There is ONLY ONE VERSION of this chapter. There was no use in condensing it.
This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues.
Episode 44—Law is Out of Order
I have no fucking idea what came over me at that moment. All I knew is that if I didn’t kiss her right there and then, we would be somewhere fucking behind some sacred temple, and it’s not my intention to get arrested in Rome for indecent exposure.
We pass the Mamertine Prison—once used for temporary detentions prior to trial or execution and now housing two churches—and head straight to the Forum of Julius Caesar. We can only walk around the peripheral of the ruins, and as we’re walking down the cobblestone road behind the forum to get to where we can see something, suddenly my wife is twelve again. She’s skipping along in front of us… and telling corny jokes.
“A Roman walks into a bar. He holds up two fingers and says, ‘Give me five beers.’”
At first, I don’t get it, but then I visualize two fingers… a “V.”
My wife on the other hand is laughing hysterically and scrolling through her phone.
“Why did the Roman woman never win Hide & Seek? Because Julius Caesar!”
Again, she’s laughing hysterically and all I can think is what the hell has gotten into this woman?
“Times New Roman walks into a bar. The bartender says, ‘I’m sorry, we don’t serve your type here.’”
I look at Jason as if to ask if there’s something in the air. He just shrugs.
“What do you call a Roman with a pubic hair in his teeth? Glad He Ate Her!”
She almost drops to her knees in laughter on that one, and Chuck is snickering.
For the love of God, don’t encourage her!
“Two nuns are riding their bikes through some old Roman streets. ‘I’ve never come this way before,’ the younger nun says. The older one replies, ‘It’s the cobblestones.’”
Three of my guards break out in laughter.
“That’s it, I’m taking your phone,” I say, picking up my pace to catch up with her.
“Aaahh! No!” she cackles hysterically and takes off running.
Is she serious?
Luckily, there aren’t many people on this side of the ruins, because she’s flying like the wind! I take off behind her and close the space between us quickly. As if she knew I was about to capture her, this little mouse cuts to her left, does a quick spin, and flies back in the other direction. I’m standing there like the cat who caught the canary, and the canary just got away from me!
I turn around and see my security standing there watching the show—two with folded arms, one with his hands in his pockets, and Jason is taking pictures. I take off behind her again. She yells something to Chuck that I can’t quite make out as she runs past him.
Sorry, sis, you’re on your own,” he calls out as she whizzes past him.
“Traitor!” she calls back, and she’s still haulin’ ass. I stop before I pass Jason.
“What the fuck was in that sandwich?” I ask.
“What the fuck was in that kiss?” he retorts.
I can’t help but laugh as I take off after my wife again. She’s got a good head start and she knows it, but it makes her too confident. She slows down to catch her breath and I pick up the pace. Just as she turns around to see where I am, I bend down and scoop her up in my arms, still running so as not to knock what remaining wind left in her out of her. She’s wiggling and giggling incessantly. Her laughter fills the air and my ears and just makes me want to dance. I spin around with her in my arms and she laughs a carefree laugh.
“Stop!” she cackles. “You’re going to make me dizzy!”
“No more corny Roman jokes?” I bargain.
“No more jokes! No more jokes!” she laughs. I put her down and she wobbles a bit, still laughing so hard that tears are now coming out of her eyes.
“You don’t play fair!” she accuses.
“And you’re out of your mind,” I retort, taking her hand and leading my laughing wife back the way we came while she wipes her tears.
We get towards the end of Clivo Argentario—the cobblestone road that we’re on—and we can see the Forum of Julius Caesar through the iron fence. Butterfly turns into a tourist again and begins to snap pictures. Earlier, she said that the Forum of Julius Caesar isn’t part of the Roman Forum, but I can’t see how that would be true… so I Google it.
“Butterfly, the Forum of Julius Caesar is part of the Roman Forum,” I tell her. She stops taking pictures and frowns at me.
“Well, not an immediate part… it can’t be,” she says, walking back over to me.
“Dear, that’s not the forum,” she says as she looks at my phone. “That’s the Imperial Fori—this street,” she says, pointing to the street on the other side of the Forum. “The best way to put it is that this was part of the first suburb just outside of the Roman Forum. Julius Caesar was building it, and he was trying to deify himself while he was still alive.”
“Okay, but look,” I say, showing her the pictures of the original plans for the Forum. “This shows that the forum was right up against Curia Julia, which was the senate house in the Roman Forum.”
“Those were the first plans,” she clarifies. “The finished product didn’t extend that far. He bought the private lands just outside the Roman Forum with the intention of extending the Roman Forum, but that’s not what happened. Although there were offices and shops open in the Forum of Julius Caesar, it never became an extension of the Roman Forum. The forums outlying the Roman Forum—Caesar, Augustus, Trajan—they all became the Imperial Fori.” I raise my brow.
“Well, that’s confusing, but I kind of get it,” I respond. She chuckles—no doubt at my lack of understanding—and she takes more pictures as we walk around the Forum.
“It’s really astonishing, isn’t it?” she asks.
“What is?” I retort.
“Looking at the ruins and thinking about Rome during the time that they were built—what was going through the minds of the rulers when they thought up these structures and the power they must have exercised to get these things done. The people who walked through the hallowed halls before they fell to ruin. The business that went on in the great halls or banquet rooms—the schemes, the plots, the lives that were made and ruined, what Caesar would think now—or Vespasian or Titus or Augustus or whomever—knowing that their precious temples and palaces and forums are nothing more than piles of rubble. These people were deified and they expected to live eternally in that divination. Yet, their beloved structures are nothing more than open-air museums for a bunch of tourists.”
“It’s all going to crumble one day, Butterfly,” I tell her. “They had to know that.”
“I don’t think they did, Christian,” she replies. “Nero supposedly built this huge, outrageous estate that I’m certain he thought would last forever and at least get passed down to someone else to use. They used it alright! They drained his lake and turned it into the Colosseum. They built palaces and forums over his palaces all the way across the hills. I’m sure that he and anyone else who put all this marble and stone and granite together had no idea it would fall to ruin this way. I mean, what exactly happened to that colossal statue of Nero?”
“Probably reconditioned like everything else,” I say as I search Google for an answer to her question.
“My point exactly,” she says as we stroll along the outside street of the Forum. “It’s still magnificent to be able to see these things and imagine what it must’ve been like.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking up from my phone and examining the three columns that remain of the Temple to Venus Genetrix in the back, something I just saw online. “You said he was trying to deify himself. Was that temple for him?” I ask, pointing to the columns.
