Page 43 of Tour Wars
“I used to be an art conservator, back in the day,” Sylvie said. “I would have given anything to work at a place like this.”
Emilia’s curiosity was piqued. “Really? I spent a semester in Florence studying conservation. I’d love to hear more about your experiences.”
“I’d be glad to share them. I haven’t worked in the field for years, but I own a gallery in Santa Fe. Supporting local artists is a passion of mine. My husband and I started the gallery together, but he passed away five years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emilia said. “Maybe sometime I could come visit it.”
“If you’re ever in Santa Fe, I’d be happy to put you up. We could show you all around the area. Right, ladies?”
The other women agreed, sparking a warm glow inside Emilia. “Thanks. Do all four of you always travel together?”
“Yes, indeed,” Alice said. “We’re widows. We met in a grief support group five years ago and realized how much we hated eating stale donuts and drinking bad coffee.”
Another member of their group spoke up. Patsy, age seventy-five. “We started talking about our bucket lists—all the places we wanted to visit but never had the chance. That summer, we took our first tour and had a glorious time. We went to Paris and the south of France.”
“That sounds wonderful.” As much as Emilia took pride in her solo adventures, traveling with a pack of like-minded girlfriends would be fun. “Where else have you been?”
“After France, we went to Spain, then last year, we did a tour of Morocco,” Sylvie said. “Well worth the visit, even if the food didn’t always agree with us. There was one rather unpleasant incident when we had to ask the bus driver to make an emergency stop at the nearest restroom.”
Patsy shuddered, as though recalling the memory. “It wasn’t our finest hour.”
“I can relate,” Emilia said. “During my first year digging in the Yucatán Peninsula, I had an episode like that. Except the only facilities we had were pit toilets.” At the time, she’d been mortified, but now it just made her laugh.
“I admire you, pursuing a career in archaeology,” Alice said. “It was something I always dreamed of but didn’t have the courage to make happen. Until I met these ladies, I’d never even left the US.”
“You should be proud of how far you’ve come,” Emilia said. “For your next trip, consider Greece or Turkey. I’ve worked in both places, and they have a lot to offer, especially if you like archaeological sites.”
Alice beamed at her. “I’d sign up tomorrow if you could be our guide.”
When the others nodded, Emilia’s heart soared. She’d never imagined how freeing it would feel to let people in. Even if she had no intention of pursuing a career in tourism, the idea that she could handle this much socializing, and truly shine at it, filled her with happiness.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
In all his travels, TJ had never stayed anywhere quite like the Grand Hotel La Sonrisa. Located near the Amalfi Coast, it had originally been built as an eighteenth-century villa but now served as a luxurious resort. From the outside, it resembled a fairy-tale castle, complete with turrets, arches, and Rococo-style architecture. As their bus pulled up to the gated front entrance, he expected liveried footmen to greet them, like inBridgerton—a steamy, Regency-era show that Romily had forced him to watch the last time he was home for the holidays.
The inside of the hotel was even more elaborate, outfitted with frescoed ceilings, inlaid marble floors, giant chandeliers, and wall-to-wall gilded decor. Over the bar was a huge mural filled with plump, winged cherubs. According to the information in the binder, the grounds of the hotel included lavish gardens, fountains, and a large swimming pool with a gazebo.
To think, a week ago, he’d been staying at a funky student hostel, bunking down with three other guys. Life didn’t get much better than this.
Once he dropped off his luggage, he ran over to Emilia’s room to get her take on the hotel. Since she’d left her door open, he didn’t bother to knock. She sat on the bed with her suitcase beside her.
Upon seeing him, she grinned and brandished a handful of rose petals. “Can you believe this? Rose petals—scattered all over my bed. Kind of a waste, seeing as how I’m not here to indulge in a romantic rendezvous.”
“Yeah, this hotel could totally serve as Casanova’s palace or the setting forDangerous Liaisons. Too bad we don’t have anyone to lure into bed.”
Though he meant it as a joke, he regretted the words the moment he said them. Because Emilia was sitting right there, on a frilly canopy bed that was easily big enough for two. He swallowed as he imagined what he could do with her on that bed. He’d lay her down on those rose petals, strip off her tour guide uniform, and kiss every inch of her delectable body. She’d moan with passion and beg him for more and…
Whoa. Get a grip. Not gonna happen.
“TJ? You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just…um…overcome by all this luxury. It’s like…”
“The castle inBeauty and the Beast. Right?” She pointed to a tall wardrobe in the corner embellished with gilt-edged curlicues. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this piece of furniture started talking to me.”
“Wouldn’t that be wild? I’m not sure how our guests would rate a hotel filled with inanimate objects come to life. Speaking of which, everyone seemed impressed at check-in. Davis was in his element filming all of it.”
Emilia snorted. “He’s not the only one who was in his element. Luca was showing off for the Golden Girls—giving them a full rundown of the hotel’s history and all its artwork.”
