in the breeze opened out onto the lagoon, with a waist-high, wrought-iron balcony to keep you from tumbling into the water.

Anya wandered to the windows, still feeling light as the breeze that moved the curtains. Cal stood behind her, big hands heavy on her shoulders. She welcomed that, welcomed his heat, the strong hands grounding her, the feeling of intense connection after years of rootlessness.

The flutter of colors captured her attention. “Oh, look!”

The first ceremonial gondola floated by from St. Mark’s Square. Jet black, decorated with bronze dragons, elaborate, red tapestried chairs with gold backs. Four men, two women. The heads of state of the United States, France, the United Kingdom, Russia, Saudi Arabia and … there he was! The President of China, grinning broadly, waving at the jubilant crowds packed along the square.

Another ceremonial gondola, steered by a handsome gondolier, followed, then another.

“Fifty gondolas,” she murmured. “Sailing to the Isola San Giorgio.”

“It’s official,” Cal murmured behind her. “And I am one billion dollars richer.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. She turned to look at him and saw, to her surprise, that he was not smiling.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Damn right. We worked eighteen-hour days in desert areas, often under siege from hostile tribes, while solving about ten technical impossibilities a day. We’re going to provide drinking water for peoples who have never had it. I’m giving a million dollar bonus to every single engineer working for me, and they’ve earned it.”

She blinked at him. “You’re — you’re richer than my dad ever was?”

“I think so, baby.” He grinned and winked at her.

“Huh.” Well, that would take some thinking about. Anya stared out at the intensely blue lagoon, the islands like red-gold mirages on the horizon. “Oh, look! That’s my boss!”

“Where?” Calvin leaned forward, pressing her against the wrought iron balcony.

“There. In the sixth gondola. The white haired guy in the middle. Larry Silver.” She watched fondly as his gondola floated by. If she thought he could see her, she’d have waved, but he was just a little vain and refused to wear his glasses on ceremonial occasions. She knew that the shoreline would be a colorful blur for him. “He made it in time. There’s the ceremonial gala dinner tonight on the Isola San Giorgio. Luckily Larry’s here so I don’t have to attend, not that I would have, anyway.” She sighed as he crossed his arms over her waist. “This is much nicer.”

“Damn straight.” Cal nipped her earlobe, then licked it. He pressed against her and she could feel his erection against the small of her back. “We’ll have room service dinner here as soon as we’ve sorted things out.”

Anya thought she knew what he wanted sorted out. Their future. She’d thought they’d talk about it in the coming days but he wanted to talk about it now. He turned her in his arms so she was facing him.

“So what now?” he asked, face somber. Much too somber for such a happy occasion.

“In what way?”

“Where do we go from here? Where do you want to go from here? Do you want to stay on at Peace and Jobs?”

Anya gave a half laugh and with a wave of her arm took in everything — the lagoon with the parade of gondolas and dignitaries floating by in the golden light of the setting sun, the amazingly beautiful hotel suite, Cal here with her after so many years. “You want to talk about this now?”

“Yes.” His features set, sandy eyebrows scrunched together in a scowl, fierce yellow gaze focused like a laser beam on her. “I want to talk about this now. Right now. Are you going to stay on at your old job?”

She sighed. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. What Peace and Jobs was established to do has been achieved. From now on, I think it’ll be more bureaucratic management than anything else. I was thinking of taking some time off and looking around.”

He took her chin in his hand, keeping her face still and turned to his. “Don’t look any further than me. Phoenix Enterprises is mainly made up of engineers and security guys. The engineers don’t know languages or diplomacy. They really don’t know anything except numbers and material science and chemistry. And the security guys know close quarter combat and guns. We really need someone like you, someone who will run interference with the million bureaucracies we’ll be dealing with. We need to be able to not piss anyone off while doing our job. You’d be absolutely perfect. The company needs you.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “By God, I need you.”

Oh my. Anya ran the back of her fingers down his cheek, his skin warm and just slightly bristly. Suddenly, it was hard to remember that young man so long ago. Who’d been such a tender lover. So very young, just making his way in the world. With no cynicism or calculation in him. What you saw was what you got.

He’d been completely replaced by this powerful man with lines in his face and calluses on his hands.

But he still looked at her the same way.

It all fell into place, with an almost audible click. They were meant to be together now. They’d been way too young ten years ago. Her family problems would have snarled him up, her deep desire for adventure and to make a mark in the world would have been unassuaged.

They were right for each other now, with years and miles on them. A long and winding road.