“Sort of,” she says. “He built the temple to try to link himself to the gods, as a direct descendant. Didn’t help much in the end. He put a gilded statue of Cleopatra in there. It was very scandalous.”
“Why Cleopatra in the Temple of Venus?” I ask. She turns a slightly disbelieving eye to me.
“Because they were lovers,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “You didn’t know that?” I frown and shake my head.
“I did not,” I say upon the revelation.
“Um-hmm,” she says, still taking pictures. “She even had a son by him—Caesarion.”
“Like the C-section when a woman is cut to give birth?” I ask. It’s an honest question.
“Uh, no,” my wife says. “One has absolutely nothing to do with the other. Caesarion is a form of Caesar’s name. ‘Cesarean’ comes from a Latin word that means, ‘to cut,’ and it’s spelled completely differently.
“Even though Caesar couldn’t claim the child as his heir, he knew Caesarion was his son. So, he gave Cleopatra permission to use his name. He loved her, he took care of her, he honored her, but he never married her because he already had a wife. She had her own kingdom in Egypt, which he helped her to reacquire and they fooled around until he died.
“There was a gilded statue of Cleopatra in the temple of Venus over there, and a later painting of Venus and an infant cupid was discovered to actually be Cleopatra and her son, Caesarion. He loved them very much, but he was already married. However, he was not modest at all about advertising his relationship. Cleopatra was a ruler in Egypt, but she was Caesar’s kept woman on every level—highly kept and publicly flaunted.”
“Wow, he was already married?” I say, unable to fathom how he could possibly flaunt his mistress in front of his wife that way. Butterfly nods.
“He was a military man and highly political. He traveled a lot for his job, for lack of a better word—most likely more than he was home. Political climate and duty drove him Egypt where he met Cleopatra and the rest, literally, is history.”
“The man went overseas and made a whole other family. That’s just bullshit,” I say.
“Well, we’re talking about a very decadent time,” she says. “Everything that I’ve seen and read—presently and before—indicates that ancient Rome was all sex, lies, and tablets since there was no video tablets. Yes, there was a lot of conquering and back and forth with religions and so forth, but all in all, the Republic and the Empire had a problem with bigamy—not adultery and fornication.”
Yeah, and I thought I was morally bereft.
“As you know, Caesar was mostly a man of the people. His leadership leaned toward favoring the Romans over the Senate, and the senate couldn’t have that. So, they killed him. Granted, his assassins were brought to justice, but by then, the Senate had gotten what they wanted, and Caesar was out. His death inadvertently struck the beginning of the Roman Empire as his adopted son was the first emperor—and when we went to Palatine Hill, I was able to put everything together.”
“Well, I’ll be honest with you. The extent of my knowledge of Julius Caesar came from the Shakespearean play, and I didn’t remember many details of that. Like many others, I knew that he died on the steps of the senate, but I thought it was the senate house in the Roman Forum. I didn’t know it was the senate meeting place in Pompey until someone here told me.” She twists her lips.
“Understood. I didn’t know it until you told me, and I only knew that she and Caesar were lovers because I saw it in a movie once. When I knew were coming here, I looked some of it up… but there’s so much to look up!” she replies.
“I know, baby,” I say, taking her hand again.
“Is that a milestone?” she says, taking a picture of a white column on the street. “It looks like one—or I should say this is what a milestone would have looked like, but it doesn’t have nearly enough information on it, and there’s another one right there,” she says, pointing to another one within eyesight, only a few meters away. “They wouldn’t be that close.”
“Maybe this is an original one that’s been refurbished and… that’s something else,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says, taking another picture. “There is some writing on it, but I can’t make it out.”
“Just so you know,” I tell her, “this says that the Colossus disappeared sometime after the 4th century and was likely toppled by an earthquake or destroyed when the barbarians sacked Rome in the 5th Century.” She nods again.
“I’m going with the earthquake,” she says. “It took 24 elephants to move that thing. It didn’t get sacked… oh, look!”
Her attention is drawn quickly away from the milestone and the Colossus by another bronze statue a little further down the street. She takes off running like a schoolgirl again and I find myself sprinting to catch up with her.
“Look at it! It’s huge!” she exclaims of the bronze statue of Julius Caesar. “I want a picture!”
I take a picture of my wife standing in front of the bronze statue of Julius Caesar in front of the forum, and then Jason takes a picture of us both. I can’t help but wonder what she was talking about—if the emperors and leaders knew that this would be their legacy, especially when you consider how violently some of them died.
We continue our trek down Via del Fori Imperiali when I hear a phone ringing. With so many people around. I’m certain that it’s not one of ours. I’m surprised to see Jason fishing his phone out of his money belt.
“Taylor,” I hear Jason say when he answers the phone. Who could possibly be calling him? I hope nothing’s wrong at home.
“Excuse me?” he says with a frown, and we all stop walking. “There must be some mistake. We’re here for four more days and then we’re driving to Naples.”
Butterfly looks at me and I just shrug and shake my head.
“I’m at the Roman Forum now. I’ll drop my boss off at the Baglioni Hotel Regina and I’ll be right there… Thank you.” He ends the call and exhales heavily, clearly perturbed.
“What was that about?” I ask. Jason turns angry and frustrated eyes to me.
“It appears that the reservation for the car is only for two days,” he says scratching his head. “I was sure I reviewed this with them before I took the keys, but maybe I didn’t. I’ve never had any problem, so…” My mind immediately goes to that conversation that I had with that woman—Audrey Law—right after Mother’s Day.
“She had us booked in Rome for two weeks!” I snap angrily. “She only had us booked for a car for two days?”
“It would appear so, sir,” he says. “I need to get you back to the hotel and go to the airport and straighten this out. It could have just been a mistake.”
The fuck it was. That woman is trying to prove some kind of fucking point and I have no idea what it is.
“But we haven’t seen the Forum of Augustus,” Butterfly whines. “It’s right across the street and around the corner… and the Forum of Trajan. It’s down the street from Augustus…”
I feel so bad. You would’ve thought we just told her that her Roman vacation was over.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he says, “but I have to drive all the way back to the airport and check this car in and check it out again—or another one—or they might report it stolen.” Butterfly sighs and her shoulders drop.
