Saint Valentine

13

The car speeds down the road, racing through the mountains of Sicily. We're right at the edge of the island, driving along the very edge of the cliffs. The water below us is bright blue. I can't tear my eyes away. One wrong turn, and we'd dive right into it. But I'm not scared. I'm living in a dream. It feels like a scene out of a movie. Taylor Swift plays softly in the background. Valentino told the driver to play it before I could even ask. He's right beside me, his hand on my thigh. I've had his full attention all day. He's barely been on his phone at all. It's been all about us.

"This is beautiful," I state, still watching the view before us.

"But not good enough for our wedding?" he asks. He suggested a ceremony at a winery high up in the cliffs.

"I don't want to get married outside," I repeat what I told him this morning. "I worry about the wind."

"So no wineries, no beaches, and no boats?"

"Correct," I laugh. He's taken me to the most spectacular spots, but I don't want to risk bad weather. "Am I being too picky?"

"No, not at all," he presses a kiss against my forehead. "There's plenty of other places we can look at."

"That temple was definitely a good option."

"The Temple of Segesta?"

"Yeah," I nod. We had lunch there. "I know that was outside too, but it didn't feel as exposed."

"If we do it there, it would have to be a small ceremony. The temple is not big enough for everyone."

"That's true." Obviously, not the whole family would be invited, but everyone high up would be — the superiore families. And there are hundreds of them.

"How about the theatre there? I know it's more open but it would fit more people."

"I don't know... I like the idea of it, but it's very exposed, and we'd have to do a lot to spruce it up for a wedding."

"Well, if you like the idea of it, I think I might know something."

"Yeah?" I look up at him.

"We're not too far away," he leans forward, mumbling something to the driver in Italian. It's too low and fast for me to make it out.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You'll see."

"You're not going to tell me?"

"Nope," he throws his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. "It's a surprise."

"Valentino!" I complain. "You're the worst."

"You'll like it, I promise. We'll be there in 15 minutes."

"15? Can we hurry up?"

"Patience, darling," he chuckles. "We'll get there when we get there."

"Fine," I give in, cozying up against his chest. I'm just excited. We've been on the road all day, and not one of the places we've seen is good enough. I didn't think I had particularly high standards, but we need something big and at least somewhat luxurious. That's what the family would expect — something classy. That's what I want, too. I'm marrying a Sainte, for Christ's sake. All my princess fantasies are becoming a reality.

We start to approach Palermo, the capital of Sicily. It's busy with tourists taking in the sights and enjoying the beach. I don't know enough about the area to know where we're going. The car comes to a halt by the side of the road.

"Wait here," Valentino steps out of the car, not bothering to wait for the driver to open the door for him. I expect him to speak to someone or make a phone call, but instead, he walks right across to my side of the car pulls the door open, extending his hand to help me out of the SUV.