Stone and wooden architecture towered three stories above with no more than ten feet of cobblestone in between. Dress shops, and masks, and jewellery of every extravagance met them at every corner. Small restaurants boasted beautiful exotic smells and loud conversation every few shop fronts. It was an ambush on the senses that left Santana disoriented as she trailed a few feet behind Quinn, trying to take in all of Venice at once.
"Where are we?" Santana asked absently, eyes moving from a lace window display to a climbing vine that followed a crack up the stone house to her left. Her eyes trailed the vine up the wall, trying to see where it led, the sun shining in her eyes and blinding her way.
"I don't know," Quinn replied, skipping ahead and turning around to met Santana's gaze with a cheeky grin, before spinning back around.
"What do you mean you don't know?" the brunette questioned, slipping on her Ray Bans and jogging to catch up to her. Two women, who could have walked straight onto the cover of Vogue, brushed past them in a flurry of Versace and Prada, leaving Santana reeling.
We are definitely not in Kansas anymore.
"I mean we are lost, without direction or destination," she said with a smile. "But that is the beauty of Venezia. You could have no idea where you are, but still be exactly where you need to be."
"That makes no sense," Santana whined, but still followed Quinn when she took a left and began strolling down an alley filled with flowers of every colour hanging from wrought-iron balconies. "I've been trailing you for the past two hours down narrow streets, over bridges and canals."
"Uh-huh," Quinn murmured softly, stopping abruptly, Santana running into the back of her. "Only when you are truly lost will you find the best Venice has to offer." Santana was distracted by the way her body fit perfectly up against Quinn's that she was still flush against her when the taller girl spun round to meet her eye. The blonde gave a wink and beckoned her into a shop to their right. "Come on."
Santana was assaulted with colours of every spectrum as soon as she crossed the threshold. The store stretched fifty feet back, and every surface was covered with the most beautiful masks she had ever seen. They hung from every beam and rafter, wall and shelf.
"Wow," Santana voiced in amazement.
"I know right."
Santana brushed her fingers over a black and red mask with a long nose sitting gently on a display cabinet. Gold filigree lined the eyes, the waxed surface smooth to the touch. She picked it up carefully and pressed it to her face, admiring her reflection in a small mirror hanging on one of the wooden supports.
"Medico Della Peste."
"What?"
Santana spun around at the sound of Quinn's voice, the mask still held up to her face. Her eyes were met with light green and ivory, with silver and blonde.
"Um, what did you say?" Santana stuttered, losing her train of thought. The silk green of the delicate mask made Quinn's eyes blaze behind the papered material that just covered her cheekbones and slender nose. Lucky for Santana that she still had her mask in place, or she may have resembled a deer in headlights.
Attractive.
"Mask of the Plague Doctor," Quinn explained. She turned Santana back to the mirror as she spoke. "They used to wear them in hope that they wouldn't contract the disease while they were treating its victims."
"You're like a walking Frommers," Santana commented, hyper aware of the girl's hands gently resting on her shoulders as they looked at each other through the reflection. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"I just like to read," she chirped, and dropped her hands, wandering off to return her mask. Santana quirked an eyebrow at the way she abruptly dismissed the subject, but she let it drop, replacing her own back on the shelf.
"Something tells me we didn't wander it to this shop so you could give me an impromptu history lesson," Santana called over her shouldered, continuing to browse through the extensive collection.
"Look at you go, being all perceptive," Quinn teased, holding up a soft pink mask and showing it off to Santana. "And no, I did not," she finished, bringing it back from her face. "Pick one."
"Pick one?" Santana wheeled around and skimmed her eyes over all the highly decorated masks, waiting for Quinn to explain further.
"Mmhmm," she hummed with a sly grin, placing the pink mask back down and wandering out of view behind a freestanding shelf.
"Okay," Santana digressed, turning to continue her search.
