“Ciao, bella,” he seemed to exclaim from the screen of my MacBook Pro. Like many modern-day romances, my love affair with Maxwell Scott began over the Internet.
As soon as I laid eyes on Mr. Scott, I was intrigued. His smooth, dark brown coloring drew me in like a moth to a flame. Mesmerized, I was instantly attracted to his classic, good looks. Just by eyeing his photo, I knew that Maxwell was a class act and not just another pretty face. A chameleon of sorts, he’s the kind of guy that I would be proud to have on my arm on a country get away or the poshest hotel in New York City. In that moment, my desire to possess Maxwell was unparalleled.
Maxwell’s profile assured me that he was 100% Italian, which piqued my interest even more. As a lover of all things Italian, I couldn’t help but be skeptical given his decidedly British name. Perhaps he was the perfect combination of passionate Italian and cheeky Brit. This mystery, I decided, would be solved in person.
Reading on, I discovered that Maxwell was very confident, like so many Italian men. In a quite daring move, he offered a thirty-day return policy, though I couldn’t imagine anyone ever being unsatisfied with Maxwell. And even more remarkable was his lifetime guarantee. Who does Mr. Scott think he is, Mr. Darcy? Was I being toyed with or was he for real?
Logical thinking was quickly bullied out of my brain in favor of a vision of Maxwell and me setting off to places near and far. Maybe we’d explore exotic places like Mozambique or the Seychelles. Perhaps a road trip down the California coast or through the South Island of New Zealand. Extended breaks to London, Rome, and Paris were certainly in the cards. The decision was made—Maxwell was mine.
Christmas came a few days early when Maxwell arrived on my doorstep. He’d traveled a long way from Europe and thus I greeted him with open arms. Despite the many miles traveled, Maxwell looked marvelous–better than I could have ever imagined. I must say that his picture did not do him justice, but that’s usually the case with such perfection.
I tried to be patient, but that’s not my strong suit. The next day I took Maxwell to the Hill Country, where he got a taste of my favorite part of Texas. Then it was back to Houston, where he experienced his first Four Seasons. A few days later, we jetted across the Atlantic and spent two glorious weeks in Paris and Bordeaux. In the land of Louis Vuitton, Maxwell charmed the fussy French from the Champs-Elysées to Place Vendôme.
It’s now difficult to imagine a time when Maxwell Scott wasn’t in my life. He’s handsome, smart looking, practical, and is always willing to carry my stuff. Maxwell is the perfect combination of Rudolph Valentino and Laurence Olivier—classic and always in style. I look forward to having him on my arm for many years to come.
I was provided FleroM Medium Duffel Bag by Maxwell Scott. I was in no way swayed to write a favorable review based on the supple, full-grain luxury leather, the shiny, brass hardware, or Maxwell’s sexy Italian accent. As always, opinions are mine. You may find more information about my Italian sweetheart here.