Chapter 18

 Chapter Eighteen:  Under The Tuscan Sun

Italy: One Month Out — You Belong With Me

It was late, the house quiet except for the familiar swell of music filling the room as the final notes of La La Land drifted across the screen. The city lights faded to black, and for a moment neither of them moved.  Mark broke the silence first. “I love the music,” he said softly. “I love the movie… and I love the story.”  Kimmy squeezed his arm, her head resting against his shoulder. “Me too,” she said. “But our movie is different.”  He turned slightly toward her.

“We chose us.”

His hand tightened gently over hers. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, lingering there just a second longer than necessary.  “Wine?” he asked. “Back porch?”

Outside, the night was cool but forgiving, the kind of February evening that hinted spring wasn’t far away. They settled into their chairs, glasses catching the soft glow from inside.  Mark unfolded the Italian brochure across his lap. “Let’s look at the days,” he said. “Figure out what we want to do… what we want to keep open.”  Kimmy leaned closer, eyes shining. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispered. “Rome. Tuscany. Lake Como.” She smiled at him. “We’ve seen some amazing things… but this?” She paused. “This is our romantic movie, right baby?”

Mark watched her for a beat, the night blurring just a little.  There is no one on earth I’d rather be sharing this moment with.  “Absolutely,” he said.

The next morning at Wawa, Allan was already waiting, coffee in hand.  “Dude,” he grinned, “you guys getting excited for Italy? Sally says Kimmy can’t talk about anything else. You are one lucky guy.”

Mark laughed. “You know it, brother. Best to Sal—we’ll all be together soon.”

He headed home with coffee in one hand and, tucked under his arm, the daily paper he’d started picking up again for Kimmy’s new crossword habit.  Hope today’s puzzle is easier than yesterday’s, he thought with a smile.  He set the coffee down on the table and flipped through the Italy papers once more, then glanced toward the hallway.

“Where is that girl?” he murmured.  The bedroom was quiet. Too quiet.  He moved slowly now, instinct tightening his chest. Kimmy lay exactly where he’d left her, blankets pulled up, hair damp with sweat. Her breathing was shallow but steady.  He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Baby,” he said gently. “You gonna get up anytime soon?”

She stirred, but didn’t answer.  He brushed the hair from her forehead.  His hand froze.  She was burning up.

“Honey,” he said, voice sharper now. “Kimmy. Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. “I’m so tired, Mark,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can get out of bed.”

An hour later, the ER lights hummed softly as Kimmy slept, IV dripping steadily. Mark sat beside her, one hand wrapped around hers, his foot tapping unconsciously against the floor.  The doctor came in quietly.  

“What’s wrong with my wife?” Mark asked, the words half plea, half demand.

The doctor glanced at the chart. “Blood tests show a viral infection,” he said. “You were smart to bring her in. The longer these go untreated, the more serious they can become.”  Mark nodded, his grip tightening on Kimmy’s hand without realizing it.

“We’ll keep the medication going,” the doctor continued. “I think she’s out of the woods. Call me if there’s any change. Any at all.”

Kimmy stirred. “Honey… Mark… where am I?”

“You’re okay,” he said instantly, leaning in. “I’ve got you.”

The night stretched long.  Mark dozed sitting upright, waking every few minutes to check her breathing, her color, the monitor. Sometime near dawn his phone buzzed.

Allan: Where are you, Dude—coffee’s getting cold.

Mark typed back with blurry eyes.

Kimmy really sick. More later.

Ten minutes later, a loud knock echoed through the house.  “Dude—let me in!”  Mark shuffled to the door, confusion still clinging to him. “Allan, what are you—”

“How’s Kimmy?” Allan asked immediately. “Sally will be here in ten.”

“But you—”  “I called in sick,” Allan said. “What can I do?”

Two days passed in fragments.  Kimmy drifted in and out of sleep, rarely fully aware of time. Allan and Sally took turns—watching her, watching Mark, keeping the house quietly running. Dishes appeared clean. Laundry folded itself. Coffee stayed warm longer than it should have. Mark sat at the counter one afternoon, staring into a lukewarm mug while Allan worked stubbornly at the crossword and Sally wiped the counter clean.

