February 1976
When in
by Kristine Zensky
Leonardo da Vinci Airport was hectic, exactly as Cinnamon always remembered.
Relatives fell into each other’s arms with loud, tactile demonstrations of familial
devotion while reunited lovers shared more subtle declarations of passionate
desire. The Fiumicino concourses buzzed with sounds
of excitement and murmurs of love. Cinnamon walked through the crowd of
A silver-haired gentleman moved into her peripheral vision, tall, handsome, tan and elegant. He bowed his head slightly. “Benvenuti à Roma, Signorina Carter. You are even more beautiful than I remember.”
“Dottore Ambrosini. This is quite a surprise.” Cinnamon composed herself as he kissed her cheeks in turn.
His movie idol looks caught the eye of every woman in the airport. Cinnamon quickly calculated he must be 53 or 54 by now but would be judged ten years younger. His arms were well developed and the tight merino pullover accentuated his muscled chest. His flannel slacks were equally complementary to his long legs and firm stomach. His skin was smooth as he pressed his lips to her cheek. Not a hair was out of place, as if he had just come from a shave and trim at the barbershop.
“Call me Fabrizio, I insist. We are friends now, not just potential business partners. I must apologize for not meeting you at the gate. Traffic leaving Roma was terrible, but it always is on a Friday afternoon.” The sparkle in his eyes had not diminished.
“It’s very kind of you to meet me. But I’m afraid I made arrangements with the hotel to send a car and driver.”
“I know. I am he, your driver. And if you’ll permit me to take your bag, I will take you to your car.”
Cinnamon slipped her suit bag off her shoulder. “But the hotel-“
Ambrosini shrugged as he easily shouldered her bag. “I own the hotel. I wanted to be sure they sent our best driver and that is me. Come on, you must be tired from your long flight.” He took her arm gallantly and led her out of the main crush of travellers.
Cinnamon followed Ambrosini through the crowd toward the garage. A top of the range silver Alfa Romeo with a soft black top was parked near the entrance. As her companion easily lifted her bag into the small trunk, Cinnamon mentally raced through the checklist Bennett Schneider had given her that morning.
Bennett had urged her to delay negotiations to sell Allure until after he could
join her, but his trial schedule would push the meeting back weeks. Cinnamon
was determined to have the financial security she could get from the sale in
place as soon as possible. Then she could make herself fully available to Jim
for future assignments, knowing Jennifer’s financial needs would be met. She
realized that Bennett’s hesitation came as much from wanting to visit
But she was surprised she had not remembered how handsome and suave Ambrosini
was. Her pulse quickened as he slid into the black leather bucket seat next
to hers. “Signorina, if it is possible, truly you
are even more beautiful than I remember from our meeting in
Cinnamon smiled pertly. “You’re very kind. That was almost three years ago. And…please…Cinnamon.”
Ambrosini reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “As you wish, Cinnamon.” He held her eyes for a moment before turning over the engine and merging into traffic. Cinnamon watched him out of the corner of her eye. If Cary Grant had been born Italian, he would be Fabrizio Ambrosini.
Her driver was a seasoned veteran when it came to navigating
the curvy roads in the hills surrounding
The sun was setting on her side of the car. Cinnamon noted Ambrosini was driving north rather than east into the city. After ten more minutes without a course correction Cinnamon asked him about it.
“It will be faster to go around Roma rather than through it.”
“To reach the hotel?”
“If you will permit me, I would like to invite you to stay at my family’s house just north of the city. It is much more comfortable than the hotel.”
Cinnamon smiled. The hotel was regularly named in the list of the top ten best places to stay in the world. Few places could be more comfortable, but she did not doubt his villa would be one of them. “Thank you, Fabrizio. That’s very kind.”
“I run my business from my home. It is my headquarters. I want you to see the kind of operation I hope you will decide to become involved with.”
“I look forward to it. I’ve enjoyed reading the press coverage of your acquisition of Danieli.”
Fabrizio smiled. “You know them?”
“Only their beautiful products.”
“Yes. They are artisans of leather. I would like to get your opinion on their new line.”
“Certainly.”
“Also this weekend I need to approve the winter collection for our own silk line. I feel very lucky to have a woman of your exquisite taste here with me. Would I be imposing?”
“Of course not. With so much happening in your businesses, it was very kind of you to agree to see you me on such short notice.”
