He promised me that I would feel like a princess from the moment I stepped off the plane until I left. He did not disappoint.
He met me at the airport with a red rose and the royal treatment began.
He chose a hotel in the center of Rome – a darling place that occupied one floor of a corner building not far from a metro stop. He reserved a very nice room for himself, but saved the best for me – a junior suite with a huge bedroom and sitting area, desk, wardrobe, king-sized bed, balcony terrace (complete with blooming flowers) and, get this, a jacuzzi bath tub. A tiny palace. Just for me.
I had to insist to pay for anything the entire trip, and he agreed only reluctantly.
Every night we met in my room and sat at the table with maps spread out, planning the next day’s activities. Every one of those conversations started with him asking me what I wanted to do.
I think if I had said I wanted the moon wrapped up and sent to my room, he would have figured out a way to make it happen.
Allowing myself to accept these gifts was difficult. I’m programmed to believe I don’t deserve it. But I pushed through the uncomfortable feelings and I allowed it – for his sake as much as my own.
And it was good. It was very, very good.