Then a soft voice floated down the hall.  “Baby… Mark…”

He was on his feet instantly.  Kimmy was sitting up now, color back in her cheeks, eyes clearer. She smiled weakly.  “I’m kind of hungry,” she said. “Can you make me one of your special… burnt toast grilled cheese?”

Mark exhaled—a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He stepped forward, gripping her shoulders firmly, kissing the top of her head.  “Sure, baby,” he said, voice thick. “Coming right up.”

In the doorway, Sally leaned toward Allan, her voice low but certain.  “That man,” she said softly, “really loves that girl.”  And Allan nodded, because some things didn’t need words.

Two Weeks Out – The Greatest Love

Two weeks to Italy.  Kimmy was getting stronger every day — not back to full stamina yet, but steadily, surely. The color had returned to her cheeks, her laughter came more easily, and the worry that had lingered in the corners of the house had begun to loosen its grip.  She lay stretched across Mark’s lap on the sofa, head tucked comfortably against his thigh, eyes half-closed as his hands worked slow circles into her back. The television flickered quietly while he flipped through options, content just to sit there, to feel her weight against him.

“Hey,” he said softly, pausing on the remote. “Want to watch the final episode of Emily tonight?”

“I love Emily,” Kimmy murmured. Then, with a small sigh as his fingers found just the right spot, “Ooooh… right there. That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He smiled to himself and hit play.  The opening sequence rolled, Paris giving way to familiar canals and lamplight.  “Ooooo,” Kimmy cooed, lifting her head slightly. “Look — they’re in Venice!”  Mark leaned forward, eyes on the screen, hands still moving. “We’ll be there in a couple weeks, baby. Right there.”  When the episode ended, Kimmy looked up at him, eyes bright. “It’s so romantic there. Won’t this be fun? It’s the perfect anniversary gift, honey.”

He brushed his thumb along her shoulder. “You feeling okay? Sure you’ll be good?”

“Better every day,” she said. Then smiled. “Hey — I meant to tell you. Remember my girlfriend from school, Katie?”  He nodded, continuing his gentle massage.  

“She texted me this morning. She and her husband have four tickets to Moulin Rouge! this weekend, but they can’t use them. I was thinking—”

“Yes,” Mark said instantly. “Absolutely yes. I love that movie. Let’s ask Allan and Sally — they were such a big help when you were knocked out.”

Kimmy laughed. “I’ll text them.”

The next morning, Allan pulled into Wawa just as Mark was lifting his coffee.  

“Morning, brother,” Mark called. “Already got your coffee.”

“Thanks, dude,” Allan replied. “You’re early. How’s Kimmy?”

“Better every day,” Mark said. “Thanks for asking. Sal doing good?”

“Yep. Looking forward to tomorrow night. We haven’t been to the Tanger Center before — what’s it like?”  Mark thought for a second. “Only been there once. Took Kimmy to Miss Saigon. Not a bad seat in the house. We’ve got front row center in the balcony — should be great.” He grinned. “And hey, if I start singing, don’t tell me I’m not any good.”  They laughed and clinked cups.

Later that afternoon, the porch was bathed in soft light. Kimmy sat with her crossword book spread across her lap while Mark worked on his laptop nearby.  

“How’s the puzzle today, sweetie?” he asked.

“I’m doing good — look!” She turned the book to show him, most of it filled in. “There are just a couple I can’t figure out. Want to help?”

He closed the laptop and scooted closer. “Sure. Fire away.”

“Okay — fifteen across – six letters, blank-blank-“L”-“M”-blank-blank-blank. Clue says: racing venue where the surf meets the turf.”

Mark grinned. “That’s an easy one. Del Mar. San Diego.”

Kimmy smiled. “Don’t they have a great zoo there? I’ve never been to southern California.”

“It’s one of my favorite tracks,” Mark said. “Maybe we should do a getaway sometime.”

She looked up at him. “I love our getaways.”

“Me too,” he said, patting her leg.

She turned back to the puzzle. “Okay, one more. 22 down….seven letters, “N”-blank-blank-“B”-blank-“R”-blank, clue says: little bundle of joy.”

He didn’t answer right away — just nodded slightly. “Newborn.”

“Bingo,” Kimmy said, smiling at him.

