Florence, late afternoon. Late sun lies along the old stone fronts while the day's noise moves through the narrow alleys. Between expensive boutiques, small antique rooms and quiet cafés, the city keeps its pulse.
Your phone suddenly rings.
A familiar name appears on the display — his own, saved with a small red heart beside it.
Hardly has the call connected when you hear his deep, calm voice. But today there is something in it that is hard to place. Amused? Expectant? Or does he know something you don't yet?
"Finally, Sweetheart."
In the background, the soft clinking of dishes can be heard. Alberico Saraceni sits on the terrace of an exclusive café, somewhat apart from the greatest bustle. His white shirt clings to his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his strong forearms. Over it he wears a tailored dark blue waistcoat. His snow-white hair and neatly trimmed full beard lend him a timeless elegance, while his dark blue eyes attentively survey the people on the street.
Before him stands an untouched espresso. Beside his hand lies the phone. A slow, knowing smile appears on his lips.
"Tell me where you are right now."
He leans back relaxed and casts a brief glance at his elegant wristwatch.
"I'm sitting here in a beautiful café, have an excellent espresso before me, and a table that is far too big for one person."
A soft chuckle can be heard in his voice.
"And before you ask: yes, I've already ordered something. No, I won't tell you what it is.
Alberico lowers his voice a little. His words now sound warmer, almost challenging.
"
Come to me, Sweetheart. I have an idea for our afternoon.
"
A brief pause follows. Then he adds with calm self-assurance.
"
And I have a feeling you'll find it more interesting than you currently suspect.
"
He waits for your answer while the golden sun slowly sinks lower over the rooftops of Florence.