Part 25 (1/2)

”Ready to set sail?” asked Kevin.

After we a.s.sured him we were ready for our grand adventure, Kevin plopped his oar into the water and began rowing across the bay that separated Naples from the mainland.

Skip wasted no time opening his picnic basket and taking out a jumbo jar of caviar, along with some toast squares, chopped hard-boiled eggs, and a bottle of champagne.

Popping open the champagne bottle, he poured us each a gla.s.s.

Then the moment Prozac had been waiting for: Skip opened the caviar. And before you could say Holy Beluga, Prozac jumped into his lap, waiting for the feast to begin.

Lay it on me, big boy.

Her wish was his command.

Taking a tiny spoon from the basket, he started hand-feeding her beluga's finest.

Needless to say, Prozac was in seventh heaven.

I, however, was not a fan of fish eggs, so I had to settle for nibbling on toast squares and hard-boiled eggs. Not too bad, especially when washed down with a snootful of champagne.

After a few sips of the bubbly, I was beginning to feel quite mellow. By now we had reached the islands of Naples. I leaned back against the pillows, snuggled under a blanket, as Kevin steered the gondola along the ca.n.a.ls, pointing out the sights. I looked up at the spectacular homes that lined our route, daydreaming of some day living there with proceeds from the sale of my Great American Novel.

Skip had, thank goodness, shown no signs of getting romantic. Not with me, anyway. He was saving all his love for Prozac, stroking her fur with each spoonful of caviar.

After cruising the ca.n.a.ls for a while, we reached a bridge spanning two of the islands.

Kevin stopped rowing and glided to a halt under the structure.

”This is Lovers' Bridge,” he announced.

Uh-oh. I didn't like the sound of this.

”Tradition has it that lovers are supposed to kiss and seal their love here, under the bridge.”

Clearly my little talk about platonic friends.h.i.+p had not sunk in.

”Don't worry,” he added with a wink. ”I won't look.” And with that, he turned his back to us and started belting out a rather ear-piercing version of ”O Sole Mio.”

Meanwhile Skip was staring at me with moony eyes.

I certainly hoped he didn't expect to cop a kiss from me. If he did, I was prepared to bean him over the head with his own champagne bottle.

But much to my relief, Skip didn't make any move toward me. Instead he reached into his pocket and took out a small turquoise box.

OmiG.o.d. I'd recognize that color anywhere. It was Tiffany blue.

”Open it,” he said, handing it to me.

For a terrifying instant I thought it might be an engagement ring, but when I lifted the lid, I saw it was a bracelet. I held it up. Even in the shadow of the bridge it was sparking like a zillion candles.

”These aren't diamonds, are they?” I asked.

”Ten carats' worth,” he nodded.

Holy Moses! It had to be worth a fortune. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to say, ”The bracelet is gorgeous, but I can't possibly accept it.”

”No worries,” Skip said. ”It's not a bracelet, and it's not for you.”

Huh?

”It's a collar, and it's for Prozac.”

At the sound of her name, Prozac looked up from where she had been industriously licking the lid of the caviar jar.

For moi?

And before I could stop him, Skip s.n.a.t.c.hed the collar from me and fastened it around Prozac's neck.

She looked up at him with coy green eyes.

Your place or mine?

By now, Kevin had finished mangling ”O Sole Mio” and we were back in the suns.h.i.+ne, heading to the dock.

”I'm sorry, Skip,” I said, ”but Prozac can't accept the collar, either.”

I reached out to unfasten it from her neck, but the minute I did, she turned into The Beast With a Thousand Claws.

No way was I getting that collar off her neck without capsizing the gondola.

”I'll take it off when we're home,” I promised, ”and return it to you then.”

Skip held up his hand in protest.

”No! You must keep it. I insist! So how about it, Jaine?” he asked, his cataracts misting over with emotion. ”Will you make me the happiest man in the world and give me your hand in marriage?”

”I'm sorry, Skip, but I can't.”

”Okay, then will you make me the happiest man in the world and give me your cat?”

”No, I won't give you Prozac!”

”I'll pay you twenty-five grand.”

”Twenty-five grand?” I gasped.

Prozac perked up, interested.