“Baby, there’s a lot to see at the Trajan Forum,” I tell her. “We’ll have to save it for another day.” She sighs again.
“Alright,” she laments, and puts her sunglasses on so that we can’t see her disappointment.
“Look,” Jason says, “I have to walk down to Colosseum parking to get the car. Why don’t you all walk over to the Forum of Augustus and I’ll pick you up from there?” Butterfly perks up a bit at the compromise.
“Okay,” she cedes before she turns to me. “And I’ll get to take pictures of the Forum of Trajan before we leave Rome?” she asks.
“Yes, you will,” I promise.
As we’re getting to the crosswalk to go over to the Forum of Augustus, we find the ruins of another forum just behind Julius Caesar. It’s the Forum of Vespasian. Neither of us knew they were there, but Butterfly takes a few pictures to add to her tourist collection.
We walk over to the Forum of Augustus, and Butterfly is in seventh heaven again. We first take a picture in front of Augustus’ statue like we did in front of Caesar’s, then we cross another street and head to the ruins.
Augustus finished his father’s forum after his death, then built his own next door. In modern times, it’s across the street. Although we can’t walk down into these ruins, just like the Forum of Julius Caesar, she stands on the scaffolding and takes a million pictures of the columns and stairs of what remains of the forum.
Fearing that Jason is going to come around the corner any second, she quickly tells us that this is the same Augustus who had the home on Palatine Hill. He was the first Great Emperor of the Pax Romana, which was the time of great peace when Rome peaked right before its decline. The temple in his forum was dedicated to Mars Ultor—Mars the Avenger—vengeance for his father’s death, which he sought, and achieved.
Although Julius Caesar wasn’t an emperor, many emperors died violently the same as he did during the fall of Rome as 16 emperors were killed in 50 years. Augustus, however, was the same emperor that defeated Marc Anthony and Cleopatra in Egypt leading to Cleopatra’s suicide rather than be taken back to Rome with Augustus as a showpiece. Finally, he had Caesarion—his father’s son—murdered as well. I wonder how Caesar would have felt about all that.
A little while later, Jason drops us at the Baglioni, and I’m a bit perturbed that our evening seems to have been cut short. Butterfly is none too happy either. We lick our wounds by quickly having Facetime with our babies and sending them our love.
“So… what’ll it be?” she asks when the call is over. “Room service on the terrace? At least we have a beautiful view.” She’s trying to make the best of it, but I had the beautiful view reserved for another night. Then, an idea hits me.
“Are you tired?” I ask.
“Not even slightly,” she responds.
“Good. Change clothes.” She raises her brow.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“La passeggiata,” I reply. She smiles widely and heads to the bedroom.
“Woman, how many times do I have to tell you not to make me look like a troll?” I ask when my wife comes floating out of the bedroom in this gorgeous, flowing, full-length rainbow creation that’s tied up just under her breasts and has her tits sitting up at wonderful attention. She’s wearing bangle bracelets and her silky mahogany hair is cascading in curls over one of her shoulders. She’s wearing smokey eye makeup that makes me want to lock her in the suite and have my way with her.
“Mmm, I love the way you lie,” she says, floating over to me and putting her arms around my neck. “You’re looking pretty hot yourself.” She kisses me softly, then wipes the bit of pink lip gloss off my lips.
“Nowhere for a money belt,” I note. “You’re carrying your phone?”
“I’ll give it to Chuck… where’s yours?”
“Tucked away… not to worry,” I tell her as I offer her my arm. “Shall we?” she smiles widely and takes my arm, and I lead her to the elevator.
It’s about 7pm and the sun hasn’t set yet. Some of the shops are still open, so we browse in some of the windows as we walk along the cobblestone streets. My wife admires a purse in one of the windows but opts not to get it since purses are too much of a temptation for pickpockets.
“I feel like I’m at such a disadvantage,” she says as we look at fragrances in another shop. “I have a purse for every occasion, and I can’t carry one here because some idiot might try to take it. It’s stupid.”
“I know, Butterfly, but wouldn’t you rather be safe than sorry?”
“Yeah,” she says, opening the top of one of the perfume testers and smelling it. “It’s just a pain in the butt, that’s all.” She puts the bottle down and chooses another one.
“We won’t let it ruin our good time,” I promise.
“No, we won’t,” she says as she tests a second perfume on her wrist. She nods and brings her wrist to my nose. “What do you think?”
I gently take her hand and bring her wrist closer to my nose. I sniff her wrist slowly and cup her hand in mine, picking out the scents like the flavors in wine.
“Bergamot,” I say softly, “jasmine… musk…” I kiss her wrist. “I like it,” I add with a hint of suggestion. She gazes at me for a moment.
“How do you know so much about so much?” she asks as I’m still holding her hand.
“Isn’t that a line from a movie?” I counter.
“It is,” she confirms, “but I really want to know.” I smile.
“I know fragrances,” I tell her. “I know what you like, and I know what smells good on you. You should get that one.”
I know so much about so much because I have to, my love, and it’s not all easy knowledge to come by.
“This one, per favore,” she says to the lady behind the counter, who smiles and reaches down to get a new bottle. She opens the box so that Butterfly can see that it’s the same fragrance, then removes the top so that she can smell it. I reach in my money belt and pay for Butterfly’s perfume. The woman puts the box in a little shopping bag and hands it to Butterfly.
“Grazie,” Butterfly says sweetly, and I’m impressed that she’s picking up a few Italian words.
“So, Mrs. Grey, what do you think of Rome so far?” I say, taking her hand as we continue to stroll down Via Francesco Crispi.
“Except for the whole pickpocketing thing, I like it well enough,” she replies. “Really, I’m enjoying myself. I like it a lot, though I’m very curious about what happened with the car.”
“So am I,” I say honestly while looking at some dismal pastel-colored suits in the next window. “I’m hoping for just an honest mistake, but you never know.”
“You’re not thinking about buying one of those, are you?” she asks. I scoff.
“Can you even imagine?” I say in disbelief, hurriedly pulling her past the jellybean-hued creations. She giggles as she skips a bit to keep up with me.
“What got into you today?” I ask, wondering what turned my wife into a corny-joke-telling, giggling teenager. “At the Caesar Forum, what was that all about?’
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug, her voice full of mirth. “I just wanted to have some fun.”
“You were adorable,” I reply.
“You said I was crazy,” she laughs.
