Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
ZALEA | FLORENCE
When Gabriel first mentioned house hunting yesterday, I should have known better than to assume he meant a modest apartment. Instead, we’ve spent the entire morning touring a seventeen-bedroom villa tucked into the rolling Tuscan countryside.
The property has a sprawling hedge maze unfolding across the front lawn, trimmed to perfection, and behind the house an infinity pool spills into the hills. The place is large enough to host two surf teams…or a royal ball. Maybe even both at once.
“What do you think of this property?” Antonio asks. Gabriel’s real estate agent stands near the windows, clipboard tucked beneath his arm.
“It’s a beauty,” Gabriel says, his eyes sparkling with the unmistakable shine of expensive possibilities. But when he looks at me, his smile falters. “You don’t like it?”
I offer them both a sheepish grin, turning slowly as if the marble floors and vaulted ceiling might suddenly shrink if I stare long enough. “Well…it’s a bit far from Florence.” I hesitate, then add, “And it’s a bit too big for my taste.”
“Well that won’t do,” Antonio says, glancing down at his clip board. “The next three properties I have scheduled are even larger than this one. All in Tuscany.”
“Cancel them,” Gabriel says immediately. “And please give us a moment.”
Antonio nods, already pulling his phone from his satchel as he steps out onto the terrace. The doors slide shut behind him, leaving me alone with Gabriel.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I frown. “Why are you apolog—”
“I should have asked what kind of place you wanted before booking in all these tours.” He takes my hands in his, thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, absentminded strokes. “That was selfish of me.”
“It’s alright—”
“No, it’s not.” He shakes his head. “But I’ll do better. Tell me what you want in a home, and I’ll make it happen.”
I glance around again, at the cavernous space. “ I definitely don’t want anything this big. This is practically a palace.”
“Living like royalty is a no. Got it,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.
Antonio reappears, confirming the cancellations, and settles onto a stool at the kitchen island facing us.
“Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll see if I can arrange viewings today.”
I glance at Gabriel before answering. “Well, I was thinking an apartment instead. Something more intimate, with fewer rooms.”
“A luxury apartment, right?” Antonio asks. “I only deal with luxury properties.”
I smile. “Are there any luxury apartments in Florence with—say—four bedrooms at most?”
He looks upward, considering. “Si. Three neighbourhoods come to mind.”
“Perfect,” Gabriel says. “Please book the best property in each.”
“Very good.” Antonio rises, collecting his clipboard. “I will call you.”
He walks us out, offering a cheerful “Ciao!” before disappearing down the long gravel driveway in his oversized SUV. Gabriel opens the passenger door of his flashy red convertible and takes my hand, steadying me as I slide inside.
Once he’s seated beside me, he turns the engine on, and glances my way. “While we wait for his call, do want to check out a nearby winery?”
“Wine at”—I check my watch—“eleven in the morning?”
“It’s happy hour in Saltwater Springs,” he says with a grin.
I laugh, shaking my head at him.
“Alright,” I say. “Let's do it.”
“How do you manage to find all these luxury spots all the time?” I ask as we climb the wide wooden steps of Antinori, the enormous winery Gabriel somehow discovered just outside Florence.
“Reid,” he says, as if I should know who that is.
I raise a brow and he smirks in return.
“I’ll introduce you two later.” His arm settles across my shoulders, drawing me close as we approach the entrance. “For now, let’s just enjoy this place. Apparently it was voted the best winery in the world.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” I mumble, melting into his side despite myself.
As much as I try to keep a distance from Gabriel—for my own self-preservation—he’s the only person that’s ever made me feel completely safe. But I know that eventually I’ll have to rebuild the walls and step back. We want different things from life, and pretending otherwise won’t change that.
But for now, I let myself live in this little Italian fantasy we’ve slipped into together.
Inside, the hostess attempts to turn us away when we admit we didn’t make a booking, but Gabriel calmly produces a thick stack of Euros, and her resistance dissolves instantly. We’re ushered through with a warm smile and not a single question asked.
We skip the tour because Antonio could call at any moment, and head straight for the restaurant. Once seated, Gabriel surprises both me and the waiter by requesting two glasses of every wine offered in their tasting selections.
The waiter gently explains to us that booking the guided tasting would be far more cost effective but Gabriel simply smiles and repeats the request.
“I’m not confident I’ll like anything on this menu,” I murmur after the waiter relents and leaves.
Gabriel scans the page before tapping a line. “You’ll probably like the chicken liver and fig.”
I glance up. “And you know that how?”
He smirks. “I know you better than you know yourself, Z.”