Forty minutes, thirty euro, and one shop front later, the pair sat in the courtyard of a small restaurant overlooking a canal. The passage of water was lined with brightly coloured stone houses, old docks jutting out every few hundred feet. A distinguished, greying Italian man, dressed in a stripped shirt and red neck scarf, pushed by in a black boat filled with laughing tourist, the man serenading his customers as they floated by their small table.
"I always wanted to go on one of them."
"One of what?" Quinn asked absently over the top of her menu.
"One of those canal boats," Santana said, looking back at the girl as she gestured toward the water. Quinn quirked her eyebrow, chuckling to herself. Or at Santana, the brunette wasn't so sure.
"Gondola."
Yep, definitely me.
"Same thing," Santana retorted.
"Not really," Quinn responded with a smile, putting down her menu. "But good, because as soon as we eat we're going on one, after a small pit stop."
"You mean as soon as I figure out this menu," Santana complained. She stared at the weathered cardboard, the writing staring back at her completely foreign.
Again, what am I doing here?
"Are you holding it up the right way?" Quinn teased, taking a sip of water from her plastic Aqua Panna bottle.
"Funny."
"Come on, Italian's easy," Quinn assured her with a wave of her hand, and picked her menu back up. "Just wait until we get to the Netherlands, then I think you'll be struggling."
Santana dropped her menu to the wooden table in shock, her stomach doing little flips of excitement.
"The Netherlands?" Santana repeated. "As in Amsterdam?"
"As in Amsterdam," Quinn confirmed, her eyes twinkling as she watched Santana's face light up. "You can't go to Europe and not go to Amsterdam."
Quinn dropped her hazel eyes back to the menu in front of her, but Santana continued to watch her as her heart rate tried to come back to a healthy level. There had always been a rebellious part of Santana, one she would bring out every so often for her parents benefit. So to hear that she would be having that experience with Quinn-
Shit.
With Quinn.
Sex. Weed. Quinn.
Santana's heart rate picked up where it left off and slammed into overdrive, suddenly more anxious than excited. Her mind went into a panic. She could barely control the urge to reach out and touch her as it was. What was going to happen when that control was taken away from her?
"You okay?"
Quinn eyed Santana carefully, her blonde hair glowing in the afternoon sun. The brunette let out a shaky breath and nodded, fidgeting with her fork to keep her mind occupied.
"I'm fine."
She went back to the menu, skimming down the selections of pasta, trying to find a word that looked familiar. She told her head and her heart to calm down; they wouldn't be going there for at least two more weeks. She was getting ahead of herself.
A black haired man wandered over to their table and asked them in broken English for their orders. Quinn answered back in Italian, passing her menu to the man and giving him a smile, which he returned shyly.
"And for you, signora?" he asked Santana in a very thick accent. She glanced back down and pointed randomly to what she hoped was something edible.
"Very good," he bade before leaving them.
"So what are the masks for anyhow?" Santana asked, fishing hers out of the plastic bag, and admiring the black and gold material. "Are we planning on going all Carnevale up in this place?"
"Not exactly," Quinn replied, toying with her napkin. "Just making the gondola ride a little more interesting."
"Won't we look like total tourists?" she asked sceptically, putting her mask up to her eyes.
"You with your 'I heart Venezia' shirt?" Quinn jested. "Never."
"Hey, don't be hatin'," Santana joked, putting down her mask. "It's for my best friend, Britt. I promised her I'd bring her back a shirt from every city I went to."
The teasing went out of Quinn's eyes but her smile remained, "That's really sweet."
Santana gave an empathetic shrug before both girls fell into a comfortable silence until the food came out. The man returned, placing down their plates in front of each of them.
"Buon appetito."
"Grazia," Quinn replied, before picking up her fork.
"So, what's this pit stop we're taking before the gondola?" Santana asked around a mouthful of ravioli that was so good she nearly let out a moan at the table.
"That's for me to know," Quinn grinned.