“You were that, too,” I retort. “I should warn you that Jason now has video proof.” Her shoulders shake with laughter.
“I should’ve known,” she confesses. “I could ask you the same thing… near Saturn’s Temple.” I stop and gather her into my arms again.
“I just wanted to kiss my wife,” I say, planting gentle kisses on the corners of her mouth.
“I gathered as much,” she purrs. “And you were wrong. You had kissed me since the Spanish Steps… on the bridge in Trastevere.” I raise my brow at her.
“I stand corrected,” I croon, kissing her jawline. “Are you complaining?”
“Not at all,” she says as she thrusts her hands into my hair and pulls me down to her, searing my lips with a hot kiss. I do my best not to grab her ass right here on the street and to keep from doing so, I push her against the wall of a nearby shop and devour her until I’ve had my fill.
We zigzag our way down various streets, stopping to window-shop and picking up some small item here and there. We laugh a little when we pass McDonald’s in the Piazza di Spanga, wondering if any real Romans would eat that stuff, and why Americans would come all the way to Rome to order a Big Mac.
As we pass Giuseppe Zanotti, she sees a pair of black and white sneakers with heels that she likes. For the life of me, I don’t understand how anybody can like a pair of sneakers with heels, but she likes them, so we buy them.
A few more steps and we’re back where it all started—well, almost all started—the Spanish Steps. I take a few pictures of her standing on the steps in that gorgeous dress, and Chuck takes pictures of us together as we try to find a space that’s not crowded. It’s evening and just in time for la passeggiata, so there’s a lot of people out here. We get our pictures on the Spanish Steps, Chuck puts all of Butterfly’s wares in his secure backpack, and we’re strolling again.
We enjoy the people watching and vow to take a ride in one of those horse-drawn carriages if we happen to get back this way again. We enjoy each other’s company and chat about everything and nothing, still window-shopping in the stylish stores and not completely paying attention to where we’re going until we end up in Piazza del Popolo—very large square and la passeggiata packed!
“I think it’s time for aperitivo,” I tell her.
“I think you’re right,” she says, and we make our way over to the outdoor cafés. We see some tables available at Canova and decide that this is where we shall rest from la passeggiata. After ordering and paying for two classic spritzes, we fill our plates with delicious meats and cheeses, finger sandwiches and breadstuffs, and take a seat at one of the tables.
Off to one side of the obelisk in the middle of the square are a few men with strings or something on the ends of two sticks or wands about a meter long each. They dip these wands in what I can only assume is soapy water and then wave them around in the air, filling the air with bubbles of different sizes. Children surround them chasing the bubbles, and all I can think of is how carefree their lives must be, even if only at this moment. The most pressing thing in their little minds right now is to catch a bubble.
I don’t remember feeling that way one moment in my entire childhood. Even after I was adopted, many of my days were spent waiting for Myrick to come out of my dreams and terrorize me. He’s the last thing I want to think of right now… while I’m trying to show my wife the beauty and history of Rome. Luckily, my thoughts are interrupted when the waiter brings our spritzes.
“This is delicious,” she says, as she takes a sip. “So, tell me, what brings us to this particular square? It’s pretty big.” She begins to eat her nibbles and waits for me to tell her why we came to Piazza del Popolo.
“We’re pretty much at what is considered the northern end of Rome,” I tell her. “Without giving you a whole history lesson, I’ll tell you a little about Piazza del Popolo, because it’s very important to Rome. That gate over there is the Northern Gate. A portion of Rome is surrounded by a wall called the Aurelian walls. At the time, it surrounded the critical parts of the city to hold off the barbarian attacks. That gate is the northernmost gate of the wall, and Popolo was the first thing you saw if you came from the north to Rome and the last thing you saw if you left to the north. Its name means the ‘People’s Square,’ and it marks the northern edge of the tourist’s Rome.
“If you look down there, you’ll see those two little churches—the twin churches—with three streets between and on either side of them. That’s the tridente neighborhood because the streets look like a trident. That obelisk there with the lion fountains around it is called the Egyptian obelisk of Ramses II and it used to be in the center of Circus Maximus. Constantine took it from Egypt and put it there, but one of the popes moved it here. He was trying to link all the major churches of Rome together, so each of the major churches are in a square with that trident of streets leading from it, and somehow or another, they all eventually connect.” I take a mouthful of some of the meat and bread.
“I’m assuming that trident has some kind of significance,” she says between bites.
“It does. It represents the Holy Trinity. Now, here’s where it gets creepy…”
“Oh, God, more creepy?” she interrupts. “Like Saint Cecilia creepy?”
“Maybe not that creepy,” I say. “It depends on how you look at it. That church is the Santa Maria del Popolo. Not many tourists go in there, but it’s really a beautiful church. Paci used a phrase with you earlier—in situ…”
“Yeah,” she says. “It means that whatever he was talking about, it was actually in the place it was supposed to be. I think he was telling me that something was not in situ.”
“Right,” I confirm. “Well, all of the art in that church is in situ. There are some amazing pieces in there—the Crucifixion of St. Peter, which is very moving; statues of Daniel in the lion’s den, the Assumption of the Virgin to name a few, but that’s not what makes it creepy. There are a couple of tombs in there, but that church built for the people was said to be built to exorcise Nero’s ghost from the land.” I can almost see her roll her eyes.
“Nero? Again?” she laments. I nod.
“A portion of this land was once the gardens that belonged to Nero’s family. It was believed that his body was secretly buried somewhere around here after he committed suicide.”
“Don’t tell me—somebody dug him up,” she says, placing her drink back on the table. I chuckle.
“I told you it wasn’t as creepy as Cecilia,” I scold. “So, no, nobody dug him up. They did, however, ask that a church be built to exorcise his ghost. Sometime in the Middle Ages, the citizens complained that Nero’s ghost was haunting the area from a grove of walnut trees. So, they chopped all the trees down and built the church… for the people.” She pauses for a moment.
“You’re right,” she says. “Not as creepy as Cecilia… unless there’s more.”
“Nope, there’s no more,” I tell her, “except that the church was in the book and the movie Angels and Demons. I found that movie pretty creepy.”
“Thanks for telling me,” she says. “That’s another movie I’ve never seen and I have no intention of seeing it.” I nod and take a sip of my drink.
