Chelsea said, “Isn’t it exciting to think we could go anywhere? Holland or Germany? Switzerland or Italy? It’s all so close.”
I laughed. “I don’t havethatmuch time.”
“Oh, I know. But in the time it would take to drive from Charlottesville to Atlanta, we could be in Hungary.”
“You want to go to Hungary?”
“Someday.”
It thrilled me to hear her planning hypothetical trips with me. “Well, it’s early still. We could be in Venice before dinnertime tomorrow.”
In Monte Carlo, we found a restaurant overlooking the water. Chelsea put on a British accent and said, “‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.’”
I raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“I feel like Rebecca—you know, from the movie?”
“No.”
She sat up straight, in story-telling mode. “Rebecca was a companion for a wealthy woman, and on a trip to Monte Carlo, she met the sexy Max de Winter, played by the sexy Laurence Olivier. He married her and murdered someone. I think. I forget how it goes.”
“Does that make me the sexy but murderous Max in this situation?”
She eyed me. “Hmm. You could be. You are pretty sexy.”
Her flirting was killing me. “I hope you don’t think I’m murderous.”
She pointed a fork at me. “Only when you drive.”
“You want to check out the casinos while we’re here?”
Her eyes popped wide. “Yes, please.”
We decided on the big one: the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Thisturned into a bit of an adventure, both in terms of how to get there and then what to do once we had. We paid an entrance fee and then just gawked like tourists.
“This place looks like a movie set,” Chelsea whispered.
Honestly, I expected James Bond to show up. “We’re a long way from Virginia.”
“We have to play something.” She took my hand and pulled me up to a roulette table. We watched for a while, eventually working up the courage to ask someone how to get in the game.
The minimum bet was only five euros, which was where they got you because we definitely lost the first time we played, and Chelsea said, “It’s only five euros. We should try again.”
Yeah, we ended up losing about fifty euros before Chelsea figured out how to split the bet, and we finally won, but nothing close to our investment. Still, she jumped into my arms with excitement for her victory. Holding her like that, even so briefly, I badly wanted to kiss her, but she was in charge, and she hadn’t so much as hinted at wanting to cross that line.
We didn’t have a room in Monte Carlo because I’d need to strike it rich in a casino to afford one, so we found a place with two double beds a little farther along the route.
The next day, we took our time, poking along the Italian coast while Chelsea researched everything on her phone. “Hey, did you know Genoa is the birthplace of pesto?”
I glanced over to make sure she was paying attention when I said, “What d’ja know about that?” And when she didn’t react, I repeated more slowly, “WhatGenoa’bout that?”
She sighed but said, “We should make a slight detour and find out if Italian pasta is as good as yours.”
Using her sleuthing skills, which I’d discovered were a little bit scary, she discovered the best restaurant for trofie al pesto.So we stopped for lunch in the colorful city of Genoa, overlooking the marina. We couldn’t resist ordering an appetizer of squid,focaccia with prosciutto, and both trofie and mandilli pastas with pesto becausewhen in Genoa. And of course, Chelsea insisted we split the tiramisu for dessert.
“Chalk it up to research,” she said.
And it was true. Having a chance to experience the local cuisine and taste the food as it was meant to be served was invaluable. Everything went into the vault.