For the briefest moment, an image flashed in her mind — Mark cradling a tiny, sleeping bundle, eyes soft and amazed.  She blinked, shook it away gently, and laughed. “Okay, next one…”

The night of the musical arrived crisp and clear. Walking up toward the balcony, Sally squeezed Kimmy’s hand.  “You guys must be so excited,” Sally said. “Rome, Venice…. It all sounds amazing.”

Kimmy smiled, program in her other hand. “And Lake Como,” she said dreamily. “Mark has the best ideas. You know — he’s such a romantic.”

Sally laughed. “Sometimes I think he lives in a rom-com in his head.”  Kimmy glanced ahead at Mark walking with Allan and thought, And I get to be his co-star.  At their seats, they posed for photos. First the girls — Kimmy in a cream halter dress splashed with red and black, Sally sleek in navy, arms around each other’s waists, both glowing.

“Your wife looks great tonight,” Mark said to Allan.

“As does yours, my friend,” Allan replied.

Then the guys — Mark looping his arm around Allan’s shoulder. A woman nearby offered, “Want one of the four of you?”

“Oh yes, please,” Sally said quickly.The final notes of the show fell into a reverent hush.

The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved… in return.

Mark met Kimmy’s eyes. They smiled, knowing.  The audience rose as one, applause filling the theater.  Over dinner afterward, Allan leaned back. “That was great. Loved the music.”

“One of my favorite movies,” Mark said.

“But what’s with Satine dying at the end?” Sally asked.

Kimmy sighed. “The most tragic ending — right after they find each other.”

“Well,” Sally smiled, “your Italy trip will have the romance… hopefully without the tragedy.”  They laughed.  “All I know,” Allan said, “is this time next week you’ll be walking around the Colosseum, dude.”

Mark nodded, thoughtful. “One of my favorite time periods to teach.”  The conversation drifted naturally toward Rome, Tuscany, Venice — the future humming warmly between them.  And as they headed home, the world felt wide, steady, and full of promise.

Travel & Rome — Love Lifts Us Up

Kimmy stared at the half-finished crossword in her lap, pencil hovering, debating whether to start another puzzle or save it for later. She glanced sideways.

“Mark…”

He had his earbuds in, eyes closed, listening to music as the boarding area hummed around them—rolling bags, murmured conversations, the low, anticipatory energy of people about to cross an ocean.  Kimmy smiled to herself. Her mind drifted back to Alaska, to how she’d once thought that was the once-in-a-lifetime trip. She shook her head softly.  I should have known better, she thought, squeezing his arm gently. With this one beside me, calling the shots.  Mark opened his eyes, pulled one earbud free, and leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.  Then the speaker crackled to life.

“Zone 2, Delta Flight 62, nonstop service to Rome. Welcoming all Premium Economy passengers. Zone 2 now boarding at Gate E-21.”

Kimmy tapped his arm, eyes bright, pointing toward the gate. They stood together, grabbed their carry-ons, and joined the line.  Once seated, Mark reached for her hand.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he said quietly. “Here we go.”

Her eyes shone. “I am so ready. So excited.”

Nearly ten hours later, slightly bleary-eyed but buzzing with adrenaline, Mark and Kimmy stood in the lobby of the Palazzo Manfredi, checking in alongside the rest of the Miami Alumni group. The hotel glowed with old-world elegance—marble floors, soft lighting, the low murmur of voices echoing off centuries-old walls.  Kimmy turned to the couples behind them in line, already smiling.

“Hi, I’m Kimmy, this is Mark—he graduated in ’76.”

An older gentleman extended his hand. “Rick,” he said warmly. “This is Nancy. Class of ’70.” He smiled at his wife. “We met at work. Atlanta folks. Where y’all from?”

“North Carolina,” Kimmy replied. “Well—originally Florida.”

A younger couple chimed in, laughing a little nervously. “We’re Melissa and Ben, from Provo, Utah. First time away from our six-month-old. I’m hoping I can actually enjoy myself.”

Everyone chuckled.  Mark turned to them. “I’m sure that’s hard, but it’s important to have us time, right?”  Ben nodded emphatically. “That’s what I keep telling the young momma here. We’ll FaceTime every day.”

When they reached their room, Kimmy pushed open the balcony doors and froze.

