Finally, the carriage slows to a stop, and I peer out of the door’s curtain-covered window a second before an attendant opens it. A string of Italian follows, and though I understand some of it, I leave it up to my grandmother to answer him. She’s fluent in French and Italian, and, if pressed, can speak a good bit of German too. I took years of foreign languages at St. John’s—and aced them, by the way—but it’s all evaporated now.
An attendant extends a gloved hand to assist me down from the carriage, and when I have a solid footing on the gravel, I finally look up.
A gasp nearly escapes me as I take in the most picturesque view I’ve ever seen.
Before me, in the distance, is the grand three-story Villa Balbiano with its tan stucco façade. Dark olive green shutters frame each window. A stone archway beckons guests to enter, but to get to it, we first have to walk past lily-covered ponds and a long stretch of gardens. There are impeccably trimmed topiaries and towering Cyprus trees. Hedges soar upward, casting shade on our path. Beyond the villa, there’s the lake, and across the lake, a mountain range eventually gives way to a cloudless blue sky.
Without having stepped foot inside of it, I already know the villa will be the most romantic place I’ve ever visited. It’s a good thing I’m here with my grandmother as my date…
As soon as we enter, we spot our host. Victor is directing an attendant who’s carrying a floral arrangement the size of a modest car when he spots my grandmother and me. Immediately, his face lights up with excitement.
“Fay Davenport! My most coveted guest,” Victor says, rushing forward to meet us. “I’m so happy you two made it.”
He’s wearing an Italian cotton Riviera polo, white chinos, and light blue suede yacht loafers. His salt and pepper hair is curly and cut short, and his clear-framed glasses accent his handsome, deeply tanned face. Even though it’s late October, it looks like he’s been sunbathing in Italy straight through summer.
He air-kisses my grandmother in flamboyant fashion then steps back and turns to me. He isn’t shy about giving me a once-over, clearly appreciating my belted Dior maxi dress.
“Look at you! My god, you’re more beautiful every time I see you. I can’t wait to watch the men fawn all over you this week. If you’re not careful, you might end up a princess. You do realize the crown prince of—”
My grandmother clears her throat firmly, cutting him off.
“That’s all been taken care of, Victor.”
His eyes alight with mischief. “Has it? Our dear Elaine is off the market?”
My grandmother nods tersely. “Engaged as of a few weeks ago.”
“And who’s the lucky man?”
He looks between us, but it’s my grandmother who replies, “It’s not yet been announced.”
He tosses his hands up in protest. “Oh come on, surely you can tell me. I would never tell a soul.”
My grandmother’s single arched brow tells him all he needs to know regarding her opinion of his ability to keep secrets.
“Fine, don’t tell me. It’s not as if I won’t find out anyway. Will he be here this week?”
She gives him a single reluctant nod, which only excites him more.
“This is absolutely delicious. Oh, I can’t wait for dinner tonight.” He points a finger at me and narrows his clear blue eyes. “I’ll be watching you like a hawk.”
“Wonderful,” my grandmother clips. “Now, may we see our room, or have you left your manners back in the States?”
He barks out a laugh. “God, you can be so acerbic sometimes. It’s what I love most about you. Come, come. I’ll show you to your rooms then I’ll ask one of the servants to give you a tour of the villa and the grounds. Have you been here before?”
“No, but I already know I prefer Villa Ponti,” my grandmother says with a note of disapproval.
He barely conceals his eye roll. I love it. Very few people stand up to my grandmother and live to tell the tale. On the contrary, in this situation, she seems to appreciate that he gives her a challenge.
“Of course. Villa Ponti is lovely. Unfortunately, the McConaugheys are there this week, and I didn’t feel like turning the lovely Matthew out onto the streets. No, this palatial villa will have to do, I’m afraid.” He winks at me conspiratorially before taking my grandmother’s hand, resting it on his crooked elbow and escorting us through the main hall. “The villa is an obvious jewel. It’s the largest private residence on Lake Como, and it’s filled to the brim with antiquity pieces, some of which date back to the original owner, Cardinal Tolomeo Gallio. They also acquired quite a few spectacular pieces to help fill the halls, some of which I helped them source while I was still with Christie’s.” He turns back to me. “There’s a 17th-century fresco painted by the Recchi brothers that you two will love. I’ll show you later. For now, come upstairs. I’ve put you two on the second floor, in a suite overlooking the lake.”