Ambrosini smiled. “I am
sure you also have a very busy schedule. I am delighted you had an opportunity
to include
Cinnamon was ready with a cover story for the next leg of
her trip when she would meet Jim in
When the Alfa pulled through the massive iron gates and into the driveway, Ambrosini down-shifted smoothly to push the car up the steep grade. The driveway wound around cypress trees. As the car climbed, a magnificent vista of rolling hills was revealed. In the diminishing light Cinnamon could see ornate formal gardens on one side of the drive and groves of silver leafed olive trees on the other.
The house came slowly into view, well removed from the road and completely private. The design was classically Palladian; the scale more palazzo than villa. Cinnamon counted fifteen large double windows on the front façade alone. The drive straightened for the final approach so the linear regularity might be fully appreciated. Tall firs lined the driveway. Large urns spilling with white and pink flowers marked the open carport.
Ambrosini pulled the Alfa into a tight turn, coming to a stop beside a large Mercedes. “Ah, Enzo, one of my sons, is here. He must be bringing the first run silks.” He bounded out of the car to round it and open Cinnamon’s door. He reached gallantly for her hand. “Your bags will be seen to, don’t worry. Perhaps a coffee after your journey?”
Cinnamon nodded. “Your house is magnificent, Fabrizio.”
“Thank you. In the light I will show you the grounds, that is my favorite part.”
The thick oak door opened smoothly. The entry hall was dominated by a massive iron chandelier, which cast diffused light on the intricate mosaic floor pattern. Cinnamon recognized allegorical references from classical mythology in the floor design, which were echoed in the painted frieze running around the top of the walls, culminating in a creation myth scene painted through the vaulted ceiling. She did not have a moment to take in the furniture as her host tugged her down the long tiled hallway toward the back of the villa.
“Maria? Enzo? Dov’é tutti?” He called as he moved through the house.
A middle-aged blonde woman in an embroidered apron rushed to meet them, directing them to a sumptuous sitting room where both walls and furniture bore fabulous yellow silk jacquard weaves. “Buena sera, Dottore. Un po’ di caffe?”
Ambrosini
introduced Cinnamon to Maria Bellini, to whom he gave
all credit for the smooth running of his house and headquarters. Cinnamon could
see in their exchange that this Maria was just as valuable to Fabrizio as her own Maria back in
“Dottore, vuole mangiare á casa sta sera?” Maria asked discretely.
“Yes, yes, yes. We will eat dinner here tonight. Please tell Augusto.” Ambrosini moved easily between languages.
“Va bene.” Maria nodded.
After a quick cup of wonderful espresso Maria was leading Cinnamon to a guest suite while Fabrizio, having re-fueled, went in search of his son.
Maria was very gracious. “Signorina, the dottore
said you would need the codes to call your daughter in
“Grazie mille, Maria.”
“Piacere, Signorina.”
The guest suite was magnificent; a large bedroom with adjoining sitting room, complete with a balcony over-looking the formal gardens. The marble bathroom was as large as the sitting room and included a sunken bath. The bedroom walls were covered in a floral silk while the sitting room walls were bare plaster, tinted a slight orange that complemented the peach furnishings and polished wooden antiques. The bedcovers were intricately woven damasks. Every cushion on the pair of sofas represented another different but perfectly co-ordinated fabric. There was no mistaking that the foundation of Ambrosini’s business empire was high-end textiles.
The only nod to the modern age was top of the range stereo equipment, lamps, and telephones. Fresh cut flowers graced vases in three different places. An assortment of fresh fruit was arranged decoratively in a ceramic bowl on a low table. Bottled water stood nearby, cooling in a terracotta urn. Cinnamon saw her bag in the closet, her clothes already hanging on padded hangers on the rod.
She called
She was drawn to the kitchen. The hallway opened into a large blue tiled room with a massive stone hearth. A fire of wood logs burned briskly under a large iron pot. To her left large wooden doors opened onto a walled kitchen garden brimming with herbs, three types of lettuces, and fresh flowers like those in her bedroom.
She turned to her right. The original hearth was flanked by a sparkling, stainless steel counter running the length of the room. It encompassed a huge modern range, double ovens, refrigerator, freezer, and dishwashers. A black marble slab capped a large preparation area. This was the kitchen of an accomplished chef. To the left Cinnamon could see a large pantry. A light was on. “Maria?” she called.
“Scusami?”