We talk a little more and eat a little more, and I order two tall glasses of prosecco, which comes with more food. This time we fill our plates with canapés and treats. I tell her about the twin churches which aren’t really twins, one of which is the Santa Maria in Montesanto, which is right next to where we’re sitting. It’s referred to as “The Church of the Artists,” although I’m not completely sure why. She giggles that the name sounds like her hometown, but not really. When we’re finishing are second drink, I hear live music playing from inside the bar. I stand and hold my hand out to my wife.
“Dance with me,” I say. She smiles and takes my hand. I lead her to just beyond where the tables are and spin her around a few times. She giggles happily as that beautiful rainbow dress blows in the wind. I hold her close to me and sway to the mellow music that wafts from the restaurant. The guy is singing in Italian and I can’t understand a word that he’s saying, but the music is enough for me and my Butterfly to get lost in the moment.
We dance for two more songs and then I kiss my wife on the nose.
“What do you say we find a few more aperitivos and some gelato and call it a night?” I say.
“I say that actually sounds like a good idea,” she says. So, that’s what we do. We head back in the direction of the hotel and hit three more bars for aperitivo and two spots for gelato, stuffing ourselves on goodies and drinks, foregoing the need for an official dinner. Butterfly tries to make it to a fifth aperitivo, but the drinks are finally getting to her. I stopped drinking alcoholic beverages after the second aperitivo so that I could keep an eye on her, but I didn’t want to ruin my wife’s good time. She’s too tipsy to walk and after we’ve gone as far as we can, we take a taxi back to the hotel.
She’s adorable when she’s like this—playful and vulnerable at the same time. I undress her and she giggles the entire time, trying her hand at corny Roman jokes that make absolutely no sense. I don’t want to encourage her to keep going, but the fact that she’s laughing at her own senseless jokes is hilarious by itself. I won’t have sex with her in this condition—she’s pickled—but I will make out with her a bit…
Stopping myself before I took advantage of my adorable wife was torment to my libido, so I head to the private gym to run for a thousand miles or so. Upon my return to the suite, Jason had also returned and informs me that the reservation for the car was indeed only for two days. He will get with me in the morning to tell me exactly what’s going on as he had Andrea checking what reservations she can and he’s been checking some as well. I wanted more information immediately, but he assured me that he’ll be able to tell me in the morning as right now, he only has piecemeal information on what’s happening.
It’s late and I’m very ready to go to bed, but the moment I dry off from my shower, my phone rings. This time, it’s Elliot. Oh, hell, what’s going on now?
“Hey, Elliot, what’s up?” I answer.
“Hey Christian, I didn’t know what time to call you,” he says. “I figured you’d be up around now because if you were here, you’d be up around now.”
“You figured correctly. I won’t be up for much longer, but what’s up?”
“This may sound weird, but I got a text in the middle of the night from your wife telling me to get busy installing bidets in every bathroom of your house.” I try not to scoff a laugh in his ear.
“Ah, yes, she has come to Italy and discovered the elaborate courtyard peristyles and the bidets. I was able to discourage her from putting one of those geometric fountains in our backyard.”
“But apparently, not from the bidets,” he says.
“I didn’t even know she called you about the bidets,” I admit.
“You can discourage her from those?” he asks.
“You can’t do it?” I counter.
“Christian, I have to tear out all of your toilets and re-pipe your bathroom for bidets!” he informs me. “It’s not like those little ones on TV where you can run a line from the toilet and boom, you’ve got a bidet… and I’m not too sure Montana would be thrilled with only having the option of cold water shooting on her ass if I did that.”
“I take it that’s no small task,” I observe.
“You take it correctly,” he says. “I mean, I may get away with not ripping out all of your toilets, but this is something that should have been done with the original design of the bathroom. I have to make sure a bidet fits next to each toilet and if it doesn’t, then I have to redo the whole bathroom. ‘No small task’ is an understatement. Do you know how many bathrooms you have in that house?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Six or seven?”
“I haven’t counted them in a while, but I think it’s more than that,” he says. “You have two in the master suite. Each bedroom has one. There are at least one or two community bathrooms on each floor, and is she talking about bidets in the guest quarters and the boathouse, too?”
I don’t even know. The more he talks about this, the more I see what a massive undertaking this is going to be.
“You do realize you have at least a month and a bottomless budget, right?” I try to entice him.
“When are you rich motherfuckers going realize that it’s not always about the money?” he nearly barks. “Sometimes it just can’t be done!”
I get the feeling this isn’t the first time he’s had a conversation like this. Definitely time to change tact.
“Okay, so, are you telling me that it can’t be done?” I ask calmly. If it can’t, then it just can’t. Butterfly will have to deal with that.
“I don’t know if it can be done, Christian!” he says, his frustration evident. “It’s a lot of fucking work. You’ve got that heavy ass tile in your bathrooms. Breaking through that shit is going to be like drilling through the Washington Monument—and if I remember correctly, the main en suites are made of marble, aren’t they?” I sigh inwardly.
“Yes, they are, but I’m not looking for a bidet in my bathroom.”
“Well, good, that’s one out of what… ten?” he says sarcastically.
“Okay, then, that’s what I need from you,” I say. “I need to know if it can be done. If it can’t, you tell me, and I’ll tell her. If it can be done, well then do it. Simple as that.” He sighs heavily.
“You fucking know how I fucking hate to disappoint Montana,” he laments.
“You and me both, but it is what it is, man. She’s not an unreasonable woman—she never has been. She just got here to the Eternal City, a place she’s never been, and she’s seeing how the ‘other half’ really lives… and keep in mind, she is part of the ‘other half.’ What she’s asking for is really not that extravagant. It’s just that our home is extravagant and outfitting it to fit these specifications is not as easy as ‘Elliot, I want bidets in every bathroom.’ I get it, man. If it can’t be done, she’s just going to have to accept it.” I hear him sigh heavily on the phone.
“I’ll get on it and let you know,” he says, none too excited
“Thanks, man,” I say. “And Elliott, if it’s a hugely ginormous job, start with her bathroom in our Master suite and we’ll work the other ones out later.”
“Will do,” he says, a little relief in his voice before we end the call.
She wants bidets. This isn’t the worst or the hardest thing in the world. Elliot will make it happen. She just may have to compromise on how many she gets.
“So, here’s what’s going on,” Jason tells me after breakfast in the morning. “With very few exceptions, your itinerary is shit.”
“Be more specific,” I say, my voice nearly growling.