"You know, sooner or later you're going to have let me in on what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. Don't think I'm going to let you just drag me all over Europe." Quinn bit her lip, a smile trying to break free from that perfect mouth. "What?" Santana questioned as she continued to stare, causing goose bumps to rise over her skin despite the heat.
"Nothing," she insisted, shaking her head softly. The subject was abruptly dropped, both girls finishing their meals while Santana sat in silence, replaying the conversation over in her head. What could she possibly have said to cause such a reaction from Quinn?
All I said was she couldn't drag me everywhere, and that she was going to have to let me know what's going on in her pretty-
Shit.
"What are you doing?"
Quinn was currently holding up her empty water bottle to random people and muttering something in Italian that Santana couldn't quite catch. They'd been wandering round the tight streets of Venice for the past ten minutes, Quinn repeating this process to every one that walked past.
"Asking for directions," Quinn said over her shoulder, spotting another promising victim to her strange questioning.
"Why don't you just use your map?" Santana asked, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling the need to tell people she wasn't with this strange girl.
"Having a map means you know where you're going."
"Q."
"Lopez," she argued back. "Just go with it."
A large elderly man with a cane strolled by the girls, tipping his hat in greeting. Quinn asked him something, gesturing with the water bottle, a wide smile cracking his face. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, turning her in the right direction, and pointed out a street on their left.
"Grazia," she told him, before grabbing Santana by the hand and pulling her forward. "Jackpot."
They turned down a street marked San Leonardo and wandered down a few storefronts. The smell of aged grapes and damp wood hit Santana in the face, making her lightheaded. They walked into the shop, the temperature dropping with the cold stone floors. The back of the small store was lined with large barrels all labelled in Italian and marked with a price. Quinn approached the woman at the counter, and handed over her plastic bottle while pointing to the middle barrel.
"What is this place?" Santana asked, giving the room a once over.
"It's a wine cellar," Quinn said. "You give them an empty bottle, and they'll fill it up for three euro."
"Wine?"
"Yep," Quinn said with a smile. "If you thought French wine kicked your ass, wait 'til you try this."
"I didn't actually have any in Paris," Santana admitted meekly.
"What did you do then?" Quinn asked wide-eyed, turning around to eye the brunette in amusement.
"Mostly asked myself why I came here in the first place," Santana told her, leaning up against the stone wall and letting it cool her heated skin. "Then I met you, and you told me you'd show me."
"I guess we have our last destination then."
The older woman came back to the counter with the bottle, Quinn handing over a few coins and thanking her.
"Come on," Quinn called. "Harry's awaits."
"Hold up, who's Harry?"
"Hemingway, Hitchcock, Capote. Woody Allen and Charlie Chaplin. They all sat right here."
Santana stood outside an old bar that was quite a contrast in comparison to the rest of Venice. With its white stone walls and old English lanterns hanging above the wrought-iron windows, it looked like something out of a Johnny Walker commercial. After a few moments, Quinn drag her away from the oak front doors, and further down the street.
"We're not going in?"
"Nope, I just wanted you to be star struck for a second," Quinn grinned. "That is our destination."
She pointed to a large dock with two old jetties pointing off on an angle. It was crowded with people of every ethnicity standing in small groups, the gondolas docked against damp wooden poles shooting out of the water near the jetty's edge. Quinn steered her through the crowd and up to the ticket booth, an older man with a kind smile greeting them from behind the small window.
"Gondola for two," Quinn told him, gesturing with her fingers.
"There will be a half an hour wait," the man replied, looking down at a logbook filled with names and figures.
"That's fine," Quinn said, passing him a few colourful notes and giving him her name. Both girls sat down on the bench overlooking the water while Quinn unzipped her small backpack and retrieved the large bottle of wine, unscrewing the top.
"To the unexpected."
She met Santana's eye for a moment, before bring the bottle to her lips and taking a generous swig of the deep red wine. She offered the bottle to the brunette, giving her encouraging smile.
