by Lara Hunter
Gaby pulled out her phone and immediately looked up Teterboro airport. To her surprise and relief, it was a real place. In fact, it was an airport designed solely for private jets. For the millionth time in the past day, she wondered just what she’d gotten herself into.
The car pulled into the small airport. Sleek private jets were parked along the tarmac, all beneath the glow of a large white terminal building. Gaby’s driver parked and exited the car, opening the trunk as Gaby got out and accepted the proffered backpack from him.
He stared at her for a moment as she stood still. “Can I help you with anything else, miss?” he asked.
He was shorter than Gaby, which wasn’t unusual; she tried not to frown as she looked down at him. “I’m not sure where to go,” she answered, glancing around hesitantly.
The man nodded. “Right this way, miss.”
Gaby followed her driver to the small terminal, where she was led to a kiosk. A brunette woman with a cleanly combed ponytail smiled across the counter at her. “Good evening, ma’am. How can I assist you tonight?”
“My name is Gaby Galtieri—”
“Ah, Miss Galtieri! We’ve been expecting you. I will let your pilot know you have arrived. He should be ready for takeoff within thirty minutes.”
“Okay…” Gaby said, unsure of what else to say.
“Please feel free to take a seat in our lounge while you wait. You’ll find some tea and coffee available, if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Gaby said, smiling at the woman and turning to her driver.
“And thank you for helping me.”
The driver nodded. “A pleasure, miss. Have a wonderful evening,” he said before turning on his heel and heading back to his car.
Gaby walked over to a small, chic little waiting area. The sofas were soft and plush, and a Keurig coffee machine was perched on a marble-topped table, accompanied by a rack of a wide assortment of teas and flavored hot chocolates. Gaby was about to choose a nice chamomile when a pilot approached the seating area with an outstretched hand.
“Signorina Galtieri? I am your pilot, Giacomo Bambini. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Gaby shook the man’s hand. He was older, and definitely Italian. His hair was black with streaks of distinguished gray, and his face was no less handsome for being aged. He wore a kind expression, and Gaby found that she liked him instantly.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gaby said with a warm smile.
“We’re just about ready for takeoff, if you would you like to board, miss? Weather conditions are good, so we should make excellent time.”
“I would, thank you.”
Giacomo released Gaby’s hand before leading her out of the terminal and onto the cool tarmac. Gaby could see her breath in the air in front of her, and she looked forward to the warmth of the plane. When Giacomo stopped in front of a white jet, Gaby’s breath caught in her throat.
The plane was stunning. Was the Italian government really treating her to such an experience? If they wanted better U.S. relations, this was certainly a good way to do it.
Giacomo gestured to the open cabin door. “Please head on in, Miss Galtieri. I’ll just finish my final checks, and once we’re clear we can take off right away.”
“Thanks again,” Gaby said gratefully, taking the steps one at a time as she held carefully onto the railing.
When she got inside, she allowed herself a full-on gasp. The interior of the airplane was stunning. The seats were a cream-colored leather, and there was a small bar stocked with gourmet cheeses, crackers and small bottles of wine.
Gaby took a seat in one of the chairs, tossing her bag on the seat next to her. She still smelled like the restaurant, and regretted not having the time to take a shower.
Moments later, Giacomo poked his head back from the pilot’s area. “We’re ready to take off! If you feel sleepy during the flight, the side button there will recline your seat into a bed.”
“Wow, really?” Gaby asked, and Giacomo laughed.
“Really, really. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride!”
Gaby grinned at the pilot as his head disappeared, and seconds later the engine rumbled into life. The plane lurched forward, engines blazing as the wheels lost contact with the tarmac and the jet rose into the air. Gaby watched as the lights of New York City glittered beneath her, before disappearing behind them.
Pressing the button down, she stretched as her seat not only reclined all the way back, but also folded outwards, creating a perfect little bed. It was extremely comfortable, and Gaby yawned, still exhausted from her restless sleep the night before. She found a cashmere blanket in a small drawer beneath her chair, covered herself up and snuggled into her little bed. It didn’t take long before she fell fast asleep.
SIX
Gaby was dreaming.
She was wearing a beautiful ball gown, and she was dancing with a handsome stranger. The music played on, and she laughed at a joke he was telling when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“May I have this dance?” a voice asked.
Gaby turned and looked up—which was unusual for her—into the golden hazel eyes of the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
“You may,” she said, ever the graceful one.
She smiled warmly at the man as he placed his hand in hers, and the two of them waltzed around the ballroom, everyone looking on.
“You look stunning,” the man whispered into her ear.
His warm breath made her shiver with awareness, and Gaby fought to remember the steps, lest she embarrass herself.
