The thought of a pillow had never sounded so heavenly.
The trek to Count Montego’s estate passed in a blur.
The coach’s rhythmic lurch and sway were almost hypnotic, like being cradled in the arms of sleep.
I kept drifting off against Roman’s shoulder, only to jolt awake, unwilling to fully surrender to sleep until we were safely indoors.
The rising sun bathed the landscape through the window in gold, rose, and lavender hues.
This part of Italy was breathtaking—rolling vineyards, ancient olive groves, and distant peaks kissed by morning light.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, my body felt lead-heavy with exhaustion.
Roman stepped out first, then turned to help me down.
I blinked blearily, struggling to take in my surroundings.
We crossed a terracotta courtyard, where a stone fountain stood at the center. Dancing maidens frozen in time poured endless streams of water from delicate jugs at their hips.
Bougainvillea, brilliant in shades of pink and red, tumbled over aged stone fences while manicured hedges framed the space with quiet elegance.
I stumbled up the front stairs, clinging to Roman like a vine.
My legs barely held me up.
When the front doors opened, a pretty young maid greeted us with a gasp.
“Mr. Alexander! Oh!” Her dark eyes swept over us. “You both look exhausted! Let me run you a bath, and then you must sleep. Count Montego has given orders that your every need be taken care of until he rises.”
She hesitated, then offered a warm smile. “Where are my manners? Good morning. I am Beatrice.”
Her pronunciation—beh-a-TREE-cheh—rolled off her tongue like a melody.
I mustered a small, appreciative smile and nodded. “Good morning, Beatrice.”
Roman stepped forward, his voice friendly despite his exhaustion.
“This is my wife, Olivia.”
He introduced me that way effortlessly and proudly, sending a soft warmth curling through my chest.
We were together even in a foreign land amidst chaos and exhaustion.
Beatrice curtsied, then gestured for us to follow.
We trailed behind her through the winding corridors, exiting the back of the house and stepping into the crisp morning air.
Beyond an ivy-covered archway, a small stone building nestled among lush greenery awaited us.
Inside, the air was thick with steam, carrying the distinct earthy scent of minerals.
A natural hot spring sat at the center of the vast chamber, its water gently rippling as it trickled from a pipe at the far end. Stone benches lined the walls, offering a place to rest and soak in the warmth.
Beatrice smiled, gesturing to the pool.
“We are fortunate to have hot springs on this property. Please, indulge yourselves,” she said.
She crouched by the pool’s edge, dipping her fingers into the water.