A large bald man with a jet-black moustache poked his head out of the
pantry. “Ah, ah. La bella
signorina
Cinnamon smiled. She loved tagliatelle and looked forward to fresh hand-made pasta. She moved to accept his handshake. “Piacere. Sono Cinnamon Carter. Il odore di vostra cucina è molto buono.” It was true; the smells in his kitchen were wonderful.
“Grazie, Signorina. Il dottore è nell’ufficio.” Augusto indicated Cinnamon should follow as he led her through the far doorway, down yet another corridor to Ambrosini’s office. The dottore was on the phone. Cinnamon smiled her thanks. Augusto nodded shyly and headed back to his kitchen.
Fabrizio stood behind a broad, heavy desk that looked to be carved of walnut. The desk held only a bank of phones, leather blotter, and a silver fountain pen. He waved that he would only be a few minutes and beckoned Cinnamon in. Cinnamon nodded, but lingered in the doorway to give him some privacy.
Ambrosini was very commanding as he paced behind his desk. Cinnamon noticed there was no desk chair in the room. Cinnamon was familiar with men who had energy to burn, but Ambrosini’s vigour would normally belong to a younger man. The muscles on his forearms pulsed as he held the phone the crook of his ear and pressed against the desk with his broad palms. His tone was relaxed as his conversation in Italian continued. Cinnamon was aware of his patience and confidence.
In fact, when she had told him in ’73 that she did not feel ready to sell Allure, he had said he would wait because Allure was the only agency he wished to own. True to his word, he made regular contact to gauge her interest in selling and he had not bought another modelling agency.
She took in the large panelled office. The room was very masculine. Modern
art on two of the walls complemented a large marble pietà
nestled in a niche opposite his desk. The terracotta tile floor was highly
polished. A smart oriental carpet set off the desk as an island in the middle
of the room. On the wall behind the desk were framed enlargements of four black
and white photos – two girls and two boys aged from about
Ambrosini finished the call reassuring the caller that everyone would be happy by Monday. Cinnamon could not imagine what he was discussing, but knew without doubt that whatever Ambrosini had promised would happen.
As he returned the handset he turned to Cinnamon. “You must excuse me, Cinnamon. I should have been available to meet you. You look lovely.” He took her hands, admiring her.
“I completely understand. I’m sure your many business interests require quite a lot of your time.”
Ambrosini pursed his lips. “True, but they should never become more important than the company of a beautiful woman.” Cinnamon could not help herself and blushed slightly. Ambrosini continued. “I hope you had a chance to speak to your delightful daughter.”
Cinnamon was charmed. “Thank you, I did call. She’s already at school, but everything is fine.”
“That is good news.”
“These must be your children?”
“Yes, but pictures from many years ago. They say I keep these photographs on the wall only to cause them embarrassment.”
“Which one is your son Enzo?”
Ambrosini smiled, delighted to talk about his children. He indicated the eldest boy, blonde and thin with a very serious expression. “Enzo, my first born. A terror. Never sleeps, even as a child. It’s a very useful trait now because he runs all our manufacturing businesses and we are always on deadline. Designers never decide which fabrics will be in their collection until after they think they know what all the other designers will do. Well, Cinnamon, you well know this about designers. I think Enzo loves to be stressed. He thrives on pressure.”
Cinnamon smiled. “Is that an inherited trait?”
Ambrosini smiled knowingly. “Yes, from his mother. A very tense woman.”
Cinnamon raised her eyebrow slightly to acknowledge his comment without pursuing it.
“This is Alessandra, she was born eleven months after Enzo. She is my hedonist. Decided right away it was not worth trying to compete with Enzo. A delight…smells the roses, as you say. She manages our vineyards in Toscana. She is the most business minded, but she needed her independence. So we make more money from wine than I ever imagined.” The little girl at seven was a tiny cherub – huge brown eyes and chubby cheeks surrounded by a halo of brown curls. Cinnamon wondered if her looks came from her mother.
Ambrosini smiled as he lovingly
straightened the photo of a small boy with hair as curly as his older sister’s
locks. “Next came Luca. Luca loved numbers and puzzles as a boy, still
does. Luca works for Benito who finances all our acquisitions.” Ambrosini
turned to face Cinnamon. “After we first met in
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
“And also the truth, yes?”
Cinnamon smiled. In the past she regularly put her life on the line even when she was totally jet-lagged, but today a sixth sense told her not to risk putting her agency in play until she had more sleep. She avoided the business discussion. “And your youngest child?” The blond little girl was smiling sweetly in the photo. Cinnamon imagined she was looking up adoringly at her handsome father.
