Page 61 of Loving the Enemy
Chapter 25
Zaira
“Zaira, baby. Wake up, love.” I faintly hear Michael’s voice as he tries to rouse me from my sleep.
“What?” I say in my half-dazed state.
“We’re gonna be landing soon, babe. You need to get dressed and get your seat belt on.”
“Oh, okay.” I take a long drawn-out stretch and rub my eyes as I try to wake up some more and remember I am still on the Vitali jet. We’re about to land in Florence. Suddenly, I’m wide awake as the excitement that my honeymoon with the man I love is about to commence.
I get up from the bed and stroll into the bathroom. After I wash my face and brush my teeth, I quickly get dressed and make my way into the main cabin. Michael is already seated, and I take the seat next to him and buckle myself in. Ricco is in the same seat he was in last night. Hopefully he was able to get some sleep.
“You know, the last time I was in Florence, I was I think twelve,” I say.
“Well, darling, then you are in a for a real treat.”
I smile. “I’m so excited, Michael.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so glad. I’ve got big plans for us for the next two weeks. And, I’m gonna take you to see some of my extended family. I haven’t seen them in years, and I’m looking forward to seeing them and of course showing you off.”
Eric announces we are approaching Peretola Airport and that we are beginning our descent. I immediately grab Michael’s hand.
“Scared?” he asks.
Sheepishly, I reply, “A little. I really don’t mind flying, but I really hate landing.”
“I got you, babe. Nothing to worry about. Eric is a very skilled pilot. I’ve experienced some of the smoothest landings with him in the cockpit.”
Before I know it, the plane has touched down and we are taxiing down the runway. Michael was right; it was a smooth landing. The plane makes its way to the private terminal, and we get off the plane and wait a few minutes for them to load our luggage into the waiting limo. We all get in and are now heading toward the city and the Vitali private villa.
The house sits on the crest of a hill overlooking the city, surrounded by acres of land. Michael points out that the land is mostly consumed with olive trees and many fruit trees like apricot, pear, and plum.
“My great uncle owns an olive oil import business and has harvested olives from here on many occasions,” Michael says as we drive up the long driveway.
We walk inside, and the house is massive. It has a huge entryway with a ceiling that I swear is over thirty feet high. “This is amazing, Michael,” I say, and my voice echoes in the grand foyer.
“Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He holds out his hand. “Come, let me show you around.”
He takes me through the downstairs rooms, and there are so many of them, including a ballroom and a library that came straight out ofBeauty and the Beast. There is a formal dining room, a casual dining room, several parlors and sitting rooms, three offices, and a veranda overlooking a pool that supersedes the one in Long Island. “Can we live here?” I ask, and Michael laughs.
“Sometimes I wish I could,” he says. “But I will promise you this, we will definitely spend time here every year.”
“Oh, I like that idea,” I reply. We walk up the grand staircase, and Michael takes me straight to the master suite.
“I should have carried you over the threshold,” he says, standing in the doorway. “Will this do?” And before I can answer, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me into our bedroom. Once inside, he puts me down and smiles. “Check it out.”
I walk around the room, taking it in. I swear it is the size of a small house. It has its own kitchen, a living area as well as a private bath, which is divided into sections: the sink, the toilet, and the shower. The shower is as big as a room itself. I turn toward him and say, “It’s absolutely stunning.”
“So you like it?”
“Yes, of course I do. What’s not to like?”
He smiles. “I want to show you one more thing.” He walks toward me and takes my hand and leads me to the double French doors that open to a balcony. The view is absolutely amazing. Laid out before me is the city of Florence. I can see the Arno River, Santa Croce, Santa Maria del Fiore—or The Duomo—and the Palazzo Vecchico. “Are we going to get to see all those things?” I ask.
“Whatever you want, darling. This trip is for you.” He hands me a booklet. “I picked this up before we left. It’s a travel book. Pick out anything you want to see.”
I take the book from him, walk to the sitting area, and plop myself into the most comfortable chair and begin to peruse. “There are so many things to do and see here.”
