by J. G. Sumner
He quietly shifted to the empty seat across the way. The woman didn’t notice as he leaned over the aisle to get a better look at the mounds of papers. Bingo! Just what he hoped; there was a confirmation for a hotel in Florence. He noticed she had reserved a honeymoon suite. Why? He hadn’t seen anyone else traveling with her. Could there possibly be someone else she was with? One thing was for sure, he would need to follow the woman and make sure she was traveling alone.
As the American woman scurried off of the train, Tony grabbed his backpack containing what was left of his belongings. All that he had was in the pack. Fortunately, it made for easier travel. Having more would only weigh him down.
As he attempted to exit the train, an elderly woman with a cane blocked his path. He stopped to assist her down the steps and when he got the woman stable on the platform, he looked into the crowd. There were thousands of heads and many were blocked by the pillars strategically placed on the platform. Where was the American woman? Shit! He searched the sea of people before finally seeing her head toward the exit of the train station, moving at a surprisingly fast pace. If it weren’t for the blonde hair that stood out like a beacon in a sea of dark-haired people, he probably would have lost her.
Tony raced to catch up, as she had stopped and was talking to someone. He walked faster and pushed through the crowd, shortening the distance between him and the woman. She was asking a man for directions for a taxi. There seemed to be a language barrier because the man shook his head and shrugged. A well-dressed lady in a black Armani business suit moved in close. The blue-eyed, blonde-haired woman from the States had become a target. He sprinted toward the crime that was about to take place.
“Lasciala stare! Lei è con me!” Tony shouted.
The dark-haired woman startled and quickly moved on to her next victim.
The American woman turned around and stared at him. The look of naiveté sent a knife through his heart, forcing him to take a step back. Even in a state of vulnerability, the American woman was smoking hot! Her eyes were still a bit puffy and red, but they were a crystal blue so light you could almost see right through them. Her nose was petite and tipped up slightly at the end. Perfect. It was the type of nose women tried to get through plastic surgery, but it looked completely natural on her. Her cheekbones were high, providing an element of sophistication. Her looks, along with her thin frame, convinced Tony she must have been a model at some point.
“Scusi, can you help me? Do you speak English?”
“Si. I mean yes, I do.”
The woman’s shoulders relaxed and she placed one hand on her hip. “I’m trying to find the taxis. Can you help me?”
“Oh yes, of course. Follow me.” Tony had been to this station hundreds of times. Having lived and worked in Italy most of his life afforded him the opportunity to travel to the various cities throughout the country.
A circular driveway housing multiple taxis loomed in the distance. Several drivers stood next to the cars smoking cigarettes and conversing while awaiting their next passenger. “Here you are. Most of these men can speak English. They’ll able to get you to your destination.”
The woman extended her hand. “Grazie. Thank you so much for your help.”
Tony’s mouth curved upward in an attempt to hold back the laughter at the woman’s attempt to use the native language. “You’re welcome. Be careful out there. Someone was trying to steal something out of your pocket. Make sure your bags are zipped up and never leave anything in your pockets when traveling through the train stations.”
Horror washed over her face. “Oh my gosh! Thank you. Who was it? Who tried to take my money?”
“The woman who rubbed up against you in the station. They are all around and looking for their next target. Be careful.”
“Grazie. Thank you for the advice.”
The woman waved good-bye and rushed to the taxis. She held up a paper for the driver. The address for her suite, presumably. Tony didn’t need to follow the cab because he already knew where she was going and for how long. He started his trek away from Stazione di Santa Maria Novella and up Via Nazionale, the street leading to his hotel.
Chapter Three
The city of Florence was spectacular. The majesty of the architecture, culture, and people was breathtaking. Katherine had just come from Venice. Since Venice was on the ocean, waterways were used instead of highways and streets. The main means of transportation were boats and water taxis. In Florence, the main mode of transportation was Vespa scooters or something similar.
Florence looked like a big city but had the quaintness of a small town; it was charming and full of culture, character, and history. Katherine couldn’t wait to do some exploring.
She pulled out her phone and instinctively started to dial Mike. She quickly turned off the phone and put it away.
The driver wove through the narrow streets. According to the directions she printed out, the distance from the train station to the hotel was only about a mile and a half. She was sure they had driven at least two miles and seemed to be traveling in circles.
“Scusi? Are we going to this address?” She held up her paperwork with the name of the hotel and the address.
“Si. Many of the streets in town are closed to cars. I have to go around the city to get you to your hotel. We’re almost there.”
“Oh. Why are they closed?”
“This is a very old city. Many of the streets are too narrow to drive vehicles through. Many times, it’s easier to walk or take a motorbike.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you.”
She leaned back against the seat and continued to take in the surroundings. She had done extensive research before her trip, locating various restaurants that looked promising. On the first part of her trip in Venice, she learned that asking the locals where to eat worked out very well. She usually found a small mom and pop restaurant with unique charm and delicious homemade food. The food in Italy was out of this world, far better than anything she had experienced in America. The grumbling from her stomach became audible just as the driver stopped the car in front of the hotel.
