Our hotel is located in a park in the hills just outside the center of the city, and as we drive down a tree-lined avenue and pull up to the villa built into the low hillside—a breathtakingly grand building with a dramatic fountain in the center of the driveway—my jaw drops. There is no chance I’deverbe able to afford to stay in a place like this. I really need to make the most of it.
The reception is the epitome of opulence: vast chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, huge gilded mirrors lining the dusty-pink and gold walls, and a vase bursting with white and pink flowers set on the round table in the middle of the room.
“Welcome!” Sadie trills, her delicate sandals clacking across the floor as she comes to stand in front of us. “As I’m sure you can already tell, you are standing in one of the most splendid villas here in the south of the city, built by Baron Cadorna in 1889. Once we’ve checked in, I’m going to let you settle in your rooms and freshen up from the flight, and then we’ll be enjoying a lunch on the terrace, prepared by the excellent chefs of the restaurant here. After lunch, you are free to spend the afternoon relaxing by the outdoor heated pool or enjoying the facilities of the spa before dinner—complimentary, of course. There are also some fabulous walks around the area, if you’d like to explore. Please do ask me first, though, so the hotel staff here can give you a rough guide of where to go. Oh, and I should mention that the bar will be open from—” she checks the time on her phone “—ah! It’s open now. Drinks are on the house. I have emailed all of you the full details of the hotel, but please do not hesitate to ask me any questions during your stay here. Right, let’s get you to your rooms.”
As she goes to sort our keys at reception, I lean toward Ryan, who is standing next to me, busy admiring the surrounding interiors.
“This isn’t a dream, right? We really are here.”
“I can confirm this is real, Harper.”
“I love my job,” I whisper, making him chuckle.
“Can I join you?”
Lying on a sun lounger by the pool, I look up to see Ryan wearing a white linen shirt and navy-blue swimming shorts with a towel over his arm. He’s gesturing to the lounger next to me, shielded from the sun by the same umbrella.
“Of course,” I say, putting the stapled pages I was reading down on the table next to my ice-cold water that one of the waiters kindly just refreshed for me. “Although there are better ones around the pool if you’d rather be in the sun.”
“With this delicate Scandinavian skin? Best not,” he says, sitting down and kicking off his flip-flops.
I’m glad I opted for a swimsuit rather than a bikini for this trip, but I still feel very naked in front of Ryan, and as he makes himself comfortable, I quickly check down my front that nothing is out of place and cross one leg over the other, wiggling my toes nervously.
He slides his Ray-Ban Wayfarers off his nose and balances them on top of his head, squinting at my reading material. “Those pages look like work—you’re going to get into trouble with Mimi if she hears you’ve been working on this trip.”
“It’s not work, but it is related to work. If I tell you what these pages are, will you promise not to tell?”
“My lips are sealed,” he whispers conspiratorially.
“Audrey Abbot has been writing her memoirs, and she sent me the first couple of chapters to read through to see what I think.”
“Whoa.” He grins. “That’s amazing.”
“I know, right? I feel so honored! And what I’ve read is brilliant, thank goodness. I can’t wait to read the whole thing. She sure has had an interesting life. I never knew she had so many ambitions—she actually always wanted to go into directing, but she was so successful with acting that she stuck with that and then never had the confidence to switch to behind the camera. After The Incident, she decided to give up on that dream altogether. I think she’d be a great director, personally. I’ll have to tell her so.”
“She must really trust you,” Ryan surmises.
“I hope so. Or she knows I’m a writer and an editor and is taking advantage of a free proofreading service before she sends the manuscript through to her publisher.”
“Now, that is much too cynical a viewpoint to come out of your lips.”
I smile. “You’re right. Let’s just say she trusts me.”
A member of the staff comes gliding over to ask Ryan if he’d like a drink. I’ve made a mental note that the review of this hotel needs to mention how incredible the service is—everyone is warm and friendly, and so attentive. Lunch was outstanding, and thanks in part to the delicious dry Tuscan white wine that was served throughout the meal, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so relaxed.
As if reading my mind, Ryan says, “I feel very lucky that the spot opened up and I was able to come at the last minute. I owe Mimi big time.”
“Me too. And I’m so thankful that she pulled your name out the hat and not Cosmo’s. Can you imagine if he were here? I bet he’d act as though he kneweverythingabout Florence and lecture me the entire time.”
Ryan laughs. “I’m pleased I wasn’t your last choice, at least.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, glancing at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He turns his head to look at me before asking in a low, sincere voice, “Are you? Because Harper, I would hate to think that—”
“Ryan,” I say, cutting him off, my heart thumping against my chest as he scrutinizes my expression, “I’m really glad that it’s you here with me.”
He doesn’t reply, and I see his throat bob as he swallows. Someone appears to deliver the beer that Ryan ordered, and then we’re both distracted by a loud splash that comes from the pool. One of the travel journalists in our group has just arrived, and, spotting us, he gives us an enthusiastic wave and drags a sun lounger over to where we are sitting.