Anya wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing against him, feeling his penis swell. His eyes widened. Her body answered with prickling skin and a flush of heat, warmth between her thighs.

They didn’t need words, but she was going to use them anyway. “So … you’re offering me a job?”

“Mm.” He held her backside while rolling his hips against hers. “You could say that, yeah. I’d put you in charge of external relations so me and my engineers don’t have to do anything but solve technical problems. You can deal with the people problems.”

She smiled. “I was paid pretty well at Peace and Jobs. Can you top my salary?”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that. I’ll double it. Triple it. Quadruple it.”

Anya frowned. “You’re a terrible negotiator, you do need my help. You shouldn’t offer to double or triple or quadruple my salary. Not at the beginning of negotiations. I’ll know that I can push you higher.”

“You can push me anywhere you want,” he said and flashed a wicked grin. Oh man. It was the grin of a powerful man, a predator even. Not her sweet young lover. This was a man who’d created an empire and though his company was brilliant, there was no doubt he’d had to be very tough along the way. Companies like his didn’t rise to those heights by playing nice.

She studied his face, all hard planes and weatherbeaten skin. Not the look of a pampered rich man, but definitely the look of a powerful businessman. Also the look of an aroused man. His eyes were narrowed until only the smallest slit of glinting gold showed. His cheeks were red with arousal, his mouth red too with engorged blood. They hadn’t kissed yet but he had the look of a man who’d just kissed.

She imagined she had that same look.

They stared into each other’s eyes, both aware of the significance of the moment. Both aware that this was a huge turning point for both of them.

“Come with me,” Cal whispered. He meant come with me to bed. But he also meant come with me for the rest of my life. For the rest of our lives. He hadn’t said the words, but he didn’t have to.

Anya answered in the only way she could. “Gladly.”

It was like a dream, their movements slow, unhurried. They’d both learned patience over the past ten years. Not one second had been easy, for either one of them. And nobody could know what the future held. The only thing they knew was that they would be facing it together.

Cal kissed her, gently, then hard. But he lifted his mouth, a signal that this time would be gentle and easy. He turned her, unzipped her dress. It was a dress she’d bought in Beirut, pure silk, midnight blue, light as a breeze. She’d bought it for the ceremony but somehow she’d been thinking of Cal when she bought it. It was a color he loved.

“I love this color on you,” he murmured as he spread the wings of the dress. His rough hands smoothed out over her back, pulling the sides of the dress forward. He kissed her back.

Her head hung low. She’d pinned up her hair and he pulled the pins out one by one, spreading her hair out over her shoulders. She smiled secretly. “I know. I remember. I think I was thinking of you when I bought it.”

She could feel the breath leaving his body in a whoosh. He spoke with his lips on the skin of her back. “Don’t say things like that. Couldn’t you have called me, sent up a flare, something?”

Yes. It hurt her heart too to think of all those wasted years. She remembered very clearly buying the dress. She’d represented Peace and Jobs for two and a half months there, holding endless talks with people who hated each other and her. It had been a low point. The city was rebuilding, some crazy people actually believing in peace. But the dust of all the bombed-out buildings was constantly in the air and she’d had a low-grade fever all the time she’d been there.

Going out to buy a pretty dress had been almost an act of defiance. A hope in some nebulous future that would be better than the present.

And she’d thought of Cal as she bunched the beautiful material in her hands, holding it, dreaming of him.

Cal pushed the dress off her and she turned to face him, in only her bra and panties and thigh-high stockings.

She cupped his jaw. “I missed you. I missed you so much, every day it seemed. But when I bought this dress, though lonely and missing you, I was dedicated to the job, a thousand percent. I wanted you but there was no room in my life. And I imagine you were out in the desert then, wrestling with recalcitrant pipelines.”

She smiled, reached up to kiss him. “The time is right, now. The stars are aligned now. And I know I will cherish you all my life because I know how lonely I’ve been without you. We had to get to this point.”

Cal opened his mouth, closed it. “God,” he muttered. Her underwear was swept away by some magic wind. His clothes too. And then they were naked together, chest to chest and he was kissing her as if he would die if he didn’t.

Oh, yeah. Anya lifted herself up, arms tight around his neck, trying to touch as much of him as she could, because every inch of skin that wasn’t touching Cal was dead. His touch was magic, gave life.

He held her tightly and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The tip of his penis brushed her open sex and she moaned.

Yes. Just like that.