“Madalena, my
angel. The sweetest of my children.
She is an artist, right now studying in
“St Martins?”
“Yes. I miss her very much.”
“It’s a wonderful art school.”
“I should visit her more.” Ambrosini refused to become wistful. He smiled at Cinnamon. “We will have an aperitivo while Augusto prepares for you a special dinner. Andiamo.”
Fabrizio guided Cinnamon along the corridor and into yet another grand salon showcasing sumptuous fabrics. He directed her to a sofa as he poured two Camparis from a drinks tray. “How is your lovely daughter? Jennifer must be 6 or 7 by now, yes?
Cinnamon was touched, “She’s 6. She’s wonderful, thank you.”
Fabrizio smiled, “And her father?”
Cinnamon was momentarily at a loss for words. “It’s complicated.” She sipped her bitter red liqueur.
Fabrizio nodded knowingly. “Love is often this way, yes? I am in love with an actress, Elizabetta. When I am with her…bliss! When she is away, I think of her always, but she can only think of what she is doing at the time. To be direct…she only thinks of … who she is…with at the time.”
“I understand. I’m sorry.” Cinnamon understood more than Fabrizio could ever imagine.
“I think in her own way she is too. But don’t be sorry for me. She has made my life…richer in many ways. There are some freedoms for me too.”
“Do you think she is …the way she is…because she is an actress?”
He laughed. “I would like to blame her profession, but no. I think it is part of her philosophy of life, some of which I like very much. It is the good and the bad of Elizabetta.”
Cinnamon met his eye. “You don’t feel…betrayed?”
Fabrizio shrugged. “At times, but I love her. It is her way so it is the kind of relationship we have. Does not the woman always make the rules?”
“Not always.”
“Just women like Elizabetta … and you. Women who are …astonishingly beautiful, independent, powerful…No one dare disobey….”
Fabrizio’s voice was low, warm and soothing. Cinnamon wondered if he had changed pitch or if she had only now become conscious of his tone because his words resonated so deeply within her.
“Papa?” Enzo interrupted their discussion eager to meet the highly lauded Miss Carter. His arms were laden down with folded fabric swatches and designer handbags. The lean blonde seven year old was still apparent in his late twenties face.
Enzo’s energy level exceeded that of his father and the next hour passed quickly. Discussions of colors, textures, and the new directions each major fashion house was taking kept the three of them excitedly engaged in the salon until Maria summoned them for dinner. Both Ambrosinis wanted to know her point of view and pressed her to predict the appeal of various fabrics in the American market. Cinnamon loved the exchange and found father and son well informed and insightful.
Over Augusto’s wonderful food and exquisite wine from the family vineyard Fabrizio and Enzo described their vision for the Ambrosini empire in an engaging double act. It was a veiled pitch for Allure and reflected everything Cinnamon wanted to hear – continued dedication to quality, client service, and creativity. There was no discussion of numbers, yet their vision was very persuasive. She knew she was being wooed, but detected nothing underhanded or manipulative. All parties felt the positive vibe of a common purpose and shared values.
By the time Cinnamon retired to her room her excitement at the possibilities was greater than her feeling of jet lag. She called home, but the school day was not quite over and she was only able to leave Jennifer a message on the answering machine.
As she lay in bed she realized she had not had such a stimulating business discussion in years. Fabrizio and Enzo welcomed her perspective and respected her ideas. They included her as an equal. She loved that feeling of being part of a team, a team with a mission. That was what she had been missing. And she knew that long term the solution for her was not in the fashion business but in the spy game. How many nights could she be excited about reviewing handbags? She felt confident she could sell Allure for not only the right price, but to the right buyer. This mattered to her because she was proud of her business and the success it had earned.
Tomorrow they would get down to the nitty gritty of the numbers. She looked forward to it. She sensed Fabrizio would be tough but fair. Negotiating with him would be challenging and exciting. He was a very intriguing man. He made it clear that he was attracted to her, yet in every instance he had been a complete gentleman and treated her with total respect as a businesswoman. In fact he seemed to like her more because of her business acumen. Maybe it was because he was older and more experienced. Over and over she replayed him telling her he thought she was powerful and should make the rules in her relationships.
Cinnamon had to smile. If only. She sighed and rolled over in the plush bed. It felt big and lonely. All beds did these days.
She thought again of Fabrizio’s forearms. The strength and power he emanated came from more than his fit body. With his masculinity came a maturity she welcomed right now. Fabrizio Ambrosini would treat her with respect, in and out of the bedroom. He respected her mind as well as her body. He cared about how she felt.
