Page 116 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“We’ve just entered Sicily airspace. The current temperature in Catania is 78 degrees Fahrenheit, the local time is 7:45 AM, and it’s shaping up to be a beautiful day for romance. We’ll be beginning our descent shortly.”
Christian sat up straight with wide surprised eyes. “Sicily?”
I bit my lip to keep from grinning too widely. “Surprise.”
“Naomi, are you serious?”
“You mentioned it was one place you’d go back to if you could. During our very first date, you said you spent a summer there during law school.”
Christian’s hands cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “You remembered that.”
“Yes. Contrary to popular belief, I love hearing you talk.”
He kissed me then, soft and deep, a kiss full of passion. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“Wait until you see where we’re staying.”
“I love you.”
He kissed my mouth, and I melted against him. “I love you, too.”
The villa sat perched on a hillside overlooking the Ionian Sea. Bougainvillea cascaded over the entrance, and olive trees dotted the landscape as far as we could see.
“Madonna mia,” Christian whispered, stepping out of our rental car. “This is paradise.”
“The owner said it’s been in her family for six generations. We have the entire place to ourselves for two days.”
Our luggage was minimal; we’d packed light on purpose, wanting the freedom to explore without being weighed down by too many belongings. Christian grabbed both our bags while I handled the keys the property manager had left for us.
The interior was a blend of rustic elegance at its finest. French doors opened onto a terrace with a view of Mount Etna in the distance.
“The bed is huge,” Christian said from the bedroom with a grin in his voice.
“Is that your only concern?”
“My primary concern is making sure we use it properly.”
I laughed, joining him in the bedroom where he was testing the mattress by sitting on the edge. “We have two full days ahead of us, Mr. Valentine. Plenty of time for that and everything else.”
“What’s first on the agenda?”
“First, we explore. I want to see a local market, taste real Sicilian food, and watch you charm vendors with your terrible Italian.”
“My Italian is not terrible.”
“I didn’t get to hear much of it in Tuscany, so we’ll find out.”
At the Catania market, vendors called out prices in rapid-fire Sicilian dialect while tourists and locals alike navigated narrow aisles between stalls, selling everything from fresh swordfish to wheels of pecorino cheese.
Christian was in his element, chatting with a fishmonger about the morning’s catch while I watched him communicate like a fluent speaker. It was cute and funny because his Italian was rusty, but he was enthusiastic, and the vendor was laughing when Christian mentioned sea urchins.
“Due chili di pesce spada, per favore,” Christian said, pointing to a beautiful piece of swordfish.
“Ah, per la bella signora!” the fishmonger replied, winking at me while he wrapped the fish in brown paper.
I blushed as Christian paid for our purchase, adding it to the growing collection of ingredients we’d gathered. Fresh tomatoes, basil, and bread still warm from the oven.
“What did you tell him?” I asked as we moved to the next stall.