“The car was only reserved for two days. I don’t know why, but it was. We’re lucky we got in to the Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum. You were supposed to have tour guides for those, and some of the places we visited, you weren’t supposed to go without them. We may have gotten a pass because our Italian bodyguard acted as your tour guide, so he may have saved us some headache.”
Yeah, while he was getting all friendly with my wife… but he didn’t cross the line, and he’s obviously conscious of his role. I overheard him telling Butterfly that he would like to keep things friendly but professional when she grabbed his arm, and once the tour was done, he slid into the role of silent observer.
“You’re supposed to have a guided tour for the Domus Aurea and tickets for the Borghese Gardens and Museum and the National Museum,” Jason continues. “You’ve got none of these, and this is just Rome. You have floor seats at La Scala, and I don’t even know if you have a hotel in Naples. I double-checked the reservation here and at the Vatican. This one is fine. The one at the Vatican was never made…”
“We’re fucking here now!” I roar. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?”
“Well, I couldn’t leave anything to chance, so I called in another travel agent and I forwarded your itinerary to her with the situation that we’re all in right now.” He’s kidding, right?
“Am I to understand that you forwarded my overseas itinerary and most likely my credit card information to an unknown while I’m stranded in Rome?” I ask. He almost looks angry now.
“Give me some damn credit, Christian!” he snaps. “First of all, I’m here, too, so whatever happens is going to affect me. Second, my family is going to be here in a month, so whatever happens is going to affect them. Third, I’ve been working for you for damn near a decade. I think I know what I’m doing by now!”
Well, that smarted a bit, but he’s just going to have to lick his wounds because I don’t know what the fuck is going on and I hate being in this position.
“So, what now?” I say, sighing heavily and impatiently.
“We wait,” he says. “I’ve been up all night chasing down computer confirmations and talking to Julisa trying to get you a new itinerary…”
“Who’s Julisa?” I ask.
“She’s your new travel agent,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“How did you find her?” I press.
“I called your mother.” I raise a brow.
“You called my mother?” I repeat.
“Yes, I called your mother,” he says. “Besides Marlow and his family, your parents and your aunt and uncle are the only ones who had commercial flights because their schedules didn’t fit in with the flight times of the jet. So, I called her to ask how she made her reservations and she gave me the name of her travel agent. She said that this woman has booked every trip that they’ve ever taken for years including the first trips that you ever took to Rome.”
I want to be pissed, but on short notice, he did a good job. Besides, I’m not really pissed with him. I’m pissed with that fucking Audrey Law.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask.
“I say you kick it around Rome for a day until we get your itinerary straightened out. I’d hate for us to head to Naples and have nowhere to sleep.” I roll my eyes.
“This isn’t fucking happening,” I hiss under my breath.
“Yes, it is,” he says, “so here are some suggestions from Julisa based on where we are. You wanted to rent a Vespa—today would be a good day to do that. Ride around Rome and see the sights with the wind blowing through your wife’s hair. Let her do some shopping. Go to some of the squares where you don’t need reservations and let Julisa straighten everything out for you. Your previous itinerary had you booked to the walls with what turned out to be nothing. Now, you have a free day in Rome. Worst case scenario, you extend your vacation by a day.” He yawns.
“The others can go with us today,” I tell him, taking the piece of paper with Julisa’s suggestions on it. “You get some sleep. It was hard enough getting used to Roman time. Now, your clock is off again.”
“I won’t argue,” he says. “I’ll be right as rain in a few hours.”
I dismiss him for the day, advising him to let Chuck know that we’ll contact him when we’re ready to go.
Nearly every room in this suite leads to the terrace with a magnificent view of the Eternal City. I just stand out there in my sweats for a while soaking in the beauty. This is the one place where I never minded coming and just letting my mind wander. Before Butterfly, every other moment of my life had to be filled with something—work, working out, fucking, something. Rome was the only time and place ever where I could just do nothing… wander the streets, sit by the river, enjoy the view. I always said that I would move here one day, but I never expected to have a wife and a family. I don’t know how well that would go over with her.
Speaking of wife, where did she get off to?
This isn’t the Crossing, so I can’t ask the two way where she is. Just when I turn to go back inside and search for her, I see her through the window in the jacuzzi terrace. She’s lounging at the end of the curved sofa. Her hair is wet and she’s wearing a very short, very sexy robe.
“Hey,” I say as I enter the jacuzzi terrace. “I missed you at breakfast.”
“I’ll get something soon,” she says, looking over at me.
“Jacuzzi? This early?” I ask.
“Hot shower and jacuzzi,” she says, “detox from last night’s aperitivo.”
“I shouldn’t have let you drink so much.”
“Please,” she says, waving me off. “I’m fine, and I had a great time.” She sits up and put her feet on the floor. “So… what did Jason say? What’s up?”
“Well,” I walk over and stand over her with my hands on my hips, “we don’t have an itinerary for the day. I mean, there’s still plenty that we can do with a little planning. In fact, Jason gave me a list of ideas, but what we thought we had planned is not planned.” She frowns.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
“I don’t either,” I say, “but from what I can see, Audrey Law has us booked for this hotel, a car for two days, a trip to the Colosseum, and nothing much else.”
“You’re kidding!” she says incredulously. “And what did she have to say for herself?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t called her yet.” Butterfly does a small version of the bobblehead.
“You haven’t…” she trails off.
“Well, first, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Jason has been up all night trying to find out exactly what attractions and reservations we do have. He has secured my parents’ travel agent to try to salvage what we can of the trip.”
“I like you like this,” she says. “Relaxed, laid back… even in the midst of a catastrophe.”
“It’s not that catastrophic,” I say. “Jason was able to come through in a pinch. It may not be what I originally planned, but it’ll still be great.”
“Mmm,” she says, sitting up, “this is what I mean. You’re so cool, calm, and collected. You’re hardly ever like this. I usually have to work to get you here.” She stands and walks over to me.
“But since you’re already here…” she slowly kneels in front of me, her hands caressing my body as they slide sensually down to the waistband of my sweats. She kisses my navel and looks up at me with those big, blue, “come hither” eyes.
Fuck, I’m here, baby, I’m right here.
She grabs the waistband of my sweats and pulls them effortlessly past my hips and down my thighs. My cock twitches. Greystone is anxious, but he’s not at full attention yet.