“Oh my gosh—honey—LOOK!” she squealed.

Mark stepped up beside her.  There it was.  The Colosseum, massive and unmistakable, framed perfectly against the Roman skyline, glowing softly in the distance.

“Wow,” he whispered.

Kimmy slipped her arms around his waist. “It’s unreal. We’re here, baby. You and me. In Italy. In Rome.”  She sighed, leaning into him, the moment settling deep.

Dinner that night unfolded slowly, plates passed, wine poured, laughter warming the table.  Rick told stories about traveling Europe in the ’80s with a backpack and a guidebook. Nancy laughed about getting lost in Paris and never wanting to be found. Melissa admitted she’d packed three extra outfits “just in case.” Ben raised his glass to grandparents who’d agreed to babysit.  Mark and Kimmy listened, shared, nodded—already part of the group, already woven into this temporary little community.

The next morning dawned crisp and clear.  The bus hummed as it wound through Roman streets, the guide’s voice rising above the gentle rattle.  “Ahead of us is the Circus Maximus. Everyone off here—we’ll walk together to the Colosseum.”  Mark pointed out the window. “That’s where they held the chariot races,” he said. “Thousands of people packed in, cheering like it was the Super Bowl of its day.”

Kimmy shook her head in awe. “It’s insane.”

They rounded the corner.  And there it was.  The Colosseum rose before them—colossal, weathered, timeless.  Mark immediately pulled out his phone, snapping photos from every angle.  “It’s huge,” Kimmy breathed. “How did they even—”

“Build it?” Mark said. “Without modern tools? Yeah.” He grinned. “And get this—they used to flood the floor and stage naval battles. Real ships.”

“Get out!” Kimmy laughed, eyes wide as she tried to imagine it.

On the upper level, looking down into the open center, Ben stepped forward. “Want me to get a picture of the two of you?”  They posed, arms around each other, the ancient stone behind them bearing silent witness.  

The day unfolded in a blur of wonder.  Trevi Fountain shimmered, water cascading as coins arced through the air. Kimmy tossed one over her shoulder, laughing.  Spanish Steps climbed skyward, people scattered like notes on a staff, the Egyptian obelisk standing tall and patient.  The Pantheon loomed, serene and perfect, its oculus pouring light onto the marble floor as if heaven itself had an opening here.  The guide finally stopped them in Piazza Navona.

“This was once a smaller Colosseum,” she explained. “You can see the shape.” She smiled. “I’ll meet you here in ninety minutes. Plenty of excellent restaurants.”

Mark and Kimmy strolled arm in arm.  “You can see it, right?” Mark said. “The crowds. The spectacles. People sitting right where we’re standing.”  Kimmy shook her head slowly. “It’s mind-boggling. All of it happened here.”  She pulled him close, rose onto her toes, kissed him gently. “Thank you. I never would have had this without you.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s all about you, baby. I’d give you the world if I could.”

Lunch was simple and perfect—Mark with a small pizza, Kimmy with a fresh pasta salad, olive oil glistening in the sun. As they finished, Mark leaned back. “What a first day, right?”  Kimmy rested her chin in her hands, elbows on the table, looking at him.

“I keep having flashes of you,” she said softly. “Standing in front of class, spinning those stories of ancient Rome. Making it seem so alive to your classes.” She smiled. “Who would have thought that instead of  dreaming about Rome… I’d be here. With you. In Rome.”

Mark shook his head, overwhelmed. “So lucky.”  She reached across the table, took his hand, giving him that look.  And the city hummed on around them, ancient and alive.

Lake Como – Come Sail Away

The end of their final night in Rome arrived quietly.  Suitcases stood packed by the door before ten, zippers closed with a soft finality that felt more reflective than sad. Mark stepped out onto the small balcony, the night air cool against his skin. The Colosseum glowed in the distance, lit from below, ancient stone warmed by golden light—unyielding, eternal.  He stood there a moment, hands resting on the railing, letting the image imprint itself.

Behind him, the bathroom door opened. Soft footsteps padded closer.

“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” Kimmy murmured.  He turned.  “Oh…” he said with a grin. “You brought the shorty-short PJs. I love those.”  She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, smiling.

“I did. I know you like them.”

