“I see.”

“I'm surprised you weren't frightened,” he commented idly.

“Not at all. You weren't angry. You were loving me. It's a vast difference.”

“Ah, I see.” He withdrew gently from her body, rolled to the side and

covered them both with the blankets. He pulled her close for a long kiss that rewarded her sweetly for her courage and for her honest, uninhibited sexuality.

Being married is so much better than I expected, he reflected as her slender body relaxed in his arms. She's so brave, so unutterably sweet. How she had escaped her childhood with her tenderness and affection and sense of humor intact baffled him. Day after day, as he tried to help her heal, he was rewarded

with an outpouring of the best of a woman's heart. It's close to love for her already. So close. I'm not sure if she'll recognize it in herself, but I do.

As for Christopher, he had been hovering on the brink for days. Tonight had

tipped the scales. Any woman who could take a rough loving like that and emerge smiling is worth her weight in gold. I love her. I really do. I love my wife.

He kissed her forehead and slowly drifted into a nap, amazed by the

unexpected beauty of their relationship.

All told, the voyage took nine days. At last, they sailed smoothly into the port of

Livorno, and within a short space of time, emerged down the gangplank over the

glistening turquoise waters of the Mediterranean and onto solid ground.

“I quite understand why some travelers kiss the earth after a sea voyage,”

Katerina told her husband fervently. “The thought of doing this again makes me

feel faint.”

“It won't be soon,” he reminded her. “We'll be here until the middle of March.”

“Thank heaven. You know, it's only a little warmer here than in England.”

She snuggled deeper into her shawl.

“You're right,” he agreed. “I suppose winter is winter.”

“I suppose, and this is not the southernmost part of Italy either,” she said.

Though far from warm, the light that trickled down on them seemed stronger than anything she could recall, as though this more southerly climate lent it power. It kissed her face in a teasing way.

Her words might have sounded calm, but her insides fluttered at the sight of

such un-English buildings, brightly colored and clustered close, one behind the other, to the top of a hill. Boats large and small bobbed in the harbor behind them, awaiting their next adventure on the Mediterranean.

“True,” Christopher said, shaking her from her reverie. “Well, love, are you

feeling courageous?”

“Perhaps. Why?”

“I don't speak Italian,” Christopher reminded her. “If we're going to get anywhere, it will be up to you to handle the conversations.”

“Oh, that's right.” Shyness made her squirm, but she steeled herself against

it. “I think I can manage.”

Last month she would not have been able, she knew, but Christopher was

like the Italian sun, all warmth and life-giving brightness, and in his arms, she felt herself blossoming like a spring flower. It took no time at all for the affection and gratitude of our wedding day to deepen and strengthen. This… thing I feel

will be good for our lifetime. I look forward to exploring it every day.

He hailed a cab and she arranged for it to take them to the train station. The

driver, a man on the verge between middle-aged and elderly, quickly loaded the

baggage. The couple took a seat inside and stared out the window at the sight of

their first Italian town. How different this is from London; colorful and sun-drenched, the winter sky a dazzling blue.

Inside the station, behind a marble counter, a young man with curly

sideburns and a few pimples sprinkling his cheeks regarded her with a bored expression.

Katerina took a deep breath and requested in Italian, “Two tickets to Firenze,

please.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were English.”

It wasn't his business, so Katerina ignored the comment. “When does the

train leave?”

“Two hours,” he replied, sulking that his nosiness had been rebuffed. He

collected her money and sent her on her way.

Katerina regaled her husband with the account as they walked to a restaurant

whose façade was covered in creamy plaster. They sat outside at a wrought-iron