The confidence in his voice sends goosebumps skimming across my arms.
“Order it,” he adds. “Prove me wrong.”
So I do—because nothing satisfies me more than proving Gabriel wrong.
Unfortunately…he isn’t.
My eyes flutter closed on the first bite, and I sigh softly before I can stop myself. When I look up again, Gabriel is watching me with a dark gaze.
“I don’t know why that turned me on so much,” he mutters, reaching for the first glass of wine as if he needs the distraction.
I hide my smile and lift my own glass, joining him. By the third tasting, I notice him studying me instead of the wine. He’s tracking my reactions, memorizing which ones are my favourite, and when we finish our unofficial sampling, he calls the waiter back.
“I’d like to order twelve cases of the Rosso and twelve cases of the Classico Riserva.”
It doesn’t escape me that those were my two favourites.
The waiter blinks, stunned, then excuses himself to fetch a manager.
“Gabriel,” I hiss, eyes wide, “they’re going to think we’re alcoholics.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’ll tell them it’s for our wedding.”
That shuts me up.
I sink back into my chair, watching him cut into his food, the casualness of his expression at odds with the way my thoughts spiral. Gabriel surprised me last night when he brought up the marriage pact. I’d nearly forgotten about it—a childish agreement, something I assumed had faded with time.
But he hasn’t forgotten. Instead, he’s been holding onto it, and I don’t know whether to feel guilty for letting it slip from my mind, or flattered that he never did.
By the time we leave Antinori, I’m pleasantly tipsy and in an amazing mood. Gabriel only took a sip from each glass since he’s driving, while I finished all five with enthusiasm.
Just as we settle into the car, his phone rings. “I’m hoping you have good news for me, Antonio,” he answers.
His smile slowly spreads across his face, and I can’t help smiling back. He’s got the most contagious smile I’ve ever seen, and every time it’s directed at me, something inside me relaxes, and I’m filled with a joy that feels way too big for something as simple as a smile.
It isn’t fair that I’m so hardwired to everything that has to do with Gabriel when we would never work. Sometimes I worry I’ll never feel this way about anyone else—like he’s ruined me of the possibility—as if he’s the person I was meant to find and lose all at once.
“Sounds great,” he says, waggling his brows with playful excitement. “Text me the first address and we’ll meet you there.”
I tilt my head. “Time to resume house hunting?”
He grins wider and nods. “Let’s get to it.”
The first apartment Antonio shows us is immaculate, but it has no personality. Everything is glossy white, and polished chrome. The surfaces are so reflective, it’s like standing inside a hospital wing and pretending it’s a home.
The second apartment swings too far in the other direction. Grey marble floors stretching beneath black walls that swallow the light whole. The place is dramatic, and after five minutes inside I feel my life force being quietly siphoned away.
“Third one’s the charm,” Gabriel says as we step out of his car in front of the next building.
“What if it’s not?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve.
He pulls me into a hug before I can spiral further, his chin settling on top of my head. “Then we keep looking. We don’t have to find the home for us on the first day, Zalea.”
I nod against him, breathing in his musky cologne before we separate and join Antonio at the entrance.
“This neighbourhood is called Santa Croce,” Antonio explains as he leads us inside. “Perfect if you enjoy markets and lively nightlife. Some of the best traditional and contemporary restaurants are here as well.”
We ride the elevator to the thirteenth—and highest—floor. Antonio unlocks the door, steps aside, and lets us enter first.
The breath leaves my lungs the second I cross the threshold.
Warm oak floors stretch beneath my feet, glowing softly in the afternoon light that pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream-toned walls frame the space without crowding it, and subtle gold fixtures add warmth. It feels inviting in a way the other two apartments could never be.
“This property occupies the entire thirteenth floor,” Antonio says behind us. “At a size of two hundred eighty square meters, it’s very elegant and thoughtfully laid out.”
He guides us toward the living space.
“The living room boasts six large windows providing excellent natural light, along with direct access to the terrace.”
I barely hear him because I’m busy picturing the place filled with furniture—soft couches, textured rugs, books stacked on tables—and an army of plants to drink in the sunlight. It would be a crime not to. I’m not above becoming a plant mom while living in Italy.
“And as requested,” Antonio continues, “there are four bedrooms and three bathrooms.”
“Wow,” I manage, still taking everything in.
“Why don’t you take some time to explore? See how the place fits your needs.” He gestures toward the terrace. “I’ll wait outside.”
He steps out and settles into a lounge chair, phone in hand.
“Ready?” Gabriel asks, offering his hand.
I grin and take it. “Ready.”