Connor
The air hit me the second I rolled the window down.
Warm. Thick with sun and something green I couldn't name. Rosemary, maybe. Lavender. Dust and cypress and that clean smell that only comes when you're far away from cities.
Tuscany smelled like peace.
I leaned my elbow out the Rolls and let the wind pull at my hair. The driver was silent up front, like he'd been trained not to interrupt whatever Edward had planned. And I knew it was Edward. Only Edward would have a man in a tailored suit waiting at arrivals with my name on a little black card, then lead me straight to a Rolls Royce that was probably worth more than my first flat in Manchester.
I wasn't surprised by the car. I was surprised when we didn't stop in Florence. We drove past the city instead. Past terracotta roofs and traffic and people. And then the world opened up.
