I cracked the window some, allowing fresh air in, and I started to wake up as we traveled.
Orvieto was off Autostrada A1, wedged halfway between Rome and Florence, located in Umbria. Perched on top of volcanic rock, it was so beautiful that, for once, I wished I had a camera. It looked unreal, almost like a painting worth living in, as the Range Rover took the sloping street to get closer to the city.
“This place needs its own film score,” I whispered. “As you approach, it starts playing. Something Italian and…soft.”
The city towered above Tiber Valley and Southern Umbria. It was lined by a stone fence, and it seemed pressed up against the sky, what looked like a golden cathedral and terra-cotta-colored clock tower standing above the rest. The entire city was a mixture of burnt orange and pale-yellow stone. Mountains dipped and rose around it, forest green and golden hay in between. I could even see the stripes of a winery slanting downhill.
The city was separated into two parts: the new town below and the old medieval town above. We took a detour, though, and traveled about fifteen minutes until we came to a sprawling piece of land with gates.
As soon as Naz’s car pulled up, they opened, and he hit the gas and took the paved drive until we came to an imposing apricot colored villa with dark wooden trim. He pulled smoothly in front and got out, coming to open my door. I grabbed my bag and stepped out, staring up at the humongous place.
“Villa Sull'albero,” Naz said, taking my bag from me.
“What does Sull'albero mean?” I shielded my eyes and turned to him.
He took off his aviators and set them over my eyes. “In English…like a house in a tree.”
“A bird house?”
“Birds do nest in trees, yes?”
He took my hand and led me into Villa Sull'albero. I walked with him, thinking of why I had called it a bird house instead of a tree house. The bird symbolism had been strong in my life as of late, and I was starting to feel like a Fausti by recognizing it. And that Naz hadn’t corrected me on it made my head spin with thoughts too.
We were met at the door by an Italian man and woman who greeted Naz and then me after Naz introduced me. Again, he didn’t give me a title, and I understood why. What was he going to call me? His charge? That sounded like I was a royal of some kind and he had to watch over me. His prisoner? That didn’t sound right either, because if this was prison, sign me up.
Villa Sull'albero, I found out, had a staff, cooks included. No surprise. The place had seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, and a mosaic pool with statues that peed. The view was spectacular. Rolling hills surrounded us. It even had orchards and an olive grove.
“How many acres is this?” I asked.
“Twenty-five hectares.”
“This is heaven.”
“Even for a bird who is afraid to crash?”
“Even for a bird who doesn’t likeriskylandings.”
“Everything is a risk in life, Ava.”
“Some more than others.” I set his glasses back on his face. “What are we doing here?”
“This is my place,” he said. “Marzio left it to me.”
He took my hand and led me to a table outside, where we ate lunch underneath what seemed to be a canopy of hibernating lemon trees. He was eager to get me to eat. I think he might have even set a timer on his phone.
After we left our things at the villa, we headed back to Orvieto to spend the day. Naz parked in the town underneath the one above, and we walked it. Even though I walked everywhere in New York, unless I took a cab, my legs were burning by the time we reached the top.
I couldn’t catch my breath, though it had less to do with the exercise and more to do with the city itself. It was like walking into a fairy tale.
Naz handed me what tasted like a homemade protein bar, packed with nuts, and we explored.
I almost felt like I was touching the sky.
Orvieto looked over the valley below, which Naz told me had been carved out by the winding Paglia River. Orvieto’s cliffs had given the Etruscans a natural form of protection from attackers.
Naz motioned around. “Orvieto was abandoned until the Middle Ages. It became a hideout for popes during plagues, pandemics, and plunders.”
“I like your alteration, Nazzareno Fausti. Tell me more.”
