The waiting was the most surreal part of my new life. In the past, waiting for Caroline meant ordering a second round of espresso at a café, discussing my latest disastrous date, or gossiping about work. Now, waiting involved reviewing the perimeter camera feed with a capo named Alexander, ensuring that the armed convoy bringing her from the private airstrip had been cleared through three separate security checkpoints.

I stood in the smaller drawing-room, a beautiful space of cream and gold ...