“We’re here, ma’am.” He got out and opened her door, and then moved swiftly to the trunk and removed her luggage.
From the sidewalk, she looked up at the building. A large gray-and-white sign read ‘Hotel Rapallo.’ The building was very modern compared to many of the others in the area. It matched the sign and was painted gray with white trim and appeared to be several stories tall.
She paid the taxi driver, grabbed her suitcase, and entered the lobby. The registration desk was only a few feet from the door and there was a man in front of her being checked-in.
“I’ll be with you momentarily, ma’am,” called the clerk.
She took the time to look around the lobby of the hotel; to the left was a small sitting room with a couch, some chairs, a television, and various newspapers. The flames in the fireplace flickered, enticing her. After a long day of travel, the couch and fireplace were very appealing. To the right was a small dining area with about fifteen tables. On one of the buffet tables there were carafes of water and cookies set out for the guests to enjoy. Italian hotels were very hospitable, and one thing she really enjoyed about them was that breakfast was included in the price. Meaning, she never had to purchase breakfast or leave the hotel to find it. It worked out perfectly.
Just then, the guest in front of her received his room key. She was surprised when he turned around. Her pulse quickened as her eyes connected with the man from the train. She caught her breath. He was checking in to her hotel. What were the odds? She couldn’t squash the butterflies that took flight in her stomach at the sight of the handsome stranger.
He grinned at her and the dimple that formed in his cheek almost made her swoon. She locked eyes with him and realized she had been right; there was gold around those emeralds. He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They complemented his olive-colored skin well. As she attempted to regain her composu
re and cool the fiery inferno that had taken over her body, she couldn’t help but smile at the mysterious man who seemed to be showing up everywhere.
“I didn’t realize we were staying in the same hotel or I would’ve suggested we share a cab.”
He placed a hand in his front pocket. “Thank you, but I prefer to walk. It’s much quicker.”
“I guess so. You obviously made it here before I did.”
“Once you get to know the city, you’ll find traveling by foot is usually faster.”
“Good to know. Thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go settle in my room. Perhaps we can meet up later and I can show you around.”
Red flags appeared everywhere. She was in a foreign country and a man who she didn’t know wanted to show her around. Was she crazy to even consider it? With her recent breakup, she wasn’t interested in being around any man, no matter how good-looking he was. But at the same time, she didn’t want to be rude. They were staying in the same hotel and he had been nothing but kind. Her thoughts volleyed through her head like a tennis match at Wimbledon.
“Thank you, that’s a very nice offer. Unfortunately, I have a packed agenda while I’m here. I don’t think it’s going to work out.” She took a deep breath knowing she’d made the right decision. Relief washed through her body, easing the tension that had taken over her neck and shoulders.
“My loss. I hope you enjoy yourself in Florence. It’s a romantic city with much to see. If you change your mind, my name is Tony and I’m staying in room two-twelve.”
The clerk at the reservation desk cleared his throat. Katherine instantly turned and noticed his impatient posture. When she glanced back at Tony, he was already halfway down the hall to the elevator.
“Thanks again, Tony,” she called.
Tony continued walking as he gave a nonchalant wave, dismissing her. Her affirmation of doing the right thing was suddenly shattered. Regret crept in. Did she make the right decision? Had she just missed out on an incredible opportunity? No, this is not what I’m here for. I’m alone traveling in a foreign country trying to find myself. You don’t want this. What are you even thinking?
She turned her attention to the man at the registration desk. She gave him the confirmation number for the reservation and was checked in without any complications. Ever since she had left London and with the several mishaps that had taken place, including booking her flight to Italy at the wrong airport, things seemed to be going well. She hoped this would be indicative of the rest of the trip.
She walked through the lobby to the elevator. Like most elevators in Italian hotels, there was barely room for one person and his or her suitcase, let alone a couple or a family. Living in New York City, she was used to small spaces; however, Italy gave a whole new meaning to the word.
She hoped the honeymoon suite would give her some much-needed area to stretch out. She discovered her room number was 204 and realized that Tony was on the same floor—only a few doors away. Anxiety crept into her mind. Something wasn’t right; maybe she should’ve settled for a standard room on a different floor. Don’t be crazy. Not every man is a creep like Mike. You’ll be fine. You’re only going to be here a few days anyway.
When she opened the door, she was amazed that the suite was smaller than a normal room in America. The queen-sized bed instead of two twins made it a suite. The décor was pleasant enough; the fixtures were more modern than her room in Venice. The floors were a light hardwood and matched the bedside table. The bright yellow down comforter provided a crisp summery feel, and accented the oversized portraits of various types of potted flowers. Even though this room had been significantly more expensive, she was very happy she hadn’t changed the reservation. She couldn’t imagine staying in an even smaller area.