“As do you,” she murmured, and the man looked down at her with a grin.
“You’re waking up now, Gaby.”
“What?” she asked, unaware that she was dreaming.
“Goodbye,” the man said, kissing her on the cheek before walking away.
“Wait!” Gaby cried. Her ears began to pop, and she pulled at them in frustration. “What on earth…”
Gaby shot upward, almost hitting her head against the low ceiling of the cabin. She took a breath, remembering where she was and what was going on. The plane was beginning its descent, which explained the popping in her ears. As she gazed out the window, Gaby caught her first glimpse of the autumnal Tuscan countryside as rows and rows of vineyards came into view. Looking ahead, she could see the red-bricked rooftops of Florence, and her heart began to flutter with excitement.
All of this had been real! She really was in Italy. It occurred to her then that they hadn’t even checked for her passport. Wasn’t that odd? Did it really matter, since she was landing in Italy any minute?
Her blood raced as she fought to contain her excitement, and, if she were honest, her fear. Gaby hadn’t realized until now just how sheltered she’d always been as the youngest of four children. It was annoying.
The plane cruised towards a small airport, touching down softly on the tarmac. Gaby looked at the time, surprised to see her phone had already updated to Florence’s time zone, and that it was already afternoon.
The plane glided along the runway like a graceful swan, finally coming to a stop near another small terminal. Giacomo peeked back.
“Good afternoon, Miss Galtieri! Welcome to Florence. Or, should I say: benvenuti a Firenze!”
Gaby smiled. “Grazie,” she said in her best Italian accent.
Giacomo grinned. “Might need a little work on the accent, miss. You’ll get it, though.”
Gaby grinned back. “I’ll certainly try. Thank you for a wonderful flight, Giacomo.”
“Certo, miss. Allow me to open up the cabin, and we can get you on your way.”
Gaby watched as Giacomo’s face disappeared only to reappear at the door as it opened.
Grabbing her backpack and a few crackers for the road, Gaby exited the plane and took a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. It smelled of vegetation, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what type. Gaby was a city girl after all, and had never been to the countryside. It was a scent she co
uldn’t place, but it was wonderful nevertheless.
“This way, miss,” Giacomo said, guiding her toward the terminal.
When they entered, Gaby was greeted by the scent of baking pastries and the sound of fast-paced Italian conversations. The people were dressed to the nines, their clothes seemingly way out of her price range. The women all had perfect makeup and hair, and the men were dressed in sharp, tailored suits. Gaby ran a self-conscious hand along her old pea coat and continued to follow Giacomo. He led her to a line of drivers who were holding up signs.
“Ah, there’s your man, miss,” Giacomo said, gesturing toward a young blond man who was holding a sign with her name on it.
Gaby turned back to Giacomo. “Thanks again for such a smooth flight, Giacomo—and for guiding me toward my next journey.”
“Always happy to help a beautiful young lady,” Giacomo said with a wink. “Have a wonderful time in Italy.”
“I will,” she said, already keeping that promise.
There was an essence, a feeling about Italy that she instantly loved, but couldn’t describe. She would have to work on finding a way to explain it for Rosalie when she got back. She looked at her driver, then.
“Hi. I’m Gabriella Galtieri.”
“Buongiorno,” the driver said, followed by a stream of Italian. Having only ever learned enough to read off a menu, Gaby stared at him with a vacant expression.
The man finally realized she couldn’t understand and laughed before gesturing for her to follow him.
“Do you speak English?” Gaby asked, embarrassed.
She should have brushed up on her Italian, she knew. Then again, when had she had the time? She’d always been a little sad that her grandmother hadn’t spoken Italian to them growing up. Like many immigrant families, she wanted her children to speak English and be American, and so the language had died on her tongue. The driver frowned.
“A little bit. ‘Hamburger.’”
So that was that. Her driver was also a menu reader only, apparently.
Gaby smiled at him and he smiled back as they headed to a long line of limousines, and he opened the door to a shiny black one.
“Please,” he said, the word heavily accented.
Gaby nodded her thanks and ducked into the limo. The seats were black, the ceiling lit with a thousand glittering stars. A small bar was on her right, but she ignored it in favor of her airplane crackers, taking only a small bottle of water. She felt a little woozy from her sleep, and it felt strange to be in the middle of the afternoon already, but she imagined that there was worse jet lag.
Her driver took off down the streets of Florence, and Gaby’s pressed her face up against the window as she took in the sights of the city. The roads were winding and crowded, filled with little markets swarming with vendors and men and women purchasing fresh food for their dinners.