Cal held her, entered her and dropped to the bed on top of her, already moving strongly inside her. Anya wrapped her arms and her legs around him, welcoming everything he did. It was all pleasing. He was moving so strongly the headboard beat against the silk covered walls. She hoped that the inhabitants of the room next door were out in the square celebrating what she and Cal had worked so hard and so long for.

But she didn’t really care.

Everything spiraled inside her, tighter and tighter and she exploded so hard that it seemed as if it made a noise. Like everyone could hear her climax.

Another boom and Cal came inside her, shuddering and shaking. Another boom and she saw red behind her closed eyelids. She sighed as Cal settled heavily on her, then rolled over to the side. She cracked her eyes open and saw — literally — fireworks.

Anya lay, exhausted, Cal curled next to her. Every muscle felt lax and she barely had the energy to keep her eyes open. Another loud boom! sounded over again the lagoon.

A starburst of light exploded in the dark night sky, red, gold and green. Then another starburst and another. The opening barrage of the fireworks celebrating the Accords.

She laughed weakly. “It’s like a movie soundtrack. How did they know to time it to our orgasms?”

“They have cameras,” Cal said seriously. “Our lovemaking was filmed and projected onto a huge screen in St. Mark’s Square.”

Anya moved to elbow him in the ribs, but it was a weak effort. “Not funny.” Though actually it was.

He turned his head lazily to smile at her. “You realize we haven’t used birth control? Not once?”

Anya sighed. “You’re right.” Her legs moved restlessly and she could feel his semen sticky between her thighs. “We didn’t.”

Cal shifted a little to look her square in the face. “Doesn’t make any difference. We’re getting married just as soon as we can.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Calvin Burns.” Anya tried to drum up some indignation. Her first — and presumably only — marriage proposal and he botched it! “That was the worst marriage proposal I’ve ever heard. You can do better than that.”

“Okay.” He rolled over in the opposite direction and pulled open the drawer of the ornate bedside table on his side of the bed. Three small boxes dropped on to her naked belly. “I can do better.” He took her hand in his. “Anya Voronova, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Anya didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes. Yes, I will. Of course I will. What are these?”

“Open them and see.”

Three boxes. “So — three boxes? Three different components of something? Is this some kind of tricky engineering thing I’m going to have to assemble?”

He smiled. Clearly, he wasn’t going to answer.

“Okay. Let’s see what we have here.” She examined the first box, from a local jewelry store. Her heart started thumping. Each box was sumptuously wrapped, with marbleized paper and a big satin bow. She carefully undid the first box, lifted the lid. Lifted the jeweler’s box inside the box. It was sumptuous dark blue leather with Bulgari engraved on it.

“Oh.” Her breath stopped in her chest as she lifted the lid. It was a ring. A truly glorious ring, a huge, gorgeous sapphire surrounded by pave diamonds. “It’s beautiful.”

He stopped her hand with his. “There’s a choice. Open the other two as well.”

She looked at him curiously then opened the next box. Another amazing sapphire, a cabochon set, a more modern design.

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Open the last one.”

Smiling, she did. Yet another sapphire set in diamonds with a platinum band this time. A Bulgari Trombino. They were all famous Bulgari designs.

The rings were lying on the flat of her palm. “Cal, I don’t know which one to choose. They’re all so beautiful. I can’t believe you remembered that my favorite stone is sapphire.”

His eyes were serious as they looked into hers. “Your birth stone. I could never forget.”

She stared at the three gorgeous rings in her hand, trying to pick a favorite.

He closed her hand around them. “And I don’t want you to choose. All three are yours. All you have to choose is which one will be your engagement ring.”

Anya stared at him. “When did you have time to go out and buy rings?”

“You forget.” Cal’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “I’m an engineer. A problem solver. I went to the Bulgari website because I remembered that you dragged me to that jewelry show when we were kids and you oohed and aahed over the Bulgari jewelry. I thought that if I ever became rich, I’d buy you Bulgari jewelry. So I narrowed it down to three, clicked on the images, got in touch with the Bulgari shop here and had them send all three over to the Danieli.” He lifted a broad shoulder. “Problem solved.”

Anya clenched her hand around the three rings. She’d cherish them all her life.

“They come with a price,” Cal warned.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Marriage just as soon as we can arrange it, here in Venice if we can, tomorrow if we can. And I want kids.”

“Kids plural?”

“Kids plural.” He poked her belly gently with a finger. “And I want a girl.”

Anya sighed, completely happy. “Well, I’ll do my best. And do you know what we’ll call her?”

He smiled into her eyes. “Gondola?”

She laughed and backhanded his chest.

“No, silly. Venetia.”