Raising her eyes to mine, she sticks out her tongue and licks the sensitive skin in the crease of the V of my pelvis. I wasn’t ready for that and I hiss, parting my legs slightly to give her more access. She dives into the tender meat, first on one side and then the other, licking and teasing it until I’m nearly shivering with anticipation. It doesn’t help that my balls and not-so-flaccid cock are now just lying on her face, begging for attention while she teases those creases. And speaking of which…
She moves from my creases over to my freshly groomed testicles. She licks them first, gently, one then the other. Then she takes them into her mouth and massages them deeply. My cock is at full attention now and I’m afraid it’s going to poke her goddamn eye out.
She releases my balls and salaciously licks her hand. I hiss loudly as her wet hand clenches the head of my cock and her stiffened tongue licks madly at my balls. Fucking hell!
And she’s still looking at me.
She’s devouring my balls, relentlessly teasing and arousing the skin as she jerks my head with her wet hand. I’m trying to keep still, trying to absorb the pleasure so that it doesn’t end so soon, but when Butterfly puts her mind to something…
She finally relents from her incessant, drive-me-up-the-wall licking only to replace her tongue with her gentle, titillating hand. She’s rolling my balls in one hand and working my head with the other. This is the only time she takes her eyes off mine, and it’s to look at my dick and balls now wet with her saliva and lick her lips.
She’s trying to drive me insane.
She licks her other hand, moistening her middle finger a little extra and cups my balls again with her wet hand. She uses that wet middle finger to firmly stroke my perineum while she cups and massages my balls, still stroking the head of my cock with her other hand. I can’t control my heavy breathing and the pounding of my dick.
When she finally takes me into her mouth, I almost want to cry. She’s slow and deliberate, teasing the head with her mouth and tongue as she looks up at me. She spits on her hand and spreads it up and down my hard shaft as she pushes the first couple of inches in and out of her mouth… and she’s looking at me again.
Fuck, this is so hot.
She never takes her eyes off mine and she licks the head, still stroking my cock into her mouth and against her tongue. I bite down hard to withstand the pleasure as her tongue tickles the rim and frenulum, and she’s still stroking, stroking, stroking… more saliva to coat my now veiny dick and assist with her handjob-blowjob combo.
My fucking head is going to explode.
She stops her hand and holds my cock tightly at the base, bobbing on the head just firm enough and slow enough to bring the heat. It disappears and emerges from her mouth swollen and wet and hard and hot. She runs her tongue over the entire head once, twice, three times before she masterfully sucks it back into her soft lips and tongues it again. She’s teasing me—mercilessly—and I fucking love it.
Now, she’s sucking me like a lollipop, soft and wet but with just enough pressure to get the sugar out. Good God, I’m going to die. I groan as I fight to keep from grabbing her head as I don’t want to fuck with her rhythm.
She continues with that lollipop lick, attacking my cock from different angles—sideways, right on the head, on the bottom licking from base to tip, sucking the head firmly into her mouth and pushing it out just as firmly, slowly and methodically driving me to the brink of madness. Her tongue and her lips, licking, squeezing, and suckling…
She flicks the frenulum, rim, and head quickly several times with her tongue and I almost crawl right the fuck out of my skin. I cry out and gasp in surprise, clenching my fists to keep from grabbing her. She’s fucking sadistic with this shit!
Now, my wife is extremely talented, but when she takes all these inches down her throat and licks my balls at the same time, my whole fucking body tingles down to my fingertips and my toenails. And she doesn’t do it just once; she does it repeatedly! What the fuck has Rome done to this woman?
She pulls off my dick and there’s a massive amount of saliva, dripping from my cock, streaming from her mouth… She grips my wet dick and pumps hard twisting in opposite directions with both hands, using her saliva as lubricant. With a stream of spittle still hanging from her mouth, she licks her wide-open lips so that it’s now hanging from her tongue and latches onto my head again, sucking deeply as she matches it with this mind-blowing handjob.
I can’t thrust because I don’t know which direction to go. I can only jut my hips out to her lips and hold my fucking breath as she sucks and rubs the skin off my dick in a pleasuring ritual that I’ve never seen from her.
She releases my cock again and grabs my hips, bobbing wildly in a sexy, hot, wet, sloppy, noisy, and feverish blowjob. She’s going deep again, deep and hard as she clings to my hips and ass for traction and concentration, my dick disappearing all the way into her mouth and throat and reappearing with each painfully delicious gobble.
Oh, fuck. She’s being nasty with it, and I can’t help but tangle my hand in her hair and tighten. Fuck, it’s so damn good. I groan deep in my chest. I’m trying to keep quiet, but I can’t. She’s intent in her purpose and I can’t resist.
“Uugh!” I groan, throwing my head back and sinking my cock into her throat. She doesn’t relent. She takes every inch and tightens and relaxes her muscles, saliva dripping from her lips and onto the top of my foot. It spurns me on even more.
“Uugh! Aah!” I gasp, thrusting into her mouth, fucking her cheeks and throat. She grabs my ass and squeezes, digging her nails into my skin, and that’s when I lose the fight.
“Aaaahhh!” I cry loud into the air as my cock thumps madly and deeply into her throat. She presses me hard against her, flexing and relaxing her muscles as my balls give her an endless offering. It fucking hurts and burns, she’s sucking me so deep.
“Gaahhh!” I gasp as she works for this endless orgasm. Both hands are tangled in her hair, pushing her hard against me as I come and come and come…
When I finally release her head, she’s looking up at me with wet eyes, most likely from controlling her gag reflex. She torments the head of my cock once or twice more, sucking it into her mouth and licking the tender frenulum and rim before sweetly kissing the head and wiping her lips with her fingers… in that way… while I tremble helplessly.
I snatch her off the floor, dragging air into my lungs trying to recover from that orgasm. I nearly tear that flimsy robe from her body. She gasps a knowing giggle as I force the thing to the floor. I slam my mouth into her, kissing her deeply and relaying my gratitude, right before I plan to quickly wring a fiercesome orgasm from her.
I lift her in my arms quickly, lodging my arms under her legs like I did that time when I forced orgasms from her in our sitting room. In moments, her tiny body is in the air and hoisted onto my shoulders while I’m still standing. She gasps in surprise, steadying her hands on top of my head and no doubt wondering what the hell is going on.
I use my mouth to separate her lips, then I latch onto her pussy and suck—hard. You won’t last two minutes up there. I promise you that!
