December 23.
The region of Umbria, somewhat arid, in some parts like a green sheet—a magnificent meadow bursting with vegetation—even the soil, when treated with care, could be used for small greenhouses. But it took hard work; cultivating such land was no easy task. The family owned a 10-acre villa, a somewhat remodeled old house. Charming—perfect for the backdrop of an Italian series, a small love story, or to bring The Divine Comedy to life—it felt like a narrow corridor of meanings.
They welcomed him with open arms, doted on him as if he were one of their own. Though young, they gave him all they believed he deserved. It mirrored what he had experienced with his father—a warmth so striking it made him want to call him, even if it wasn't exactly a thoughtful impulse. It felt good knowing his father had found such a loving family with Ivanova and her three children, plus one on the way. Meanwhile, everything around him played out like a dance, song, and celebration.
–Come, come, have a bit more and dip it in some wine – Monica's mother insisted. She was an older woman, silver strands framing her strong features. She handed him more as he accepted it. They made the pasta from scratch, everything done organically, as they would later explain on more than one occasion.
–Yes... well – the young man was compelled by the woman's intense gaze. She was already calling for another bottle of wine to be opened, smiling at him with what looked more like a grin than a gentle smile.
Monica's father was a simple man who took his time resting in a chair, listening to music, while relatives bustled around in the background.
–Billy, we have canapés—try a few. The canapés weren't much more than little puff pastry balls drenched in Bolognese sauce, topped with basil and cheese. Some came with serrano ham, others with a special cheese that seemed to melt in your mouth—a yellow wheel cheese that, according to them, required three months' notice to order due to its aging process.
The flavor was sharp and crunchy, the puff pastry giving the food an almost airy texture.
–So, what do you think? Isn't it beautiful breathing in the countryside air, being here on the family estate? – The woman asked, taking a seat beside him. She looked completely different from usual, wearing a long white dress that fell just below her knees. It suited her perfectly. With only red lipstick and her hair in layered waves, she seemed to embody the saying that a beautiful woman needs no embellishment.
–Charming, especially when there's not much else to do – Billy replied, gazing into the distance at a house that used to be a shed. Monica had renovated it to have a place of her own to return to. It was large, with two floors, the second with a balcony and a single bedroom.
The morning sun was bright, but the house was oriented so that the first rays didn't hit the window until 10 a.m., and even then, they never quite reached the bed, thanks to its diagonal position. Simple architecture, but intimate.
–I left a space where you can draw in peace during the summers. Relaxing under the shade while you write one of your stories sounds like the loveliest thing, the Italian woman said, gently brushing his cheek. That peace, perhaps, was found in moments like this, when he could finally shake off the tiredness that usually rested on his shoulders.
–Not a bad idea at all—and not contradictory in the least… seems like I already have a reason to come back – Billy replied, watching her smile, delicate in her way.
–That's why you need to work on your posture. I've noticed you've been a bit hunched from all the time at the desk. I spoke with your trainer, and you'll be doing some exercises as soon as we return – said Monica, adjusting his tie and pouring wine into his empty glass, her gaze soft and full of emotion.
–Alright, my dear – Billy replied, knowing perfectly well it was a losing battle to argue about whether his posture was fine or not. – I do have a question, though. Do you need help with dinner? I'm not sure how I should behave –
He whispered.
–Don't worry about it. You're a guest… Besides, we brought gifts when we came—maybe you can give something to Papa when we get married, not after – Monica answered, her brilliant black eyes like pearls swirling with color, holding so many thoughts in a single blink.
–What's that supposed to mean? – he asked, more curious than anything. – Is that something you always do, or is it just… –
–Because you'll be family. And when you're family, gifts don't matter—not really—because they're family gifts. That's something you and your father don't quite get. You're both so quiet and reserved,d it's like you miss the point entirely?
–I get it. There's just always so much to do –
–Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. When you taste the food, you'll savor every part of it. Watching it melt in your mouth, and tasting a real tomato—that's the experience –
Just as she said, they set two tables with white tablecloths, each for six people. The table was laid with trays of lasagna, salads, and bread in abundance. The rule was clear—a short prayer first, then the person at the head of the table would begin the meal. Tradition ran deep in Italy, or at least in Monica's family home. Following the rituals, everyone ate, immersed in conversation or their thoughts, while she whispered to him how each dish was made, how sometimes they replaced meat with vegetables, and what her favorite way of cooking had been when she was younger.
–So, it's simple. The trick is to sauté the vegetables before adding the meat. Once the meat is in, you start seasoning. The tomato sauce is made the day before—you have to stir it for at least two hours and leave it sealed in the oven. Nona used to leave it there all night, then add pastrami the next day to give it more body – she whispered every step, including how they buttered the dish before putting it in the oven to give it a slow, full flavor.
–That's the one you make for Sundays – Billy asked, to which Monica nodded.
–But it's never quite like Nona's. I've been focusing on improving how I cook meats – she whispered.
–But now everyone wants to try your roasts –
–Except your father –
–Doesn't matter –
...