“Oh,” he said again, eyebrows lifting. “Oh…”

The lights went out.

The next morning blurred into motion.  The bus ride south toward Naples rolled past olive groves and scattered villages, the light changing from city gray to sunlit stone. By late morning they were walking through Pompeii, the ruins stretching outward in quiet permanence—stone streets worn smooth by centuries of feet, doorways frozen open, shadows falling where lives once unfolded.  Kimmy walked slowly, her voice hushed.

“Imagine,” she said, “one minute they’re just…living. And then—” she gestured softly. “Frozen in time.”

Mark took her hand, holding it just a little tighter. “It humbles you,” he said. “How small and fragile everything really is.”

They moved on together, reverent, thoughtful.  Tuscany greeted them the next day like a held breath finally released.  The refurbished villa sat tucked among rolling vineyards that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the horizon. Their room overlooked the rows of vines, neat and patient, the air carrying the scent of earth and early spring.

Dinner that evening unfolded on the patio beneath a soft, apricot sky. Glasses clinked. Laughter drifted. As the sun dipped, the vines turned gold, then bronze, then dusky green.  The following day was Florence—crowded, vibrant, alive. Marble and history pressed close on all sides: the Duomo rising impossibly above them, statues poised in eternal motion, bridges arcing over the Arno. Kimmy kept stopping, just to look. Mark watched her more than the sights.  That evening they returned to the villa, dinner once again on the patio, the day settling into contented silence.  Their final Tuscan day carried them through Chianti. Wineries perched along hillsides, barrels aging patiently. Mark sampled whites, smiling at their sweetness and depth. Kimmy preferred the reds—dry, bold, unapologetic.

“Just like you,” he teased.

She laughed. “Exactly.”

Lake Como arrived like a revelation.  As the bus pulled up to the Grande Hotel Imperiale and they stepped into the lobby, the lake shimmered beyond the open patio doors, sunlight dancing across its surface like something alive.  

“Oh look, honey,” Kimmy exclaimed, taking his hand and pulling him forward. “It’s beautiful.”

Dinner that night unfolded in the open courtyard, lanterns glowing softly overhead. Kimmy raved about her ravioli, savoring every bite.  Mark smiled. “Authentic spaghetti in Italy—delicious. But nobody makes spaghetti like you.”  She reached for his hand, smiling warmly.

The next morning the group wandered the old town—stone streets, a quiet cathedral echoing with footsteps—and then made their way to the docks.  The tour boat glided out onto the open water, the lake smooth as glass. The guide’s voice floated easily as villas slipped past.  “That villa,” the guide said, “is where John Legend proposed. He wrote ‘All of Me’ there.”

The women sighed collectively.  Kimmy turned to Mark, grinning. “That’s romantic. But not as romantic as my husband proposing on our back deck.”

She kissed his cheek.  They passed George Clooney’s villa next.  “Can you imagine,” Mark said, “that’s the guest villa.”  The guide added, “The uncovered dock means the Clooneys are home. Maybe you’ll see them walking through Bellagio later.”

Laughter rippled through the boat.  As they passed a narrow inlet, the boat slowed. A group of teenage boys climbed onto a stone bridge and dove into the water below, one by one.

“It’s a rite of passage,” the guide explained.

Cheers erupted as one boy hit the water with a dramatic splash, resurfacing and waving enthusiastically. Applause followed.

“That,” Mark said, laughing, “is so cool.”

Moments later—

“Oh look,” Mark said. “The James Bond villa from Casino Royale.”

Kimmy smiled. “I love that movie.”  Mark leaned in conspiratorially. “If you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you. I’m a secret agent.”  She snorted quietly, wrapped her arms around him. “Then I’m a Bond girl.”

“Of course you are, baby.”

Bellagio appeared ahead, pastel buildings stacked along the hillside.  “I’ll see you back here at four,” the guide called.  They climbed the steps, browsed shops, then found a café at water level. Wine arrived. Mark’s arm draped easily over the back of Kimmy’s chair as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“I feel like I’m in a movie,” she sighed. “Italy is so…soooo romantic.”

“Anywhere we’re together,” he said softly, “that’s romantic for me. I’m so lucky.”

“That earns you another kiss, Mr. Bond,” she laughed, brushing his cheek.

