I laughed. “Are you saying that in hopes I’ll agree to share a room at the pensione?”
He grabbed my hand, jerked me against him, and kissed me. “That is me trying to get you to share my bed at the pensione.” He kissed me again. “Feel the difference?”
I licked my lips. “I think so. Maybe you should do it again.”
This time his kiss was chaste. “Where to next?”
We wandered the Dominican convent, stopping every so often to admire something I liked or that Ben did. Each time, he stood behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders, telling me again that he wanted to see the work through my eyes. There’d never been anyone, outside of my professors, who were asking for a different reason, who’d cared about my opinion about much of anything—art in particular.
Thanks to Pia’s graciousness in securing our reservation, Ben and I were able to enjoy parts of the convent that weren’t always open to the public. Because of this, I’d saved the Tabernaculum for last only because I could spend hours studying it. It wasn’t just one work of art; it was several.
The rectangular marble frame, with a triang
ular top with a sculpted almond, depicted the Blessing of Christ and Cherubims, and was considered to be a masterpiece in its own right. Some said it housed a different work originally that was eventually replaced by Fra Angelica’s paintings.
There were two shutter panels on the front of the Tabernaculum. On the external side were paintings of Mark the Evangelist and Saint Peter. Beneath those, on the altarpiece’s predella, was a triptych of Saint Peter Dictating the Gospel to Saint Mark, Adoration of the Magi, and Martyrdom of Saint Mark.
The opened panels revealed John the Baptist and John the Evangelist in place of Mark and Peter, flanking the enthroned Virgin Mary and Jesus. Surrounding them were twelve angels, each playing a different musical instrument.
From San Marco, we walked down to the Arno and stood on the iconic Ponte Vecchio, looking at the other bridges and tourists taking photos and shopping for jewelry.
“It is even more breathtaking at dawn,” I murmured, remembering how I was the only one of the five of us who came out to admire it.
“I look forward to seeing it,” said Ben, turning to me. “Thank you for allowing me to see not just San Marco but Florence through your eyes. I cannot imagine a better view.”
Since we’d left Valentini, Ben was back to being flirtatious and sweet, and I was so relieved. I’d spent the last couple of years with people who, more often than not, seemed as though they didn’t like me very much. The last thing I wanted was someone else in my life who treated me the same way.
“Do you have a favorite place for dinner in Florence?”
I laughed. “There are far too many to choose from. What about you?”
“I’m afraid my choice would be too turistico.”
“I’m curious.”
Ben smiled. “Maybe I should show you rather than tell you.”
We walked for twenty minutes, from the Arno up Borgo Pinti. When Ben led me into the Four Seasons Hotel, I had to concur that some might consider its famed restaurant “touristy.” On the other hand, Il Palagio had garnered a Michelin star rating.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s lovely.” I lowered my voice and leaned closer to him. “It is also molto costoso.”
“If that is your only concern, I would love to have you join me for dinner.”
“I would like that very much. Thank you.”
The maggiordomo led us to the outside dining area and seated us on the edge of the terrace overlooking the gardens. With our backs to the other diners, it seemed as though we were alone. It was beyond romantic.
Ben rested his arm on the back of my chair and leaned in close to me. “Your smile is beguiling.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but I’d never tire of hearing it. The sexiness of his voice made my toes curl. “Thank you,” I murmured.
We had a team of servers for our meal along with a sommelier, who not only recommended the perfect pairing for the tasting menu we’d both decided to order but also came to the table with each new wine and shared why he’d chosen it.
I couldn’t help but think what a wonderful job that must be. Tasting wine and pairing it with food prepared by a chef like the one at Il Palagio.
From the amuse-bouche of red mullet with winter vegetables to the crab timbale with cucumber carpaccio topped with a substantial spoonful of Kaluga Amur caviar, to the chef’s signature dish of cavatelli pasta “cacio e pepe” with marinated red prawns and baby squid, everything was sublime.