She wondered if maybe she should think about becoming a photographer as her next step. It was something to consider, but in any case, it was the first time in a long time that Kim felt she was doing something she truly enjoyed.

According to what she’d read about this place, the thirteenth-century Moorish-style cloister was known for its magnificent gardens and religious artefacts.

Outside, a statue of Jesus surrounded by angelic hosts and the twelve disciples stood ready to greet would-be visitors.

Inside, the floors of the cloister were tiled in black-and-white marble and the walls painted white with various motifs chiseled into the stone. Large brown marble columns and smaller ones dotted the interior, with gold being the predominant decorative feature.

The entire structure boasted vaulted ceilings supported by what must have been hundreds of slender double and single columns, and the ceiling frescoes reminded her of the work of Michelangelo.

Kim was so taken by their beauty as she snapped photo after photo that she didn’t realize anyone was near until she unceremoniously stepped on someone’s foot.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly as she turned to the other person—a woman of about her mother’s age, who stood an inch or two taller. She was impeccably poised and beautifully dressed in what Kim immediately recognized as head-to-toe Armani.

“No trouble at all,” the woman replied in a thick French accent.

“What’s that?” a tall, stately man asked distractedly from beside her. He, too, had been so busy studying the frescoes to notice Kim’s gaffe.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Antonio,” the woman said, rolling her eyes conspiratorially at Kim, who smiled.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “I was just a bit mesmerized. Stupid tourist.”

“Oh, please, no.” The man chuckled easily now, and Kim deduced from his accent that while his companion might be French, he was very definitely Italian. “It is good that you are enjoying the sights.”

“This whole place is just incredible.”

The man laughed again. “They say that when Judgment Day comes, the people of Amalfi will have no change in life, for they are already living in paradise because of this cloister.”

“That’s lovely and sounds about right. I’m Kim, by the way.”

“I am Antonio, and this is my wife, Emilia.”

“So happy to meet you,” the woman greeted, lightly taking Kim’s hand.

“We would be happy to show you around a little more if you don’t mind this old Italian acting as tour guide?” her husband offered.

“Oh, shush, Antonio, I’m sure Kim would much prefer to wander around herself.”

“No, please, I’d love that. That is if you don’t mind me playing third wheel?”

Emilia pealed with laughter. “Ma cherie, we have been married for over thirty years—believe me, I would welcome the distraction.”