didn’t need colossal amounts of cash to be happy. Only enough to get my Pops out of hock and move on with my life.
Wes didn’t speak for the longest time, both of us taking in the opulence, history, and attention to detail that the designers put into something so unique. Each room in the mansion was special in its own way, laying out the foundation of one family’s life. A family that died out and donated the private Miami estate to Dade County that took excellent care of it. The estate brought in money for the county and was a place for folks to get married, where movies were made, and allowed the other ninety-nine percent of the population to ooh and awe over the extreme wealth of the previous owners. It had a magical, unreal vibe that places of extreme opulence have. Like a castle would, I imagine.
“Would you take me to a castle?” I was trolling down the long hallway. The art collection in Vizcaya was damn near priceless, some pieces dating back to the Renaissance.
He lifted his chin, closed his eyes and then opened them as if he was clearing something from his vision. “Sure. There are a couple of amazing ones in Germany. We can plan a trip.”
Just that easy. We can plan a trip. To Germany . And that is how the one percent lives. The farthest I’d ever been ever was Hawaii. There was pretty much never an opportunity where I’d likely be making the kind of money it took for the cost of plane tickets to fly internationally.
“Isn’t that expensive?” I tried to hide the anxiety that went with the simple response, ‘we can take a trip’.
He shrugged. “Not to me. Drop in the bucket, sweetheart.”
Drop in the bucket. Taking a trip to Germany was a drop in the bucket for someone with Wes’s affluence. Shit. Eventually we’d have to talk about his outrageous wealth and my lack thereof. Suzi, my crotch rocket, was the most expensive thing I owned, and that didn’t even equal the cost of a newer used Honda Civic.
I took a deep breath and clenched his hand tighter. Right then, I promised myself that I would not allow money to get between us. If he wanted to splurge on a trip to Germany, he knew what he could afford and what he couldn’t. Emasculating my man was not something I would do in any way shape or form, but I did want to have a conversation about it when all this was over.
We stepped through a set of French doors and nothing but intricate lawn carvings and greenery spanned as far as the eye could see. “It’s is the former villa and estate of businessman James Deering , of the Deering-McCormick- International Harvester fortune,” Wes finally said. That meant nothing to me, but I listened and nodded. He was obviously into the history behind the place and I had to admit, I felt as though I entered the book, The Secret Garden , which was a very cool feeling.
Wes stood in front of a staircase leading down into one of the many gardens. “The Vizcaya estate includes the Italian Renaissance gardens, a native woodland landscape as well as the original historic village outbuildings surrounding the compound. It’s magnificent isn’t it?” He asked while we walked hand-in-hand. The gardens were definitely magical and the county had to spend a mint on gardening. Everything was trimmed neatly and to pristine detail, most of it in intricate designs that reminded me of mazes as well as country style lace. Wes pointed over to one area. “The landscape and architecture were influenced by Veneto and Tuscan Italian Renaissance models and designed in the Mediterranean Revival architecture style, with Baroque elements. Paul Chalfin was the design director,” he confirmed.
I sucked in a breath and took in the many floral scents combined with that of fresh cut grass. “It’s truly beautiful.”
Hand-in-hand we walked and walked until we found a strange waterfall. It was a series of steps on two sides with giant pots at each level of incline. Water fell down the center of the stone and concrete. Moss
Wes didn’t speak for the longest time, both of us taking in the opulence, history, and attention to detail that the designers put into something so unique. Each room in the mansion was special in its own way, laying out the foundation of one family’s life. A family that died out and donated the private Miami estate to Dade County that took excellent care of it. The estate brought in money for the county and was a place for folks to get married, where movies were made, and allowed the other ninety-nine percent of the population to ooh and awe over the extreme wealth of the previous owners. It had a magical, unreal vibe that places of extreme opulence have. Like a castle would, I imagine.
“Would you take me to a castle?” I was trolling down the long hallway. The art collection in Vizcaya was damn near priceless, some pieces dating back to the Renaissance.
He lifted his chin, closed his eyes and then opened them as if he was clearing something from his vision. “Sure. There are a couple of amazing ones in Germany. We can plan a trip.”
Just that easy. We can plan a trip. To Germany . And that is how the one percent lives. The farthest I’d ever been ever was Hawaii. There was pretty much never an opportunity where I’d likely be making the kind of money it took for the cost of plane tickets to fly internationally.
“Isn’t that expensive?” I tried to hide the anxiety that went with the simple response, ‘we can take a trip’.
He shrugged. “Not to me. Drop in the bucket, sweetheart.”
Drop in the bucket. Taking a trip to Germany was a drop in the bucket for someone with Wes’s affluence. Shit. Eventually we’d have to talk about his outrageous wealth and my lack thereof. Suzi, my crotch rocket, was the most expensive thing I owned, and that didn’t even equal the cost of a newer used Honda Civic.
I took a deep breath and clenched his hand tighter. Right then, I promised myself that I would not allow money to get between us. If he wanted to splurge on a trip to Germany, he knew what he could afford and what he couldn’t. Emasculating my man was not something I would do in any way shape or form, but I did want to have a conversation about it when all this was over.
We stepped through a set of French doors and nothing but intricate lawn carvings and greenery spanned as far as the eye could see. “It’s is the former villa and estate of businessman James Deering , of the Deering-McCormick- International Harvester fortune,” Wes finally said. That meant nothing to me, but I listened and nodded. He was obviously into the history behind the place and I had to admit, I felt as though I entered the book, The Secret Garden , which was a very cool feeling.
Wes stood in front of a staircase leading down into one of the many gardens. “The Vizcaya estate includes the Italian Renaissance gardens, a native woodland landscape as well as the original historic village outbuildings surrounding the compound. It’s magnificent isn’t it?” He asked while we walked hand-in-hand. The gardens were definitely magical and the county had to spend a mint on gardening. Everything was trimmed neatly and to pristine detail, most of it in intricate designs that reminded me of mazes as well as country style lace. Wes pointed over to one area. “The landscape and architecture were influenced by Veneto and Tuscan Italian Renaissance models and designed in the Mediterranean Revival architecture style, with Baroque elements. Paul Chalfin was the design director,” he confirmed.
I sucked in a breath and took in the many floral scents combined with that of fresh cut grass. “It’s truly beautiful.”
Hand-in-hand we walked and walked until we found a strange waterfall. It was a series of steps on two sides with giant pots at each level of incline. Water fell down the center of the stone and concrete. Moss
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