Yes, Fabrizio would treat her very well. An older lover. European and worldly. Suave and sophisticated. Sensual. Long, sultry love-making sessions. His abundant energy, not diffused, focused only on her. Fabrizio would be faithful to her and she would feel cherished.
She rolled again, stirred by these thoughts. Fabrizio would honor her outside the bedroom too, even welcoming her in the boardroom. Rollin could only think about all the rooms they could have sex in. Rollin was filled with energy too, but it was everywhere. And if she was not right there with him, then where would his energy go? Who would he be loving? Who was he loving now, in the way she had thought belonged only to her?
Why was she even thinking about Rollin? Could she ever be freed emotionally and physically from his magnetic pull? Could any lover make her feel the way Rollin did? Maybe a man like Fabrizio could break the spell Rollin held over her.
Cinnamon knew she was being hard on Rollin but she was angry. Around Jennifer she held it in, afraid to telegraph her disappointment in her young daughter’s adored father. Tonight, the distance seemed to be allowing those feelings to bubble up freely. Sleep came slowly despite her exhaustion.
But she was refreshed when she woke Saturday morning, eager to re-engage Fabrizio. Pronouncing Cinnamon too seasoned a traveller to
tour the sights of
The drive from Lazio to
They departed for the villa late afternoon. Cinnamon knew negotiations beckoned. Driving back in the fading light, Ambrosini asked if she was still comfortable with the top down on his Alfa.
“I love the air.” Cinnamon checked that her scarf was not going to blow off her hair.
“Me too. Your scarf is very beautiful.”
“You should know, it’s one of your silks. I bought
it in
Ambrosini smiled. “You see Cinnamon, it’s your eye for talent! I think it is a key asset for Allure.”
Cinnamon met his smile. She thought about Jim telling her the same thing. “And you would value my ongoing involvement?”
Fabrizio nodded. “You spot the girls.”
“Yes, I do, along with my team. There are four of us - two in LA, one in
“I would want you to appoint that talent scout and to train them yourself. You see, Cinnamon, your eye and your standards are the assets I’m interested in buying. The value of your long-term contracts with the top models is not in dispute. But these girls will age, and perhaps not as majestically as you,” Ambrosini flashed her a charming smile. “I want to know I will have your long term involvement identifying the next generation of top models.”
“I see.” Cinnamon was flattered.
“I’m confident I have the top designers for my fabrics. I need to know that when it comes time to unveil their next season’s creations that I have access to the top faces – okay, and bodies.”
“I understand. I would be amenable to an ongoing role, but only on a part-time basis.”
Ambrosini nodded. “Can it be done part-time – to your high standard?”
“Yes. I have the systems in place that would allow me to devote my time to the highest value activities. Critical areas, yes, but not full-time responsibilities.”
“Excellent. Then I am sure we can reach an agreement.” His absolute trust felt very rewarding. “We’ll be home in a few minutes. Benito will have a preliminary contract for you to review. I hope you will find my offer satisfactory.”
Fifteen minutes later, sipping espresso in the yellow room, Cinnamon lowered the contract. His offer was very generous, well-above the parameters she had set with Bennett Schneider. There would be no need for haggling. “Fabrizio, I will need some time to review this with my attorney, but my initial reaction is that I am sure we have found a way of doing business together.”
“Excellent!” Ambrosini was genuinely thrilled. He clapped Benito on the back. The slight, bookish man was propelled forward into Cinnamon. They all laughed at Fabrizio’s enthusiasm.
Benito smiled shyly but exuded complete control of the deal, the thorough professional. This was clearly not the first Saturday afternoon spent at his boss’s villa closing major contracts. “Miss Carter, there will be a number of tax issues related to the payment schedule and consulting fees. I propose Luca and I contact Mr Schneider to finalize the terms as soon as possible.”
Cinnamon nodded, “I’ll advise him to expect your call.” She remained calm, the deal was not closed, but she was elated. Ambrosini’s acquisition of Allure ensured her the financial security she wanted for Jennifer. It also meant she could put more of herself into her work with Jim.
Benito shook her hand. “With your permission I will telex the contract to Mr Schneider’s office.”
“Thank you, Benito. I am sure you and Bennett will enjoy working together.”
Fabrizio clapped his hands together. “Now I propose we open Alessandra’s wine! Maria?”
