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I slide it on, and have just finished zipping it up when the steward comes over with Andy back in his traveling case. She places Andy in the seat opposite us and secures the seatbelt over the case.
Within minutes, we have begun our descent. I glance down to find the flight circling what appears to be a small island.
"Oh," I blink as the pilot brings the flight over the water and onto a landing strip that seems to be surrounded by water. The flight comes to a halt, and Michael unsnaps his seatbelt and rises to his feet. He helps me up, then grabs Andy’s traveling case. He swings his duffel bag over one shoulder, snatches up my suitcase in the other hand and heads out. I follow him down the steps and up the path that leads away from the airstrip. We have barely made it behind the trees that line the space, when the plane’s engine revs up. I turn to find it taxiing up the runway, then turning around to take off.
"The plane’s leaving," I remark.
When he doesn’t respond, I increase my pace to catch up with him, "Is there another way off of the island?"
"I do have a motorboat in the boathouse and a jetty, in case of contingency; but yeah, outside of that, there's no other way off of the island. If anyone approaches the island, either by plane or by boat, I'll hear them."
"Oh," I open and shut my mouth. "Guess this is as safe as it gets?"
He jerks his chin and I follow him up a path that leads another half a mile upward before we reach a plateau that looks out over a beach that abuts the sea. There, in the middle of the space, is a two-story, Greek-style bungalow. The walls are white-washed, and the cube-shaped building's smooth-edged corners lend a sense of space and freedom to the structure. The sun shines down on us, bathing the entire area in a golden glow. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple and I unzip his jacket.
"Where are we, anyway?" I glance around the space, "It’s much warmer than London."
"I should hope so," he laughs. "We are on an island off the coast of Malta that has its own microclimate."
"Microclimate?"
He nods, "We are about two and a half hours away from London, but as you can see, the weather here is infinitely better."
"You’re not a big fan of London, huh?"
He raises his shoulder, "It has its charms."
"But you prefer Sicily?"
"For the food, absolutely. For the weather, normally, except when it gets too hot at the peak of summer. That’s when I normally escape here."
"On your own?"
"Mostly; I’ve had my brothers over on a few occasions."
"And girlfriends?" I force the words out, "Have you brought them over as well?"
"And if I have?" I can’t see his face, but hell, if I don’t hear the smirk in that voice of his.
I pause and he walks forward for a few seconds before he pauses. He places my suitcase and Andy’s case on the ground, then turns to glance at me over his shoulder, "What?"
"So, you have brought women here before?"
"I haven’t not brought them here."
"Argh!" I plant my hands on my hips, "Michael Byron Domenico Sovrano, if you’re taking me to your love nest, then I have absolutely no interest in going there."
"Are you jealous?"
"Of course, not," I sniff, "and you haven’t answered the question."
"I’ve brought…" he walks over to me, "no other woman here before."
"Oh," I bite the inside of my cheek.
He pauses in front of me, then notches his knuckle under my chin. He peers down into my features, "You are the first woman to have set foot on this island."
"Not even Nonna has come here?"
