Katalina
We were just getting checked in when Huracio stopped rubbing me down there. We soon drove in and somehow avoided the normal rowdiness of the general terminals by going through a special entrance.
After parking the car, an attendant came over and led us to a well-furnished waiting room where we watched TV until Huracio’s private jet was ready.
Mum had always talked about this jet, but this was the first time I would be seeing it or traveling in one. Therefore, I was a little excited and nervous at the same time.
I slowly made my way into Huracio’s arms while we watched TV and waited for the plane to be ready. Though I didn’t make any move because we were outside and I wasn’t that brave, cuddling with him was soothing, and I almost slept off before we finally boarded the plane.
His jet was small, but well-furnished and elegant. The inside was butterscotch, and there were six seats. Three on each side, and a private room designed like a hotel room.
Getting in, I discovered we had to sit separately, and was disappointed. There was no way to pester him unless we moved to the private cabin, but I had no idea how to convince him to go take a nap with me.
The moment we were in the air, Huracio completely ignored me. He had his laptop, and he didn’t stop typing it for the next two hours. I had no choice but to start rewatching some downloaded movies on my phone to kill time.
The moment he closed his system, I blurted out the question I was nursing in my heart.
“Are we going to Africa?” I cautiously asked because I overheard so many talks about Africa whenever he was on the phone.
He rolled his eyes, brought out his phone, and started typing on it. He was completely ignoring me.
Infuriated but helpless, I folded my hands in annoyance.
It was a four-hour flight and I was being ignored. Bored and tired, I couldn’t help but worry about Huracio’s sudden change in attitude. I started worrying that maybe taking the initiative was the wrong move. Some men don’t like women to be the aggressor. They want to be in control of everything. Maybe that is the kind of person he is. But why didn’t I see or sense it in the past three months? Aren’t men supposed to be weak and needy towards the women they like? Didn’t he like me anymore? Is it because Mum is back? Is he withdrawing from me because of her?
So many questions, but I didn’t have the guts to ask because I was afraid of the response I would get.
I ate lunch in despair. It was so bad that even though the food smelled fragrant and fresh, it turned bland in my mouth.
Two hours later, we landed and I was flabbergasted.
It was Milan!
Our destination was Milan. I couldn’t believe it.
“Huracio, what are we doing here?” I gasped in excitement. “Are you buying Art? Is there an exhibition?”
“It’s a surprise.” He repeated dismissively, making me stomp my foot in annoyance.
He just chuckled and dragged me along.
I have always loved Arts and antiques. Milan, being filled with museums and old cathedrals and Murals, – has always been one of my favorite countries to visit. There was a time when I believed that my honeymoon would happen in either Milan or Greece. After marrying Huracio, I gave up that dream, not knowing that he would bring me here on a random Saturday to do God knows what!
Milan. I am finally here! I screamed inwardly. If it didn’t look weird, I would have slid, jumped, and screamed for all to hear.
We landed around six in the evening and had to travel for another hour to get to Liguria, where Huracio rented a beach house on a resort.
By the time we got there, it was dark and I was tired and hungry. I just wanted to eat and sleep.
I let Huracio drag me along as an attendant showed us our beach house. It was a white, sprawling bungalow with two driveways. Demarcating the driveways was a fountain surrounded by a small palm groove.
Our place was a grand three-bedroom suite with a coastal view, a swimming pool, and a sauna.
“Can we order dinner now?” I asked the attendant, once he was down talking.
“I will be cooking,” Huracio replied, shocking me.
When was the last time he cooked anything for me? This was quite a surprise.
I watched in pleasant surprise as he ordered Stone who came with us, to follow the attendant to the kitchen where he would collect all the ingredients needed for our dinner.
Just then, my stomach grumbled. Waiting for Huracio’s cooking suddenly felt unattractive.
He chuckled at my grumbling stomach, walked over to a fridge in the living room, and brought out three sealed packs of sandwiches, and a bottle of apple juice.
“There are hamburgers and Chinese noodles too.” He called out.
I quickly walked over and picked up the noodles.
“No.” He snatched it from me. “It’s too heavy. Just eat a sandwich and drink some juice. Don’t spoil your appetite.”
Why did you let me pick then?
I pouted and reluctantly picked the cold sandwich.
Seeing my reluctance, Huracio snatched the sandwich pack and walked over to the Kitchen. He suddenly provided an iron-cast skillet pan. He turned on a single burner stove, produced a bottle of olive oil from the overhead cabinet, and sprinkled some into the frying pan. He sprinkled it around, placed the sandwiches in the frying pan, then let them sizzle a bit before turning them.
I watched in awe as he moved around the living room as if it was his house.
Once he was done warming the sandwiches, he placed them on a disposable plate he brought out of another cabinet, and placed it in front of me.
“Eat.”
“Have you been here before?” I asked before picking up the sandwich.
“Nope.”
Did he really expect me to believe that?