Paris claims to be capital of romance, but Claire would suggest that the Côte d’Azur or the French Riviera seek to take the title. Located in the southeastern corner of France on the Mediterranean coastline, it boggled her mind to think that she was actually there in the playground for the wealthy. She didn’t realize that Tony planned this portion of their trip with no business obligations, no meetings, commitments, or other recipients of his attention. He was totally devoted to her.

The French Riviera is a major yachting and cruising area. Unbeknownst to Claire, they had reserved a private one-hundred-foot luxury sailing yacht complete with their own captain and first mate. It would be their hotel for two nights. They boarded their yacht in Beau lier-sur Mer, a beautiful Mediterranean resort village.

They spent the next seventy-two hours lounging on the sea decks, enjoying the interior cabins, and cruising up the coast toward Italy. Some of the ports they viewed from their deck, others they stopped and explored. Cruising on a private yacht in the Mediterranean was amazing.

Claire’s favorite port was Monaco. The entire experience seemed surreal. Being the second smallest independent state in the world, the entire city-state is less than one square mile. They were able to walk the hilly streets and enjoy many attractions. There were museums and palaces, as well as shopping. Tony relished Claire’s unabashed enthusiasm for Monte Carlo. Claire believed that Le Musée Oceanographic or the palace above the sea was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. She didn’t want to leave. However, their yacht was docked in the scenic harbor and waited to take them north to Italy.

The last port before Italy was Menton. It is nicknamed the Pearl of France and is famous for its gardens. Tony’s zeal at sharing nature with Claire amused her. His research had told him that Jardin Serre de la Madone, often known as the Serre de la Madone (Hill of the Madonna), is a garden noted for its design and rare plantings. It wasn’t difficult for Claire to show the enthusiasm that Tony expected. From Claire’s perspective, his excitement about planning something especially for her interests was better than seeing it.

Next they flew to Sicily for the weekend. Landing at a small airport in Catania, Sicily, Tony arranged to have a Maserati Gran Turismo waiting. Actually, it was the Gran Cabrio, the open-air version of a small dynamic sports car. The rag top allowed them to tour the countryside and see everything as it came into view. Driving around Sicily and driving around Iowa proved dramatically different. Claire learned very quickly that speed limits exceeded those found in the United States and didn’t seem to be strongly enforced. The one-lane winding roads always had someone wanting to pass or needing to be passed. Tony loved the challenge. Riding around the island with him that weekend made Claire feel like she truly put her life in his hands as never before. The desire to drive never occurred to her the entire weekend.

Their hotel was in Taormina, located on a plateau below Mount Tauro on the east side of Sicily, on the coast of the Ionian Sea. Their suite rested high on a cliff with a splendid coastal view from their private glass railed balcony. It is known for its ancient Greek splendor, medieval charm, and unique views of Mount Etna. Tony was right about the water. The shades of blue and green were comparable to the waters in Fiji.

There were beaches nearby that offered the sunbathing Tony mentioned. However, Claire suggested they spend their time seeing other attractions. They spent hours walking the endlessly winding medieval streets and tiny passages. Thankfully, most were inaccessible by car.

They discovered garden treasures hidden behind stone walls and terraces overlooking the coast. The Greek Amphitheater built in the third-century BC offered breathtaking views of Mount Etna and the sea. The history and age of the amphitheater had Claire talking about the youth of America.

Tony listened to her enthusiasm and watched her energy as she held his hand and walked through miles of history. The sightseeing was new to him. He traveled for business, not pleasure. Claire’s presence made all of this new and fun for him too. One of his goals for their trip was making her happy. Another was creating good memories.

The evenings in Taormina were enchanting. Together they strolled the illuminated streets and indulged in delicious cuisine. They watched in awe as lava left a stream of steam and light in its wake as it flowed along the snow covered slopes of Mount Etna.

Hesitantly granting Tony the pleasure of driving, they drove to Mount Etna, where they hiked. Claire was fascinated to learn that ancient Greeks believed that the mountain was home to the one-eyed monster known as the Cyclops. Her father loved mythology. He’d read stories of Cyclops to her as a child. It astounded her that she was actually walking around the foothills of a mythological site. With Mount Etna being an active volcano, the height of the summit changed with each eruption. The lava created beautiful solidified structures. These structures were called gorges, and at Alcantara Gorge, Claire and Tony were able to walk around and touch the basalt gorges and columns that had been formed after thousands of years of rushing waters. They waded in the Alcantara River and experienced the coolness of the water coming from the snow topped peaks.

On Sunday night they flew to Florence, where Tony had more meetings. Not reading any of her books, Claire kept busy with museums and sidewalk cafes. While sitting and enjoying a coffee at a sidewalk café Claire noticed the signs advertising Wi-Fi. She saw people with their laptops and the wall of available computers. This vacation had allowed her more personal freedom than she’d experienced since originally arriving at Tony’s. He hadn’t mentioned any restrictions. Yet he had mentioned restrictions to Internet use thousands of times at home. Claire decided she would spend her time in Italy seeing Italy. She could access the Worldwide Web from Iowa and hoped that someday that would be an option. Today she would enjoy Florence.

While wandering the Galleria dell’ Accademia, the museum that housed Michelangelo’s David, Claire lost all track of time. The museum was large and had a magnitude of amazing exhibits. The art fascinated her. She lingered at the impressionistic paintings and thought about Emily’s chalk art as a child. She never would have imagined herself wandering these museums when she was younger. The greatness of the exhibits caused her to forget about everything except the treasures she was seeing and experiencing firsthand.

When she realized the time, an immediate rush of panic nearly knocked her off her feet. It was four thirty and she was supposed to be back at their suite by five. Her minute recollection of Spanish did little to help her navigate the Italian street signs. She’d walked to the museum, stopping at others on the way. The sidewalk cafés and narrow streets all looked the same. Normally she had an uncanny sense of direction, but seeing the minutes tick away on her watch caused her to lose any navigational skills she’d previously possessed. She practically ran the streets filled with people, trying desperately to find her way back to their hotel. At five thirty she reached the Relais Santa Croce. Entering the exquisite lobby she did her best to regain her composure. With only twenty-four rooms, the staff excelled at name recognition and attention. The concierge immediately greeted her in broken English, “Good evening, Signora Rawlings, your husband he awaits you in your suite. May I carry your baggage?”

Claire’s heart sank. She knew Tony’s meetings were nearby. Now her fears were realized. At first, she told the concierge no, thank you. Then she decided perhaps having someone enter the suite with her was a good idea. She handed him the few bags she carried and they proceeded to the Rawlings suite. He assisted her by using her key to unlock their door. The double doors opened to the sitting area, complete with fireplace and windows overlooking the historic center of Florence. Tony wasn’t there. The concierge placed Mrs. Rawlings’s bags on the sofa and thanked her. She reached into her purse for a tip when Tony appeared from the bedroom. He smiled gallantly at the concierge, thanked him, and handed him a generous tip from his money clip. Thanking Signor Rawlings, the concierge bowed and left.