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When I wake up a couple of hours later, I’m lying in David’s arms on the bed in the private cabin. He must have undressed me, because I’m only wearing one of his t-shirts and my panties. Beside me, he is asleep.
The cabin is dark, but I can see his face in the faint light of dawn stealing in through the windows. I trace a finger along his chin, marveling at how handsome he looks while sleeping, boyish, careless, and relaxed, with his thick hair tousled and all over the place.
His wakes up and stares at me groggily for a moment before the film of sleep clears from his eyes.
“I hope I haven’t grown horns.” He says.
If only he knew. “You’re still not going to tell me where we are going?’
He shakes his head and pulls me toward him until I’m lying on top of him.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m getting impatient.”
In response, he pulls my face down and kisses me. “I can distract you.” He offers, grabbing my butt and rolling until he’s on top of me. I start to laugh, but he silences me with his lips, kissing me until laughing is the farthest thing from my mind. He makes slow love to me, taking his time as he initiates me to the pleasures of the mile-high club.
A few hours later, the plane lands in Italy. We shower in the small but well equipped private bathroom, and get ready to disembark. As we go through customs, I discover that David speaks flawless Italian. He’ll probably never stop surprising me. I decide.
“How many languages do you speak?” I ask him, curious.
He grimaces slightly. “A few,” He tells me. “French, Italian, enough of Russian and Spanish to have a sensible conversation.”
I’m staring at him, mouth open, “and that’s a few?”
He winks. “I know, I’m incredible.”
I giggle at his words, allowing him to lead me out of the airport.
We’ve landed in Florence. It’s very early in the morning, so the city is still asleep as the black SUV that picks us at the airport drives through it. We travel through the countryside with me dozing on David’s shoulder. It’s just getting light when we arrive at our destination.
The car drives through a pair of wrought iron gates, and down a paved driveway, which ends in a circular cul-de-sac, with a stone fountain in the middle. The house beyond the driveway is a stunningly beautiful villa. In the early light, I can see the tiled terracotta colored walls, elegant white-painted stone arches, and the lawns that surround it, bounded by groves of trees.
I step out of the car, marveling. I turn to David. “Do you own this place?” I ask.
“We own this place.” He replies, making my heart expand. He takes my hand, and we walk inside the house hand in hand.
Inside, it is charmingly furnished and spacious, with French windows leading to outside terraces from almost every room on the ground floor. Upstairs, our bedroom has a marble bathroom and an attached study. I gaze out of the windows at the countryside as the orange light of morning comes over the hills. It’s too beautiful for words.
“You are too rich.” I accuse him.
“I think that’s an oxymoron.” I turn to him and see that he is teasing. I laugh softly, and he joins in my merriment. Suddenly I feel so incredibly happy.
I go into the circle of his arms. “I hope you’re not tired.”
“I’m not.” His eyes twinkle, as he leans back to look into my face. “Why?”
“Because I have a burning desire to make love to my husband, in our beautiful villa in Italy.”
“I’m never too tired to fulfill your desires.” He says capturing my lips in a lush kiss. We sink unto the bed, oblivious to anything else but the pleasure we know we can give each other.
Chapter Six
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS ARE THE height of bliss. The villa is fully staffed and stocked for our arrival. There is a cook, a maid, and a gardener, all Italian. They don’t speak a word of English between them, so David does most of the talking. The first evening, we have dinner in the small town closest to us, and attend a Puccini opera about a Japanese girl in the turn of the century Japan, who kills herself out of love for an American soldier. I leave the opera crying even though I didn’t understand any of the Italian words.
We also visit the marble caves where Michelangelo is supposed to have gotten the stone for his famous sculptures. Some days, we drive to Florence in the Audi Convertible David has in the garage, where we visit galleries, museums, and landmarks, enjoying the experience of being anonymous tourists, as we walk around hand in hand, dressed casually in jeans, t-shirts, and sunglasses.
A few afternoons, David has to take long phone calls from the office. I try not to mind, because I know how busy he is. Luckily, I brought my sketchpad along, so while he works, I draw.
