Piazza Bella - Aperitivo: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII
Piazza Bella - Antipasto: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X
Piazza Bella - Primi: Prologue | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X
Throughout the night, I snuck out of bed three times to stand at my bedroom door and stare at him while he slept soundly. I smiled affectionately with the happiness of a woman swept up by heady romance. Giovanni was a beautiful man, sent to me by a divine viniculture spirit. He talked and sang to his vines and was now seemingly paired with a woman who loved to cook.
What could possibly go wrong?
I am a slow-cooked succulent lamb, and he is a rich and ruby red. We are a match.
Oh, stop it, Carla.
Go to bed.
Giovanni purred gently, shifting occasionally but barely. In my view, that was a good thing for a man with whom I might share a bed, but my stalking of his sleeping habit was less proper.
When I slipped back into bed after my third surveillance of sleeping beauty, it was 3 a.m., and I needed way more sleep than was available before my day started in three hours. As I lay in bed, imagining Giovanni making love to me, a proposal followed after a few years of wild courting, then marriage, babies, and…
What the fuck are you doing, Carla?
He lives miles away.
You don’t do long distance.
Do you?
I left my bedroom door ajar, wanting to sleep in the same room as my romantic visitor without making it obvious. After he had journeyed to see me, connecting with Giovanni felt important, but I plagued my peaceful psyche with dark thoughts of this being a rebound reflex.