As she walked further into the room, the musty smell from the air conditioning lofted throughout. Katherine placed the room key on the dresser holding the television and walked over to the right side of the bed. She gently fluffed the pillows and sat down to test the firmness. Katherine closed her eyes and settled into her side of the bed. What am I doing? I don’t have a ‘my side’ of the bed anymore. I can sleep diagonally if I want. She scooted to the middle of the bed and nestled in. The freedom to lie on whichever side she desired was liberating. At the same time, the hole that consumed her heart ached to be filled. She slammed her fist on the bed. “I’m done with you, Mike. I’m done thinking and longing for you. From this point forward there is no Mike!”
She pursed her lips and got up to unpack her suitcase. She hated living out of bags and having wrinkled clothes.
When she finished organizing her belongings, she put a folder of paperwork in the backpack, slipped it on, and headed down to the lobby. She inquired with the man at the registration desk for a place to eat. Since it was only five-thirty in the evening, it was considered too early to eat dinner by Italian standards. However, the receptionist told her of a local place with excellent food that opened early, and by the time she followed the map there, it would be open.
As Katherine ventured into the city, she stood on the sidewalk studying the map. The Galleria dell’Accademia, housing Michelangelo’s David, was only a few blocks from the hotel. Having the opportunity to view this statue was at the top of her to-do list. Unfortunately, the museum closed at six so there wouldn’t be time to view the statue tonight. The tour book she’d read while planning the trip stated the Galleria sold Firenze cards, which would allow her to skip lines at all the various sites. She decided to make a quick stop to pick up the card to save time in the morning.
Once she secured the card, she made her way toward the restaurant. Even though she was ravenous, Katherine was intrigued by the city and beautiful architecture. Unlike American streets, the names were located on the corners of buildings. With each structure she passed, she imagined the history surrounding it. The passion and romance of the city were palpable. She envisioned herself living during the Renaissance and walking through the same streets. Katherine wondered what it might be like as an artist during this time, and painting what was now considered some of the most influential artwork of the era.
Growing up, she had never been interested in art. However, her parents were very involved in the local art scene. They collected many pieces, and as a result, had them hanging throughout their house. When she was a teenager, she thought it was a waste of money and had no interest. But there was something about being in Florence and in the place Michelangelo called home that kindled her curiosity and appreciation for the Renaissance period.
Katherine made it to the restaurant with little difficulty. The building was quaint with a warm and inviting presence. When she initially walked in, Katherine noticed the walls were off-white stucco with different types of meats hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of garlic and fresh-baked bread permeated the air. The place was empty except for one couple sitting in the corner of the dining area enjoying a bottle of wine. Envy washed over Katherine as she imagined her and Mike sitting hand-in-hand enjoying the celebration of their nuptials. Her heart was squeezed in a vise grip as a tidal wave of emotions washed over her. Sadness, anger, and hate pulled at the strings of her heart one by one. This was what everyone had told her about, the multiple steps of grieving. At some point, she hoped she would be able to think of Mike without all the emotions being catapulted at her.
A young waiter approached. He didn’t wear typical waiter attire. He looked as though he just walked in after playing a game of soccer. His pants were wrinkled, shirt untucked and rolled up at the sleeves, and his hair was windswept.
The waiter must have figured she was American because he spoke in English, although he had a very thick Italian accent. She struggled to understand at first but as she listened, he became a bit easier to understand.
“Is it just you tonight?”
“Si, a table for one.”
“You’re much too beautiful to be alone.”
Heat radiated from Katherine’s ch
eeks. “Oh, I’m not traveling alone. My husband is at a business meeting and my hotel recommended this place.” She didn’t know why she had to lie. Maybe she was just being overly cautious. The waiter walked her to another room, which appeared to be the main dining area.
“Your hotel gave you a good recommendation then. You’ll love our food. It’s very fresh. I picked the tomatoes and basil from the garden today. And our bruschetta is the best. I’ll bring you some.”
She was dizzy from the waiter’s flamboyant gestures. He guided her to a small table on the other side of the room, opposite from the couple enjoying their wine.
“My name is Donovan. I’ll be your waiter tonight. Would you like to start with some wine?”
“Yes. Do you have any reds you can recommend?”
“Si, I have a great Chianti. I’m sure you’ll love it!”
“That sounds lovely. Please bring me a bottle.” She had learned that, in Venice, it was better to order a bottle of wine rather than the glass. The wines were usually better quality, and in addition, the alcohol content was less than the wine in the States, making it easier to sip with dinner without becoming too buzzed.
Donovan hurried away as she surveyed the room before reviewing the menu. The walls were painted a burnt-red color with deep beige accents. There were several trinkets lining the walls including old cooking utensils, corks, and pictures of what she presumed were the owners with various celebrities. It felt homey, and she felt comfortable. Comfort wasn’t something she had experienced much of since that fateful day.
Sitting in this quaint restaurant provided her with a sense of normalcy—a feeling of knowing this was where she was meant to be at this particular moment in time.
The menu was in Italian, but she understood a good portion of it just from eating in Italian restaurants and speaking with the various chefs over the years. In addition, Italian wasn’t very different from Spanish, in which she was fluent.