After a few minutes, the limo escaped the bustle of the city, driving out into the countryside, which was a gorgeous combination of yellows and greens and the occasional orange-leaved tree. Stately villas stood tall and proud among the vast and beautiful hilly landscape, and Gaby was almost breathless as the limo pulled into a long, private road that led to another such villa, towering above the countryside.
Gaby took a deep breath. This was it. Probably some sort of hotel or embassy or something.
The driver opened her door for her, and Gaby slid out, stepping onto cream-colored gravel. When she gazed up at the villa, she nearly fainted then and there.
There, standing under a center archway, was the man from her dream.
SEVEN
Gaby stared, bewildered. The house was amazing: three stories tall, and the color of sand. The upstairs section housed a balcony that stretched along the length of the whole mansion, while under that a series of archways looped across the front. Behind the villa, Gaby could see the Tuscan landscape; it was all so perfect, it could have been a painting.
And then there was the man, staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to approach.
Gaby ran another self-conscious hand through her tangled brown hair, wishing again that she’d had time to shower and clean herself up before meeting the most handsome man in the world. She walked up to him and gazed up into his piercing, golden eyes, which perfectly offset his jet-black hair.
“Buongiorno,” she said, her accent betraying her instantly.
The man grinned. “Benvenuti, Signorina Galtieri. My name is Luca, Prince of Campania. I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
Gaby swallowed. A prince? In Italy? She hadn’t even been aware there was an Italian aristocracy. She should have studied up more.
Not knowing what else to do, she held out her hand for him to shake.
The Prince stared at it for a moment before his grin deepened, revealing an alarmingly attractive dimple, and he placed his warm hand in hers, giving it a firm shake.
“I’m happy to help,” Gaby said as the silence stretched too long.
The two were still holding hands when Gaby realized it and pulled hers away. Luca cleared his throat.
“You must be hungry after such a long journey. Would you care to join me for lunch?”
Gaby’s stomach gurgled at the mention of a proper meal, and her lip twitched as she nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”
“Of course,” Luca said.
His accent was much subtler than Gaby would have assumed for an Italian prince. His English was impeccable. He turned and opened a large, rounded wooden door that was hinged with black iron; it looked like it belonged in a medieval museum. When Gaby stepped inside, she placed a hand to her chest.
The place was stunning. It was large, of course, with wide wooden beams along the ceiling and stucco painted walls, but it still felt extremely…cozy. The colors were warm and welcoming, and the furniture was modern without being too trendy. It was a perfect combination of old and new world.
Some of the walls housed watercolor paintings of the Tuscan countryside. Luca walked past them as though he had no appreciation for the beauty around him, but, Gaby mused, he saw this place every day. How could he know how splendid it was, when he knew no different?
They walked up a marble staircase to the second floor, where a pair of French doors opened up to the balcony, with a small table and chairs. Rolling hills and vineyards dotted the scenery, and Gaby took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. It was so different from city—cleaner, without that subtle undertone of garbage and smog. It was also much milder for November, and she removed her jacket, hanging it on a nearby coatrack.
The table was set for two, with colorful plates and a pair of wine and water glasses. The Prince gallantly pulled out one of the chairs and waited for Gaby to sit, which she did, trying to ignore her increased heartrate. If she had known that U.S. and Italy relations could be improved by her enjoying real Italian food with a prince, she wouldn’t have hesitated so much. She silently thanked Rosalie for making her take a leap into the unknown.
Luca sat down across from her and smiled. “You look a little bewildered, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Gaby chuckled. “This is all a bit much for me. I’ve never left New York City in my life.”
Luca’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at this revelation. “Never? Not even once?”
Gaby shook her head. “Nope. I guess you could call me sheltered.”
“You never felt a desire to leave? A pulling so strong you couldn’t resist it, even if you tried?”
Gaby tilted her head, thinking. “No, not really. My home life is really great.”
Luca leaned in, just as a female server arrived with a bottle of white wine and a bottle of water, which she poured into each of their glasses. “Yes, tell me more about your home life. What is it like, where you live?”
Gaby shrugged. “It’s nothing special. My parents started an Italian restaurant when they got married, and my siblings and I grew up learning about food and service there. I got a degree in business so I could help them
move into the twenty-first century, so now we’re on social media and really working on getting the millennial community interested in dining with us.”
“And what is it like, running a restaurant?”
Gaby quirked an eyebrow, but Luca seemed genuinely interested, so she carried on. “It’s difficult, at the best of times. There’s no such thing as a weekend or a day off for us. We get two days off a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. The days are long, and sometimes I feel like I’ll never shake the smell of kitchen cleaner from my hands, but my parents built the place and it’s my job to make sure it stays afloat.”