Lunch lingered. The water lapped against the seawall. Time slowed.  The ride back whipped wind through Kimmy’s hair as she tried unsuccessfully to hold it down. Mark pulled her close, laughing.  

The next morning dawned quietly.  Kimmy lay asleep against Mark’s chest, wearing the shirt, breathing softly. He slipped from bed, dressed, and stood at the picture window, the lake stretched before him in shades of silver and blue.

“Hey honey,” Kimmy murmured. “I’m awake. Let’s go get coffee down on the dock.”  They carried their cups through the tunnel beneath the road, pulled lounge chairs close to the edge, and watched the lake wake up.  As they finished their coffee, a sleek twenty-foot speedboat pulled up. Two couples boarded and sped off across the water.

Mark took Kimmy’s hand. “Would you like to do that?”

She blinked. “What?”

“That,” he said, nodding. “Just you and me.”

Her hands clapped together. “Oh! That would be fun!”

The concierge arranged it within minutes.  That afternoon, they stood on the dock.  “I know everyone else is shopping,” Kimmy said, smiling. “But sailing on Lake Como—just the two of us? Perfect.”  The boat pulled up.

“Mr. and Mrs. Love?” the young woman at the wheel called.

“Here we go,” Mark said.

“It’s just us,” he added softly. “Our own piece of Italy.”

The boat sped across the lake. Kimmy leaned back into him, his arms wrapping around her. She squeezed them tighter.  “Love you” she whispered.  The afternoon drifted from villa to villa, pauses filled with stories and sun.  

That night, Mark and Kimmy joined Rick, Nancy, Ben, and Melissa in the open courtyard of the hotel, the air mild and fragrant with basil, baked dough, and lake water drifting up from below. Lanterns glowed softly overhead, casting warm pools of light on the stone floor.

Pizzas were sliced and passed around, laughter easy.  Nancy took an enthusiastic bite and laughed. “This crust is to die for.”  Rick nodded approvingly. “You won’t find this pizza in Atlanta, that’s for sure.”  Melissa smiled, brushing a crumb from her napkin. “We wandered through some of the cutest little shops today, didn’t we, honey?” She turned to Kimmy. “Where were you and Mark today?”  Kimmy’s fingers tightened around Mark’s hand on the table, a quick, delighted squeeze. “Mark arranged a private boat on the lake this afternoon,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It was wonderful.”  A chorus of oh wows followed.

Kimmy leaned forward, animated now, hands moving as she talked about the wind, the villas, the way the water looked like glass. Mark watched her, smiling to himself.  That was great, he thought. And look at her—hands flying, eyes shining—how adorable.  Ben’s phone buzzed on the table.  “Oh,” he said, glancing down, “it’s my parents. They’re FaceTiming us.”  Melissa’s face softened instantly. “Oh—there’s our precious little girl.” She leaned closer to the screen. “Hi, honey. Mommy misses you.”  A small coo floated through the phone, and Ben’s smile spread wide and unguarded.

Across the table, Mark and Kimmy exchanged a glance and, without thinking, squeezed each other’s hand just a heartbeat tighter—sharing the moment quietly, the way people do when they understand something without needing to name it.  The lanterns flickered gently overhead. The lake murmured beyond the courtyard walls.  And the night went on.

Venice – That’s Amore

The suitcases were lined up by seven, a quiet acknowledgment that Lake Como had been lived fully and was ready to be released. By nine, the bus rolled north, winding through countryside that slowly flattened into waterways and light.  They arrived in Venice just after one, the air different here — damp, luminous, alive with echoes. The Hotel Monaco & Grand Canal rose gracefully along the water’s edge, history and elegance wrapped together.  Mark opened the door to their room and wheeled the luggage inside.  Kimmy didn’t speak at first.  She walked straight to the balcony doors and flung them open.

“Oh my…” she breathed.  The canals stretched below them, boats gliding silently past centuries-old facades, sunlight dancing across the water and bouncing up into shuttered windows. Bells rang somewhere in the distance. Voices drifted, softened by stone and water.

“It’s straight off the big screen,” Kimmy said, awed. “It’s stunning.”  Mark stepped behind her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

“The most perfect final scene of our anniversary trip,” he murmured.

