Page 98 of Lorenzo

“A mansion in this old film called Rebecca.”

“Is it Romantic?” I ask, helping Em out of the car.

“Yes. Very. Well, I think so at least.”

“Good. Then we’re certain to enjoy a very good time.”

CHAPTER 43

LORENZO

As soon as I swing the Ferrari to the circular driveway in front of the hotel, a bellman and valet dart out to greet us.

The hotel is more than a century old, all pale stone and ivy, with tall windows that glow amber in the twilight.

“I hope it’s up to snuff,” I tell Em as we walk toward the front desk. “It’s a five-star hotel and the best the Berkshires has to offer. But I’m a man who likes modern luxury.”

Em laughs. “I see. So the word ‘quaint’ is not part of your vocabulary. And you don’t hold your pinkie in the air when sipping tea at the customary 4pm service.”

“You got that right.”

“So why did you book this hotel?” Em says, an edge of teasing in her voice.

“Because I knew that you would enjoy those tiny cucumber sandwiches with the crust cut off.”

“Indeed. But there has to be more to the story.”

“There is,” I bring my mouth to her ear. “This hotel is famous for something very, very specific. And that, my beautiful bride, is going to be your birthday surprise.”

When Em grins at me, I can almost feel the desire simmering inside her.

Most men have trained themselves to keep a poker face when they have a raging hard-on. But not my deceptively ‘nasty’ girl.”

Once inside the hotel, I give my name to the clerk and, as expected, use an old-fashioned quill I must dip in ink to sign my name.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ricci,” the clerk says, “allow me to show you to your room. Your luggage is being unpacked as we speak.”

Em and I hang back as the clerk gives us a tour en route to the room. “Here’s the library,” she says, pointing out an attractive wood-paneled room filled with old-looking hardcover books.

“We have scotch service, so you can simply pour yourself what you like. And down that hall is the restaurant. Per your earlier request, the chef prepared a special tasting menu for you tonight.

The clerk opens the suite I requested with a flourish.

I quickly spot the room’s highlights before she says a word.

They include a stone fireplace, its hearth already stacked for the night. When the clerk shows us the suite, Em’s eyes go wide at the four-poster bed.

“Like it?” I ask Em as soon as the clerk leaves.

“Yes,” she says with a faux straight face. “But in our New York apartment we each had a bathroom. Here, we must share.”

We laugh, realizing how spoiled we have been.

“So what’s next?” she asks, patting the bed beside her.

“It’s your birthday. You decide. Dinner before ‘dessert’ like a good girl. Or are you going to be a ‘bad girl’ and demand your sweets right now?”

“How about both?”