"Won't we get caught? Santana voiced nervously. "You know, drinking in public?"
Quinn gave a small shake of her head, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
"Cheers," Santana announced awkwardly, before taking a sip. The warm, rich liquid heated her stomach and coated her tongue with a strong grape flavour. There was no biting aftertaste she remembered from the wine she would have with her parents at one of their many dinner parties, it was actually surprisingly easy to drink, and she found herself taking another swig.
"Easy there, tiger," Quinn said, grabbing the bottle back. "You'll be on the floor before we get on the gondola."
The two girls passed the bottle back and forth, the afternoon sun creeping towards the expanse of water that reached across to one of Venice's smaller islands in front of them. As throngs of tourists boarded the small boats, the dock filled up with more to replace them, each group carrying a bottle of champagne or red wine. By the time their name was called, Santana's vision had narrowed, and her arms and legs felt lighter. Her head spun when she stood up, a dopey grin gracing her lips.
"Told you," Quinn murmured, noticing the blissful look on her face. They made their way over to the dock, the gondolier helping them to their seats opposite each other. Their driver pushed off from the jetty using his long oar, and slowly started navigating the small canals as the girls sat back and admired the beauty that was Venice.
"Would you like to try?"
The George Clooney look-a-like was eyeing Quinn with a sleazy smirk. By this time the blonde was just past tipsy, and jumped up without any hesitation, stepping up onto the platform with the tall man. Santana watched as Quinn took the black oar with a giggle and started moving it about.
"Like this," he told her, grabbing her waist and steadying them into a rhythm. Santana's heart ached as the man got closer behind Quinn, which was completely irrational considering she'd only known the girl for thirty-six hours, but the pain didn't stop. He pressed his face into her neck as she continued to laugh, Santana suddenly despising Italian men. It was a full two minutes and thirty-eight seconds before Quinn stepped back down to her seat, Santana letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.
"You were looking pretty jealous there, Lopez," she teased once she took her seat. "If you wanted a go, you could've just asked."
Santana laughed it off nervously, the girl not knowing just how right she was. Quinn took a sip of the slowly emptying bottle and lazed back in her upholstered wooden seat.
"Oh, almost forgot," Quinn announced louder than necessary. "Masks," she finished, pointing an accusatory finger at Santana, making her think she'd had a little too much of the cheap wine.
Quinn reached into her bag and retrieved the light green mask that she had first tried on that morning. It looked truly amazing on her. It contrasted and complimented her every feature perfectly.
"Help me put it on."
She passed it to her and turned around expectantly. Santana took in a steadying breath at the sight of Quinn's bare neck as she craned her head forward to give her better access. She leaned over her shoulders, holding the mask out for Quinn to grab and position over her eyes. She brought the ribbon back behind her head and tied it securely, taking a much needed breath as she sat back in her chair.
"How do I look?"
Fucking hot.
"It looks good," Santana blurted, mentally scolding herself.
"Bella," the gondolier chimed in, causing Santana to shoot daggers in his direction.
"Okay, your turn."
Santana passed Quinn her mask and turned around to face the stone wall that they floated by, slowly giving way to a narrow street filled with shoppers and tourists. She brought her hands up to take hold of the mask, brushing her fingers against Quinn's as she positioned it over her eyes. She could feel her tie it gently behind her head, just below her high ponytail, the wine heightening every soft touch the girl made to her skin as she brushed away her hair from her neck.
"How does it look?" Santana asked, turning back around to face Quinn, hoping her emotions didn't show on her as blatantly as she felt them.
"Fucking hot."
Heated pooled low in Santana stomach at her daring words, and didn't stop until it reached in between her legs. It only intensified when Quinn sat down next to her and pulled out her Sony Cyber-shot, leaning in and taking a photo with her arm outstretched.
Three weeks, three weeks, three weeks.
I am so fucked.
