I’m going to dress up. Go on a date with…my husband.
Wow.
14
NICO
She’s wearing a dress—floral, light, and colorful. Her makeup is, as always, subtle, but her lipstick is a glossy pink that accentuates her full lips. She’s worn some eye makeup because her hazel-gray eyes shine even brighter.
“You look beautiful.” I gently kiss her pink lips. She tastes like roses.
She flushes. “Thank you. Alba…she.” She waves her off-white Chanel clutch that matches her dress. “Bought stuff and sent someone to…well, get me ready like I’m a child.” She rolls her eyes.
She let someone do her up for me, and that makes me feel ten fucking feet tall. “Your sister has a good eye.”
The driver opens the door to the Range Rover, and I help her in before joining her in the back.
I have to go back to Florence after dinner, as I have an early morning meeting I need to be at. I wanted to find a day when I could stay over, but my calendar wouldn’t allow that for another two weeks. So, I decided that we could spend some time together, even if it means I have to commute to and from Florence.
It’s a short drive that we pass with ease, catching up as we have been every night.
Osteria Magona is not ostentatious; even its signage is somber. Set amidst vineyards and cypress trees, the restaurant serves excellent food and a wine list inundated with the best of Bolgheri, from Sassicaia, Masseto, Ornellaia, and Pietra Alta, of course.
I booked a table by the window with a view, which, on a clear day like today, extends all the way to the sea. Inside, we’re protected from the worst of the heat because it’s the end of August, and it is humid and not entirely breathable outside.
As soon as we step inside, the maître d’ smiles. “Buonasera, SignoraAlighieri,SignorAlarico.”
My wife inclines her head. “Buonasera, Arjan. How are you doing? How’s your wife?”
The maître d’ walks us to our table. “Ah, she’s good. Big as a house, as they say.”
“Let me know when she pops, as they say,” Alessia murmurs with a smile.
He seats us and places the menus in front of us. He doesn’t ask about our choice of water—presumably because they know Alessia here and already know what she prefers. That’s confirmed moments later when a server arrives with sparkling water, greeting her warmly by name.
So we can both enjoy the view, we take the banquette along the wall, sitting side by side. I don’t mind it at all. I’m close enough to steal a kiss—which I fully intend to do. And maybe more.
“You come here often?” I ask, angling myself so I can look at her.
She shrugs with a smile, half turning to face me. “As I said, I’ve been here…but never with you.”
Before I can open the wine list, a man approaches us. He’sin his mid-forties, and he’s wearing a pin that tells me he’s a master sommelier.
“Alessia.”
She lights up. They hug. He kisses both her cheeks.
“Philario, so good to see you.”
She introduces me to him, almost shyly, as her husband. Philario is effusive and apologizes for not being able to attend the wedding. He was invited, but he was in Palermo as his mother isn’t feeling well.
“So, what are you excited about, Philario?”
It’s interesting how she communicates. She isn’t asking him what he recommends or what’s popular. She wants to know what is exciting him because she’s looking for something unique.
The sommelier straightens, energized. “We just opened a small allocation of a Vermentino from Capalbio—high elevation, saline, very restrained.”
She waves a hand in assent. “Let’s start with that. And later…we’ll see where the food leads us.”
