“Do you have a big family?” Lila asked.

“Oh, sì. I have two brothers, two sisters and many, many cousins.”

“All in Florence?”

“Most are here, some are not too far away. I have cousins who work for the Bastones. I drive you to the villa in two days’ time. They are a most important family, and the villa is very beautiful.”

“Have you been there?”

“Sì, sì. I have been, ah . . . a waiter there for important parties. My parents, they have flowers, a shop of flowers. I sometimes take flowers there.”

“You’re a jack-of-all-trades.”

“Scusi?”

“You work many jobs. Have many skills.”

He drove like a maniac, but then so did everyone else. Enjoying him, Lila engaged him in conversation all the way from the airport, through Florence and to the hotel.

She loved the city, where the light made her think of sunflowers, and the air seemed to breathe art. Florence spread under a bowl of summer blue, motorbikes zipping and weaving along narrow streets, between wonderful old buildings, around colorful piazzas.

And people, she thought, so many people of so many nationalities mixing, mingling at cafés and shops and wonderful old churches.

Red-tiled roofs simmered in the August heat with the curve of the Duomo rising above. Bold blooms in baskets, boxes and fat pots flashed against sun-baked walls.

She caught a glimpse of the lazy snake of the River Arno, wondered if they’d have time to take a walk along its curves, climb up to the bridges—and just be.

“You have a most excellent hotel,” Lanzo announced. “You will have such service here.”

“And your cousins?”

“My uncle is bellman here. He will take good care of you.” Lanzo gave her a wink as he pulled up to the hotel.

Tall, thick, dark wood-framed windows against whitewashed walls. The moment Lanzo stopped the car, a man in a perfect gray suit stepped out to greet them.

Lila let it all flow around her—the manager, shaking hands, the welcomes. She simply stood for the moment, basking in it—the pretty street with its shops and restaurants, the buzz of traffic, the feel of being somewhere new and different.

And where she wasn’t, she had to accept, in charge. She wandered the lobby while Ash dealt with the details. Everything so quiet and cool, big leather chairs, pretty lamps, more flowers.

Julie joined her, held out a glass. “Sparkling pink grapefruit juice. It’s wonderful. Everything okay? You got so quiet.”

“Absorbing. It’s all so beautiful, and just a little surreal. We’re actually here, all four of us.”

“We’re here, and I’m dying for a shower. Once I clear the cobwebs, I’m going straight out to visit a couple of galleries so I feel like I’m earning my keep. Tomorrow, you and I are going to carve out some shopping time. We’re both going to look like we visit the villa of an important Florentine family every day.”

“You were listening.”

“And so happy I could do that and not make conversation with our unquestionably charming driver—who probably has as many women pining over him as he does cousins.”

“He looks straight into your eyes when he talks to you—which worried me a little since he was driving. But it’s so mmm,” she said for lack of a word.

Then realized Ash did exactly the same. When he spoke to her, when he painted her, he looked straight into her eyes.

They rode the tiny elevator up, with Lila content that their manager escort directed most of his conversation to Ash. And with a subtle flourish, he welcomed them into what turned out to be two combined suites.

Spacious, airy, it combined Old World and modern luxury in a perfect blend.

She imagined herself writing at the little desk angled toward the windows, where the city’s rooftops jutted, or sharing breakfast on the sunny terrace, curled up with a book on the creamy white cushions of the couch.

Tangled and wrapped around Ash in the majestic bed under a gilded ceiling.

She plucked a perfect peach from a fruit bowl, sniffed it as she wandered into the bath with its generous glass shower, deep, deep jet tub and acres of black-veined white marble.

She made a date on the spot—candles, Florence glowing against the moonlit sky outside the window. With her and Ash together in hot, frothy water.

She needed to unpack, settle in, get her bearings. She had a steady routine for beginning in a new space. But she continued to wander, breathing in the peach, tossing windows open to the air, the light, the scents of Florence.

She circled back around to the living space just as Ash closed the main door.

“I’ve stayed in a lot of impressive spaces,” she told him. “This one just leaped straight to number one. Where are Julie and Luke? We could lose each other in here.”

“In their section. She wanted to unpack, get freshened up. She has a list of galleries to go to, make contact.”

“Right.”

“You didn’t ask the manager his marital status, political affiliation and favorite pastimes.”

She had to laugh. “I know, so rude. I was caught up in my own little world. It’s wonderful to be in Florence again, and I’ve never seen it quite this way. But better than that? It’s wonderful to be here with you—and even ahead of that? To be here with you when neither of us have to look over our shoulders. Everything’s just a little brighter, just a little more beautiful.”

“When we’re done, we’ll be done looking over our shoulders. We can come back here, or go wherever you like.”

With a little hitch around her heart, she rolled the peach in her hands, studied him. “That’s a big promise.”

“I make them, I keep them.”

“You would.”

She set the peach aside—she’d savor it later—because now she had another indulgence in mind.

“I should be practical, unpack, get things in order, but I really want a long, long, hot shower in that amazing bathroom. So . . .” She turned, started back. Then glanced over her shoulder. “Interested?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I’d be a fool not to be.”

“And you’re no fool.” She stepped out of her shoes, just kept going.

“You’re pretty fresh for somebody just off a transatlantic flight.”

“Ever travel coach?”