A Series of Unfortunate Clichés: Chapter 9: Under the Tuscan Sun
Disclaimer: Characters, etc, still don't belong to me. If they did, the series five opener would have been a lot different. And I'd be a lot richer. And I'd have more job satisfaction, etc, etc, etc…
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Summary: It's a change of scene and pace as the honeymoon commences! More fluff ensues.
Notes: The clichés return! Again, apologies for the delay. Had a crap couple of months but all has sorted itself out now. Hopefully…
She is in the middle of a nice dream and is up to the part where she has started to dispute the fact that James Blunt's "Beautiful" is not in fact the greatest song of all time (and is about to champion either the Beatles or, for some reason unbeknownst to her, Meatloaf) when there is a beeping noise which is, seemingly, part of the sound track. It is a good five seconds before she realises that this is not actually part of the dream and is in fact an alarm going off at the unearthly hour of 3:55am. It takes a further five seconds for her to physically locate the alarm in order to shut the damn thing off and go back to sleep.
"Michelle," a voice calls, and she groans in response. It repeats her name, and this time there is a chuckling accompaniment that causes her to rouse herself from sleep in order to quieten the inconsiderate person forcing her to wake more than 5 hours earlier than she had anticipated.
She slowly reopens her eyes, rubbing them and turns over to face her worst nightmare: her new husband standing fully dressed with bags packed. She awakens quickly. "Where are you going?" she asks, alarmed.
"The question is more: where are we going? The honeymoon part of the marriage usually requires attendance of both the groom and the bride," he replies. She gazes back at him with wide eyes, finally remembering the last 24 hours.
"It's not even four in the morning," she informs him. Not being a morning person in the least, it is a struggle to form words into a coherent sentence and she is impressed that she made any sense at all.
"Yes, but apparently the people at the airport don't really care about that. The check in time is six am," he tells her. "And the cab is collecting us at 5:15am". She is entirely unimpressed that he a: failed to mention any of this to her before this moment in time, b: has hardly given her enough time to get ready since her usual morning routine takes an hour and is usually at least half that again this early and c: has the audacity to plan any flight for such a ridiculous time of the morning.
"Where are we going?" she enquires, attempting to adopt puppy-dog eyes in order to induce him into giving in. She is unsure of how successful she is given that it is first thing in the morning.
"The airport," he informs her with a sly grin which suggests that he is no more likely to divulge this information than when she refused to make love to him if he didn't tell her. Naturally that time she gave in. She tells herself that it was for her benefit rather than his.
Having had almost no input into the wedding procedures, it was agreed that Tony would have carte blanche on the honeymoon arrangements. It was his decision that the location would be a surprise, much to her chagrin.
She is honestly surprised that she managed to sleep last night, as she anticipated being too excited about finally finding out where they were going to rest. However, the wedding day was far more tiring than she imagined and now, frankly, she'd much prefer to sleep in for most of the morning in order to recover. A few hours alone with Tony and a bed would do much to improve her demeanour, she reasons, as she irritably rises from the bed and nearly trips over her own feet on the way to the bathroom.
Over an hour later she is nearly an entirely different woman and caffeine has given her the ability to be enthusiastic, regardless of the early hour. She peppers him with questions about their destination, although is rewarded with a "possibly" to all. The cab arrives shortly later, and she somehow manages to stay relatively quiet for the whole journey. Mostly due to the fact that Tony's hand roams high on her leg and attempts to distract her from her inquest.
They arrive at the airport before six and she is finally rewarded with an answer to their destination when the check-in attendant informs them that they will be travelling first class on the 8:05am flight to Pisa, Italy and that they should have a nice day.
He finds it amusing that her eyes widen almost impossibly at learning this information, and that she suddenly seems to become an excitable ten-year-old with ADD, unable to keep still or be quiet. "I've always wanted to go to Italy!" she tells him excitedly as though he had never before known this. He feels undeniably proud that he has made the right decision; he only hopes now that the rest of the vacation is as perfect for her as he had envisaged.
The hour or so wait once they have cleared passport control is almost unbearable for her, even in the first class lounge. She continues to ask him myriad questions; "Are we staying in Pisa?", "Can we climb the tower of Pisa?", "Do we need to buy an Italian phrase book?", "Have we got time to visit Rome?" and still is unsatisfied by his non-answers and smug grin. Except regarding the phrase book (yes, he had a phrase book and even had thought to purchase a dictionary and a CD teaching Italian for her to listen to on the flight – as long as she didn't repeat the phrases out loud). After this information, and given the CDs and a CD walkman, she starts to calm down. She looks at him for a moment, smiles widely, and kisses him.
He looks questioningly at her.
"I just wanted to say thank you in advance," she grins before putting on her headphones and continuing to silently repeat her Italian instructors.
The flight is unremarkable but long and they arrive at Pisa with only the intention of locating their rental car and hotel in order to pass out for a few hours.
Unfortunately, having successfully retrieved the car, they find that locating the hotel is not as easy as it would first appear, and some "creative" driving later - involving narrowly missing other drivers as they changed lanes without warning and going the wrong way down one way streets – they pass the same roundabout for approximately the fourth time.
"I think we should turn left here," she tells him, turning the map around about five times, attempting to hide the fact that she has no idea where they are.
