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“Wine is life,” Giovanni said in his charming accent with a wink.
“I thought wine was truth?”
“Ah, it is both!” He chuckled. “Have you shown her the kitchen yet?”
“No, we were heading there now,” my husband answered. He led me down a long hallway with high ceilings, gorgeous gold sconces, and an old tile floor. The colors were so warm and rich, I wanted to stare at them.
I had never thought about floor tiles before, but I was quickly becoming obsessed!
The entry to the kitchen was like all the rooms, a wide arch. We stepped inside and I gasped. Literally gasped in shock.
Not only was it huge, more than large enough for two families, but it was the most beautiful room I’d ever been in. A stunning combination of old and new, there was a massive black and brass gas stove with a matching fridge. The counters were a dark stone that I recognized from the old science building in my high school.
“Soap stone?” I asked, laying my hand against the cool stone.
“Very good!” Giovanni enthused. “You picked a good one, Antonio. Smart and bellisima!”
I blushed as my husband looked at me proudly.
“Don’t I know it, friend. Don’t I know it.”
I stepped closer, staring at the tiles on the wall. They were smaller than the blue and white tiles on the floor and even more ornate. I could hardly believe the artistry.
“Are these original?” I asked, reaching out to touch the smooth surface.
“Believe it or not, no,” Giovanni said with a smile. “The floor tiles are mostly original, but they had to be replicated by a local artist. These were made to compliment them.”
“You will have to meet her. She’s fantastic,” Antonio added. “Valerie’s work is all over the house.”
“Her?” I teased, pretending to be jealous. He let out a sharp bark of laughter.
“She’s amazing. She’s also in her eighties.”
“And still making tiles?”
“She told me she wouldn’t stop for anything less than the angel of death.”
It was my turn to laugh. Then more wine was poured. I watched as Antonio grabbed a fresh bottle, uncorked it, and somehow held it in one hand with his glass, taking my hand with the other.
“Upstairs tour now,” he said. “We can see the living room and formal dining room later.”
“Formal?”
“I expect we will want to eat outside most of the time. Or in the kitchen.”
I nodded. There was a gorgeous long wood table on the veranda and a similar one in the kitchens. Rustic but substantial. They looked handmade.
“I love this house,” I said happily as he led me up the stairs. “But what are we going to take pictures of?”
Tony squeezed my hand.
“Giovanni is neighbors with a pig farmer. He said he would get photos of their pens and text them to me. Good plan?”
“Good plan,” I agreed as he skipped the rest of the tour and led me to the master bedroom. I was tingling with anticipation as we stepped into the suite. It was . . . insanely gorgeous. Out of a design magazine. And apparently, it was ours.
“Wow,” I breathed, stepping into the room. The huge windows were arched and the high ceilings had exposed wooden beams.
“They look a hundred years old.”
“More than that,” he said, taking my hand and leading me to a set of double doors. He opened them, and we stepped out onto a private balcony overlooking the gardens and countryside beyond.
“You can see for miles,” I said.
“Just wait for the sunset,” he said huskily against my neck, sliding behind me. The tingles all over my body increased exponentially. “Are you tired?”
“No, but I could use a shower.”
“Perfect. I’ll join you.”
I blushed, glad he was behind me. It was getting harder to hide my emotions from him. I didn’t want him to see how eager I was to be with him. I felt like a hussy.
I was finding myself increasingly desperate for my husband’s touch. I’d never relied on a man. Or anyone else, really. Not since I was a little girl. But with Tony . . . I needed him. I really did.
Plus, I was tipsy and it was barely noon.
We walked through another archway and into an enormous bathroom with a walk-in shower and a freestanding stone tub that looked like an egg. Once again, it was a combination of modern comforts with beautiful Old-World tile and details. The chandelier was wrought iron with linen lampshades, with matching sconces. The window above the bathtub opened up to a view of rolling hills covered in farmland. I stepped closer.
“Are those vineyards?”
“Those are our vineyards. Do you like it?”
“I will definitely be using that bathtub.”
“Maybe later,” he teased, leading me to the shower and turning the water on. I was breathless as he started to undress me slowly, savoring each bit of skin as it was revealed, kissing and touching me in a way that made me hot and cold all over.
