‘I’d very much like to claim my raincheck now, Signora D’Adamo.’
Between the thump of the bass which reverberated across their bedroom windows, the swell of the dancing crowd on the courtyard, and the thousands of people who were enjoying the gardens of La Viola, Matthew and Sarah weren’t a notable absence.
But just for the next half an hour.
The following two days of the Sagra were just as successful, as the word had got around Umbria and neighbouring regions. The festival made it to the national news, both in print and on the TV, and social media exploded, boosting the numbers over the final two days. It was impossible to park on the grounds of La Viola, and cars had banked up around the hairpin bend of the mountainside leading to Fiorellino. Every hotel, bed and breakfast and Airbnb property in the area was completely booked.
There was a renewed energy and spirit in the air. Suddenly, the sleepy picturesque hills felt alive and young again. People were reconnecting with the land in a new way; producers were making new connections, patrons were trying new products and artisans were able to put their work in new and increasingly appreciative hands. In all, it was a renaissance of the Umbrian border towns.
Umbria was the place to be, and Sarah, Matthew and Convento delle Viole were the reason.
quaranta
Alarge white box tied with a navy satin bow sat on her bedside table, awaiting Sarah’s attention the next morning.
Matthew had already found his way to her side and his head rested on her pillow. With both arms wrapped around Sarah, he had held her for the past few hours as she slept. As she stirred, he dropped his lips to the nape of her neck, dotting it with warm lingering kisses.
The feel of his strong arms around her filled Sarah with an immediate yearning, and she turned to face him. His green eyes tempted her with their undivided attention and she smiled.
‘Buongiorno, birthday girl,’ he purred, lowering his mouth. Brushing his lips tauntingly over hers, she responded with an appreciative moan. ‘Thirty-eight years young,’ he whispered, eventually dipping all the way. The feel of his hot mouth shot tingles through her.
‘How did you know?’
‘I filled in that many forms for the registration of our marriage. Your birthday, and all your other details, will forever be burned into my memory.’
She gave a shallow laugh. ‘Let’s not speak of it,’ she returned, kissing him deeper to keep him from talking.
He pulled away. ‘Why? It’syourday.’
She gave her head a dismissive shake. ‘The last few have been a bitmeh. An annual reminder of my gynaecological expiration date.’
‘Please don’t think like that.’ His right hand made it to its usual place on her middle.
‘Hard not to. Plus, I really don’t like the unnecessary fuss and attention.’
‘I know, but please letmefuss and attend to you. You have a Zoom with your parents booked for an hour’s time, and tonight we are having dinner with Marghe and Riccardo at their place. She insisted. They’re offering pizza and board games. I said that we’d beat the pants off them.’
‘You’re so beautiful.’ She reached over and caressed the side of his cheek. ‘Thank you, but I’m just not a birthday kind of person. For myself, I mean. I love celebrating others, but I don’t . . .’
He shushed her with a delicate finger across her lips, and his eyes glanced to the white box on the bedside table. ‘Hopefully I can make today a little more special than the others.’
‘What is that?’ she asked, and he mimed zipping his lips.
Sarah pulled herself up to sitting, and propped her pillow behind her back. Taking the box into her hands, she noted how light it was despite its size. She gave it a gentle shake, but only the rustle of tissue paper could be heard within. Slowly she pulled at the bow’s tails and it gave way. Matthew was unable to prise his eyes from her as she lifted off the lid. He watched her tentative smile bloom into unbridled joy as she folded back the numerous sheafs of crisp white tissue paper. Underneath, Sarah found a gift so profound that she immediately cupped her hands over her mouth.
‘Come on,’ Matthew coaxed with hopeful eyes.
Sarah reached into the box and carefully withdrew the most intricately worked and stunningly decorated blue lace bra she had ever set her eyes on. ‘Oh my God,’ she breathed, and Matthew’s heart pounded. ‘Is this really for me?’
‘Madejustfor you.’
‘This was custom-made?’ Sarah noted how the straps were of a set length, unable to be adjusted.
He nodded proudly. ‘Thankfully you take long showers. Plenty of time to poke around your drawers and take measurements.’ He paused momentarily and his eyebrows pinched together. ‘Now that I’ve said that aloud, I realise it sounds a bit stalkerish.’
‘No . . . I’m . . . It’s . . . is that Florence?’
Across the cups of the bra and extending down to the band was the delicate silhouette of the Florentine skyline in hand-spun silk lace. One cup brandished the tower and turrets of the Palazzo Vecchio while the other had the outline of the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral, including Brunelleschi’s iconic dome. In between the two central figures lay the rest of the skyline: the rooftops, towers and terraces of Florence. The lace which trimmed the straps and the band was an intricate scallop resembling a blooming violet.