"The last time we turned left here, we drove about a hundred yards before finding a dead end and a police station," he replies irritably.
"Well, that could be a help," she comments lamely. "Or, we could follow the signs back to the airport and ask at the rental car place," she suggests for what may be the fifteenth time. Possibly the sixteenth.
He says nothing; ten minutes later they arrive at the airport. Five minutes after that he returns with a map with a red line indicating their journey. Fifteen minutes later she has directed them to the hotel without difficulty.
On arriving at their room they promptly fall fast asleep.
"Move to the left a little, move your hands slightly up, a bit more, perfect!" she directs.
"Do you really need a photograph of me "supporting" the tower?" he asks, not for the first time.
He smiles unenthusiastically as she takes the photograph.
"Yes," she replies with a smile. "I gave into your demands last night, didn't I?"
He cocks his head to one side. "Pizza, beer, and back to bed weren't exactly demands. And as I remember you had no problem with any of the suggestions." He raises one eyebrow suggestively; somehow she manages not to blush. She hopes that the Japanese tourists also attempting to hold up the tower nearby don't understand English.
As far as she can ascertain, they have the remainder of the morning in Pisa – in which she is so determined that they will climb the tower that she got up at 7:30am in order to buy tickets – before they will travel to an as-yet undisclosed location. She has thus far attempted not to admit that she finds the secrecy and surprise element exciting, and so has been constantly asking questions mostly to keep up with her end of the deal.
All she knows is that they will have over a week and a half at their next destination, and she really couldn't care less where it is as long as it is a: in Italy and b: with her husband.
"Your turn," he interrupts her reverie. "Left, left, right, right, hands further up, further apart, more to the left, to the left. Right, right, right." She raises one eyebrow questioningly as he says "Perfect", and takes the photograph. "Beautiful," he comments.
They travel for nearly two hours, buying food supplies on the way, coming to a stop at the end of a dirt track. In front of them stands a house in traditional Tuscan style. An Italian woman with impeccable English greets them, handing them the keys and giving them some introductory and contact information before she drives off.
"This is it," he tells Michelle when they are alone. "Our own villa in Tuscany. Well, for a week and a half."
She says nothing in response.
"So, what do you think?" he asks, slightly worried as she is rarely without words.
She looks out to the vista of sunflower fields and hills and smiles, unable to hide her elation. "It's perfect." She gazes over at the house, before turning her attention to him. "I…" she pauses. "Thank you." She moves towards him, puts her arms around his neck and kisses him, and tells him in a whisper how lucky she is to have him. She laughs at his suggestions of how she could show him.
They spend some time exploring their new environment, before unpacking their luggage and finding their swimwear.
They relax by the pool, overlooking their vista, soaking up the sunshine and inhaling the scent of lavender from the nearby bushes.
She falls asleep in the warmth of the sun, exhausted from a long day of climbing the tower (scaling steps on a slant being an entirely new and uneasy experience), travelling, exploration and jet-lag.
She enjoys their next few days of uneventful relaxation and adventures with nature ("There's a scorpion on the floor. Really. Any chance you could kill it, sweetheart?"; "There's something on the wall that's glowing." "It's a gloworm." "Really! You think I could take a photo of it?"; "God, what's that?" "I think it might be a grasshopper." "What the hell is it doing on our bed?"). Okay, so perhaps not all their adventures with nature. Mostly she enjoys spending time alone with him, not having to share him with the rest of the world or having to be a professional around him. She enjoys learning new things about him ("So when I was at ballet," "Ballet!" "Yes, my parents made me go to ballet. I blame my sister. She dragged me along. I got out of it as soon as I could."), and is amused at his attempts to show her Italian cooking ("Pasta with Bolognese sauce, it's really not that complicated." "Can't we just order a pizza?").
They plan a few trips away from their beautiful villa, travelling to Siena and watching the preparations for the racing at the Piazza del Campo, finding the road on the postcards which zigzags up a hill, wine tasting at a local vineyard. They take a day trip to Florence, walking around the city and eating at a restaurant hidden away from the tourists.
One day it rains, a torrential downpour with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, and they spend the day indoors, rising from bed after midday.
Soon, too soon she thinks, it is time to pack their luggage, and head back towards Pisa, towards the airport, towards home and work.
She takes photographs of their villa, of their porch with the metal table and chairs that never seemed to sit quite right. She takes photos of their sunflower fields and hills, and of their pool overlooked by the vineyards. And suddenly she can't recall a good reason why they should go home and leave all this behind them.
She stands by the pool, recalling dozens of moments they've had out here that she can't bear to forget. Then his arms encompass her waist from behind and she rests her head on his shoulder.
"We'll come here again," he tells her. "No matter what happens, we'll come back to our villa." They stand there a while, unwilling to move.
"We should get going," she says eventually. She lifts her head from his shoulder, and starts towards the car, dragging him behind her.
She is surprised to find a sunflower poking out of her bag on the front passenger seat.
"You got me a sunflower! I never saw you leave. Where did you get it from?" she enquires as she sits in the car.
He smirks. "I may have headed down into the field."
She laughs as they start their drive back to the airport, gazing at the sunflower much of the way.
End of chapter. Please let me know if you enjoyed.