Maria brought a tray of glasses and Fabrizio asked her to stay and join the celebration with a glass of wine. He beckoned Augusto in from the kitchen. The amiable chef brought a tray of antipasto and Fabrizio coaxed him to join them also.
Fabrizio raised his glass. “To beautiful women and the beautiful work of artisans. Allure and Societá D’Ambrosini! A long and prosperous future together.”
Glasses clinked and smiles were exchanged all around. The blend of Sangiovese and Merlot grapes was spectacular. After further toasts, Benito said his goodbyes and Fabrizio gave Maria and Augusto the night off. Only then did Cinnamon realize that the housekeeper and cook were husband and wife.
“Senza panico – no panic, Cinnamon. I promise you I can cook. I want to make for you my speciality. The vegetables in my garden are perfect. If you will excuse me, I will gather our dinner! We will be casual and dine in the kitchen, yes? Give me thirty minutes.” Ambrosini filled her wineglass before carrying the tray to the kitchen.
Cinnamon felt not panic but concern and not about his cooking but about being alone with her charming acquirer. Cinnamon suddenly wondered if Ambrosini thought there were strings attached to his generous offer. But he had been clear to conclude their business arrangements before expressing anything more than interest. His wooing had been subtle, but wooing it was and he had just dismissed his staff.
Cinnamon sipped her wine slowly. She realized she was in danger of allowing herself to be seduced. It had been a long time since she had been in this position. Her usual role was as seductress, not seductee. All her old guards trained through years of IMF service snapped to attention.
She was very curious. She could not deny her attraction to Fabrizio.
The deal was agreed. She had no sense that it hinged on any part of the rest
of the evening. She knew Rollin would never know how she spent her last night
in
Fabrizio conjured a wonderful pasta primavera and Maria had left them tiramisu and fresh fruit. He opened another bottle of red wine. Throughout dinner Fabrizio shared his dreams and plans for their work together. Cinnamon felt swept along with his enthusiasm.
After dinner Fabrizio proposed a stroll in the garden. In the moonlight. Cinnamon agreed.
It has at the end of the garden that he took his hands in hers. “You are an exceptional woman. I have been very glad to have you here with me in my home.” His hands were strong and warm. She focused on his muscular forearms as she allowed herself to be pulled closer.
Fabrizio’s lips met hers. She tingled at the newness of this feeling, his taste. He pulled her closer and one of his hands stroked her cheek, holding her to him.
But his touch did not have the electricity of Rollin’s.
She disengaged her mouth. “Fabrizio-“
He pulled her closer. “Our business is concluded. Benito and Bennett will see it through.”
Cinnamon gently pulled her hands away and placed them on his chest. “Fabrizio, you are an exceptional man and I hope we can become friends as well as business partners. But now, for me, more is not possible.”
Fabrizio sighed. “You should be happy. You do not seem happy.”
“It’s …complicated.”
“I thought…that the circumstances were right for us.”
Cinnamon pursed her lips, unsure of what to say and aware her resistance could easily crumble.
Fabrizio released her shoulders. “I must apologize.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But you would regret being with me.”
Cinnamon could not hold back her sigh. “I don’t think I could feel regret about being with you. But I do know I would have regret about being with someone other than the father of my child, yes.”
Fabrizio was frustrated. “Why, if he is only the father of your child?
“I guess he is more than that.”
“Then he is a lucky man. Does he know that you feel this way?” Cinnamon had no answer. “If not, Cinnamon, you must tell him.”
She nodded. “Friends Fabrizio?”
“I hope always.” He kissed her hand. “Ah well.”
“Thank you.”
They walked back to the kitchen. “May I help you with the dishes Fabrizio?”
“Your flight is early. Get some rest.”
Cinnamon lay in bed, still curious about her charming suitor, and yet happy with her decision. Sleep came more easily. In the morning Fabrizio was again brimming with enthusiasm. She was happy to see there were no repercussions from their moonlight walk. He drove her to the airport and walked her to her gate.
“Next time you must stay longer and bring Jennifer. Maybe for harvest?”
“Thank you. She’d love it. I hope we can come someday. Fabrizio, you are a wonderful host as well as entrepreneur.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek.
He smiled and took her hand. “Cinnamon, you must tell him the rules. Your rules.”
Cinnamon smiled sadly.
“Cinnamon you must be happy.”
“Thank you Fabrizio.”
“Ciao Bella. Ci vediamo presto.
She nodded. She did hope they saw each other soon.
xxx la fine xxx