She gasps and tries to pull away, but I’ve got her locked. She’s at my mercy like she’s never been before. Well, maybe once… or twice… who knows?
I have a perfect and unfettered view of her as I suckle that clit—hard, deep, and relentless. At first, she’s concerned about being up there, but I’ve got her locked in hard and right now, I’m hungry as a bear and she’s light as a feather.
She’s trying to fight the sensation, but she grits her teeth and I see in her eyes when she starts to rise. She’s looking down at me, tresses of her wet hair falling onto her chest, her face displaying agonizing pleasure as I continue deep suction on her most tender place.
I don’t move my mouth. I don’t want to change the sensation. She tries to move her hips, but I have her immobilized. She thrusts her hands in my now sweat-drenched hair and pulls like I did when she was clamped onto my dick. That’s it, baby, I’ve got you now.
Now, she’s dragging breath into her body, her breath rising and falling madly with each inhale and exhale. She’s gasping loudly and pulling mercilessly at my hair as her thighs harden around my ears.
Come, damn you!
She throws her head back and yowls a visceral cry from her stomach. I can feel her legs straighten behind me and her clit pebbles in my mouth as her orgasm strikes. A few moments into it, she curls her body over my head and I can’t breathe. I hold my breath and keep my mouth clamped mercilessly onto her clit. I imagine she performed a similar breath exercise when I had my dick down her throat.
Her body jerks several times on my shoulders and she makes many different orgasmic sounds. I don’t let go until she cries those magic words…
I finally release her clit and she straightens her back, out of breath and helpless. I look up at her again and the rise and fall of her bare tits are turning me on so much. I gently lick the tender meat around her clit and inside her lips.
“Pleeeease, Christian,” she mewls, and since I’m not working on a second forced orgasm, I cease my ministrations.
I masterfully lift her off my shoulders and drop her back into my arms. She gasps as I catch her in air and stare at her with what I know are hungry eyes. I thrust my tongue into her mouth, mingling our juices together and feeding off the heady flavor of the combination. She matches my fervor, our tongues lapping in a sensual sex dance. In this position, I’m easily able to breach her asshole and I immediately wish I had a butt plug in here. Instead, I thrust my finger into her ass and she gasps in my mouth as her rosette tightens around it. She pushes back on it as much as her body will allow as I move it in circles inside her.
That’s it. I’m ready to fuck her now.
I lift her slightly and drop her effortlessly unto my aching cock. We both gasp at the entry and with one hand holding her ass and my finger in her rosette and the other arm wrapped firmly around her waist, I fuck her, thrusting deeply up and into her as I hold her in place. Every time I lift her to drop back onto my cock, my finger thrusts into that ass.
“Oh, God,” she laments as she wraps her arms and legs tighter around me. It’s no use, Pussycat. I’ve got you now.
And there’s that “wet and sloppy” again, but this time, it’s her pussy.
“Mmm, you like that,” I taunt.
“Yes… yes…” she pants as she tightens her legs around me. I like that, too, Pussycat. She manages to get some traction and begins bouncing on my dick. Fuck, I remember this move—was it the second time we fucked in her apartment? The third? I don’t know, but that’s when I realized that my girl has dangerous hips and thighs of steel, and if she keeps this up, this is going to be over really quick.
Who am I kidding? This is definitely going to be over really quick.
“Dirty girl,” I scold as I carry her over to the chaise. I lay her on her back and she protests a bit when I withdraw my cock and finger from her. I adjust her in a variation of the scissor and T-position, one of her legs between mine and the other over my shoulder. I position myself just so and thrust deep into her.
Mother of fuck! I don’t know what the fuck I hit, but my head is buried in hot, wet, tight meat. I literally hug her leg to get a good deep thrust and my whole body responds like never before. Fuck, where has this part of her been all my life?
It feels so good, I almost want to cry, and I’m certain I’m going to come any second.
“Christian!” she says, pushing me back by my chest. “Too deep!”
“Relax,” I growl. “Feel it!”
At some point, this has got to be as good for her as it is for me. I keep the deep stroke but adjust it so that our pelvis grinds and my cock hits her walls the way that I know she likes. Shit, it’s even better than before, and I won’t be able to keep this up much longer. She takes two deep breaths and adjusts her hips only slightly and then her expression changes.
“That’s it,” I growl, my orgasm creeping just beyond my reach. She better hurry up. Her breathing deepens, then turns to pants and then whispers.
“Christiiaan,” she whines as if she’s afraid. You should be, Pussycat. You should be. I’ve reach deeper into you than even I’ve ever gone. I’ve been balls deep, but never at this angle. I’m breaching new territory here and it’s a fucking mind trip like you wouldn’t believe. In my head, Greystone is giving me a fist pump and signaling the countdown.
“Christian… Christian… aaaaaaahhhhhh!” My wife’s breast arches towards me, her body covered in sweat and her nipples jutting out at me.
I grab that mound and pinch that pebbled nipple hard between my finger and thumb as I use it for leverage along with her leg on my shoulder to pull her hard against me and thrust.
“Oh, fuck! Fuck! Oh, God!”
Now, usually, that’s me screaming those profanities, but this time, that’s my wife, grasping the head of the chaise and coming madly around my dick.
And Greystone loses count.
“Fuck! Yes! Goddammit!” I wail as yet another earthshattering orgasm squirts endlessly from my cock.
“Oh, dear God!” Butterfly wails, and I know it’s because my cock is thickening inside her right at the point of her orgasm. She releases the chaise and grabs her other breast, pinching until the nipple reddens significantly, and I swear that Greystone starts a whole new salute inside her.
Goddamn, she’s going to kill me!
When it’s all over, we collapse on the chaise, completely spent and useless. Neither of us can catch our breath, nor can we move. Our legs are scissored together as I lay atop her, wearily peppering her cheek, jaw, and temple with kisses. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise that the itinerary got fucked up. I can’t move a muscle right now much less drive a Vespa, and Butterfly looks even more spent than I am.
Looks like an inside day today.
A/N: NEW PINTEREST ALBUMS WILL BE ADDED EACH CHAPTER FOR THE ITALY VACATION. I SUGGEST YOU DON’T MISS THEM AS THEY WILL GREATLY ENHANCE THE EXPERIENCE!
Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/grey-continued-misadventuresseason-v/
Pictures related to the progress of the Italian Villa can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/italy/italian-villa/
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