Valentine surprise in Verona
Denis and I have a tradition of spending a long winter weekend somewhere in Italy. We like the feel of our favorite Italian towns without the tourists that throng them in summer--Florence, Venise, Bologna, Milan, Luca as they really are. This year, it was Verona--Romeo and Juliet's home town. We had just in fact left Juliet's house, complete with its famous balcony, and its entryway wall more thickly layered with lovers' graffiti than probably any other place on earth. Now we were wandering the city's beautiful streets, arm in arm, idly window-shopping.
We admired windows full of leathergoods, small fashion houses, an antique store with a tempting display of delicate Murano aperitif glasses, and bookstores. We paused before a jewel-box of a window--the spring display of the jeweler Bulgari--or BVLGARI, as the austerely elegant typeface over the lintel announced. I made an idle comment about how much I loved their fanciful use of colored stones in a style that reminds me of jewelry of the Middle Ages. "Let's go in," said Denis, impulsively. But I was already turning on my heel, retorting "Much too expensive..." over my shoulder.
Suddenly I felt his arm spinning me around to face him. He was staring into my eyes with a sudden intensity. "J'ai envie de te prendre un cadeau de fiançaille." I want to get you an engagement present.
I stopped dead in my tracks. "C'est vrai?" I gasped. Is it true?
(Now, for those of you who haven't already figured this out, Denis and I are, to put it delicately, of a certain age. We have both been married before, and we both arrived in our relationship together with various items of baggage from our respective pasts and previous experiences. We were neither of us about to rush headlong into another marriage, and we were now heading into our sixth year of empassioned cohabitation. No one could appreciate more keenly than I the distance traveled to arrive at the words I'd just heard.)
So, well, was it true? The answer was enfolded in an intense embrace right there on the sidewalk. It was clearly visible in two pairs of eyes brimming with tears. It was reflected in the radiance of two smiles. Words, for once, were superfluous.
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Here's where I share the frustrations, humor, and sometimes almost heartbreaking beauty of daily life from the perspective of an American expatriate living in Paris. I'm writing to you exactly as I write to my family and friends, so what you read here is usually not about gardening. Rather, these weekly postcards are a way for you to get to know me, and I hope, to occasionally laugh out loud--both with me, and sometimes at me.
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