She shook her head slowly. “I… it’s just… wow.”

That afternoon they joined Rick and Nancy for the included city tour, the guide’s voice weaving history and legend together as they crossed bridges and passed through narrow passages.  At the Bridge of Sighs, cameras clicked and the group leaned over the railing, imagining prisoners taking one last look at the world they were leaving behind.  Mark craned his neck at the Campanile. “That’s high.”

Kimmy laughed. “That’s so cool.”

Inside the Doge’s Palace, the grandeur pressed in — gilded ceilings, vast canvases telling stories of power and intrigue.  “Look at the paintings,” Nancy whispered.  They climbed higher, the air growing cooler.  “This cell,” the guide said, “once held Casanova for quite some time.”  Kimmy stared through the bars. “Can you imagine being locked up in there?”

“And this,” the guide continued, “is the torture chamber.”

“Yikes,” Rick muttered.

Mark leaned toward Kimmy. “I’d talk immediately. No torture necessary.”  She giggled softly.  Then the guide led them into a lavish bedroom.  “Now,” he said, smiling, “what only a few knew…”  He opened what appeared to be a wardrobe.  Behind it, a narrow staircase spiraled downward.

Kimmy gasped. Rick stared openly. “Wow… a secret passage.”

Mark took Kimmy’s hand as they descended into the dim stairway, emerging through what looked like a solid wall into a private parlor.  Centuries folded in on themselves.

Dinner that night was lively and warm, the group trading favorite moments of the day.  

“But tonight,” Mark said, lifting his glass slightly, “is what I’ve been most looking forward to.”

“The gondola ride,” Kimmy said, smiling.  Everyone agreed — it had to be special.  As night settled in, they stood in line beside the canal, gondolas rocking gently, each piloted by a gondolier in the iconic striped shirt.  The guide explained the seating. Couples in front of them chatted excitedly.  “We’ve been married fifty years,” the woman said proudly. “This is our highlight.”  Kimmy turned to Mark, eyes shining. “Can you imagine… fifty?”

He smiled softly. “I can imagine an eternity, baby.”  Quick kiss.  They stepped forward.  Mark silently pleaded, two, please say two.

“How many?” the host asked.

“Four!” Ben called from behind.

Mark’s heart sank.

“No,” the host said firmly. “Only two in this one.”

Yes, Mark thought.  He helped Kimmy into the gondola, settling in front of the gondolier.  Then he noticed them — a middle-aged Italian man stepping in, followed by an older gentleman carrying a large backpack.  Mark muttered under his breath, “Great. So much for romance.”  The gondola pushed off.  Less than a minute later, the older man unzipped the bag.

Kimmy whispered, “What’s going—”

An accordion emerged.  The younger man stood tall and began to sing.

🎵 When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza

pie, that’s amore… 🎵

Kimmy squealed, clutching Mark as his face broke into a grin so wide it hurt. Moonlight shimmered across the canal as he pulled her close.  They glided beneath a bridge.

🎵 Volare, oh oh… cantare, oh oh oh… 🎵

People leaned over the railing, pointing, smiling.  “This is SO romantic!” Kimmy whispered, laughing.  The gondolier stomped his foot to the rhythm as the tenor’s voice filled the night.

🎵 My, my, my Delilah… 🎵

Kimmy cupped Mark’s face in her hands, kissed him softly — holding it just a beat longer than usual.  He leaned his forehead to hers and whispered, “I know.”  As they drifted back toward the harbor, the singer’s voice softened.

🎵 You belong to me… 🎵

Mark whispered, “You do belong to me. And I’ll always be there.”  A tear slipped down Kimmy’s cheek as the gondola eased back to the dock.  

The next night, the jumbo jet touched down in Charlotte.  Tired but glowing, Mark and Kimmy emerged through the doors.

“DUDE! Over here!” Allan called.

Sally jogged the last steps and wrapped Kimmy in a hug. “Was it amazing?”

“Oh my God,” Kimmy laughed, breathless. “You wouldn’t believe—”

The entire ride home was a blur of flying hands and animated stories.

“Get out!”

“You’re kidding!”

“That’s SO romantic!”

Mark smiled quietly from the passenger seat.  At home, the door closed behind them.  It felt the same.  And richer.