After breakfast, I go to change, planning on visiting the city a little more before we leave. The cold rolling off the water has persuaded me to dress warmly, so I pass up the sexy dresses I had packed hoping to catch Alex’s eyes and instead choose a pair of jeans, knee high riding boots, a plaid flannel, and a huge warm scarf. I top the ensemble with a faux fur lined poncho that I throw over my shoulders.
Once ready, I check around the palazzo, but I don’t find Alex anywhere. Did he leave without telling me a word? Very well… I’ll visit Venice without him then. I descend the stairs outside my room, finding Severino the butler cleaning up breakfast back on the terrace.
“Yes, ma’am?” he asks in his thick Italian accent. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like to do a little bit of sightseeing. Ah, alone, actually, so could you call me a taxi boat with a driver that knows where the best sights are? Alex isn’t here to escort me.”
“Of course, right away,” Severino says, bustling away to call the boat. I tuck my poncho around me and lean over the railing, watching the sun sparkle on the water as the curling fog dissipates. The butler returns to let me know the taxi boat has arrived, and he escorts me down to the dock, even assisting me in stepping down into the taxi.
“Thank you Severino,” I tell him, and he nods, heading back to the palazzo to finish cleaning the massive home.
The boat driver asks how much time I have and what I’ve seen already, and after some brief discussion we decide I should head to Saint Mark's Basilica, one of the most extravagant and important places in Venice. It sounds perfect to me, and I imagine that there will be plenty of other sightseers around, so I won’t feel totally alone.
I used to love being alone, but for some reason, I’d have preferred to have finished this visit to Venice with Alex. After all, I thought this trip would be the perfect time to reconnect and get closer. There’s some nostalgia taking over me, and I would almost rather stay home than venture out alone into an unknown city all by myself.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Enjoy Venice, I tell myself.
After all, if I had stayed in the palazzo and read by the fire all afternoon, I’d be kicking myself later for not taking full advantage of being here.
Speaking of reading, I pull the novel I’m currently on out of my bag and do a little reading while the taxi boat glides nearly silently through the water, interrupted only by the charming “Ciao!” exchanged as the boats passed one another. It’s idyllic, to say the least.
The driver pulls up at the dock outside of St. Mark’s Square, a sizable gap in all the similar red and white brick buildings surrounding it. I thank him, grabbing my bag and stepping out. A quick shiver of stress runs through me at being completely alone now, but I shake it off and make my way into the square. The stone floor of the square is a worn, vaguely shiny, gray stone that varies from pewter to nearly ivory, some stones plain and others decorated with looping scrollwork as part of a huge decorative rectangle. The surrounding buildings shadow the square, but there’s no missing the crowning jewel of the area on the opposite side: St. Mark’s Basilica.
You’d think that after all the fabulous places I have visited during my life, that architecture wouldn’t surprise me anymore. This place, though… wow. I knew the cathedral was beautiful, but seeing it in person is an unbelievable experience.
It had been built on a floor plan resembling a Greek cross, with one enormous main dome and four small domes spreading out around it. The architects topped each dome with an elaborate cross, and several spires sprung from the front of the Basilica, directly above gilded mosaics that takes my breath away.
Holding a hand to my heart, I approach slowly, cutting through the crowds to get a better look at the paintings nestled below sweeping stone arches that are supported by towering stone columns.
Each mosaic tells a different story, unique and splendid in its own way. They speak of the Old Testament, and the story of the church's namesake, St. Mark, all of them painted on a background of blindingly bright gold. I had read somewhere that the gold was not just to represent the wealth of Venice at the time of the mosaic creations, but also to stand in as the glowing light of God himself.
Several statues also guard the entryway, some of them men, others angels. For some reason, the winged seraphim makes me think of Emma and the butterfly wings stretching across her chest. With a jolt, I remember seeing her kneeling on the floor of the dance floor at the masquerade, and Yara’s cryptic answer about her whereabouts this morning. Could Yara and Emma be together? The idea is almost bizarre, but then again, Yara is stunning and cold, almost harshly attractive when her hair is pulled back from her face, putting her high cheekbones on display. I can see why Emma might hold a candle for her. I make a mental note to text Emma before leaving Venice.
I take a few photos with my phone while I wait to be allowed inside. Eventually I make it in, gawking at the equally stunning interior of the Basilica. In the main walkway, I look down, and beneath my feet, the marble floor is decorated in intricate geometric designs and shapes. Rising from the ground are huge columns, also marble, with round arches between each one. The inside of the arches are also decorated geometrically, but instead of a marble backdrop, these shapes are painted on more gold.
In fact, as my eyes crawl up the walls, I notice that the red brick stops about halfway up, and the entire ceiling appears to be golden. Certainly this all can’t be genuine gold, can it? I muse to myself.
The entryway ends in the impossibly high-ceiling main dome of the cathedral, this time painted with artwork depicting the New Testament. Everywhere I gaze is a priceless work of art, created directly on the walls and ceilings so everyone could see them for centuries to come. It’s almost like stepping into a time machine.
Buttery yellow light illuminates the main dome, giving it a heavenly, otherworldly aura. I think that there is no way for me to take all of this place in during one visit, but I will give it my best shot.
After gazing at one mosaic for a few moments, I go to turn around, but there is suddenly a pair of hands resting on my shoulders. I freeze, terrified, until the stranger speaks.
“It seems I can never escape you,” the man says.
A smile tugs at my mouth, and I turn around to see the amused face of my husband.
“I could say the same about you. I came here to be alone, and yet here you are,” I tell him, planting my hands on my hips.
Alex chuckles, making a show of looking around us. “You come to the most crowded place in Venice to be alone?”
“You know what I mean,” I reply, poking him in the chest.
I’m glad to see Alex, but I’m not sure if he still holds any animosity from this morning. His face is open and welcoming, so I’ll just go along with it unless otherwise noted. He brushes my poking hand away and slips his arm around my waist to turn us around, pointing up at the raised front portion of the room.
“Do you see the gemstones in the decorations there? The Basilica used to have hundreds more of them, but Napoleon himself stole them away.”
I consider the scene, and shrug. “It already looks like there’s a tremendous amount. I couldn’t imagine there being much more.”
“It’s rather an incredible sight, but St. Mark's Basilica has been changed and improved upon for hundreds of years. I like to think about how it looked in the very beginning,” Alex tells me, his arm still around my waist.