Rêveuse

Chapter 1.

There's a woman on the third floor of my building. She's getting old and tired. Her husband has been dead for sixteen years. So whenever I go grocery shopping, I stop by her place asking if I should take care of her shopping too. In return she comes over with food or anything she's baked. She told me she's still used to still cooking for two.

So was I. I didn't know how to cook for myself, I always cooked too much, and there was no one there to eat it. No one comes to visit me regularly, no one comes home expecting food on the table. It's just me.

The first week had been tough, and the first time Giulia came over to offer me some of her food, I opened the door trying to pretend like I hadn't been crying for the past two hours. She noticed and came back shortly after leaving the food with me, and she handed me a bottle of wine. It was a nice wine, and it got me absolutely wasted that night.

But I did feel better.

It's quite some time ago now, just over a year have I lived in this apartment, all by myself. It's close to the university, it's close to the theater and also the library. But it wasn't a big place. It had one bedroom, a bathroom, and my favorite part of it was the big parisian balcony which I had been my only request when looking for a place to live.

People argued that I could afford nicer places, and I can, but I don't want to. My place is perfectly fine for just me, and it's a nice neighborhood and I can easily walk everywhere. It's a charming little place, probably in need of some renovation, but I didn't touch anything.

I closed the door to the balcony, checked the stove and any other outlets and stuff around the apartment. I double checked my bag and then I took it with me into the hallway and I locked my door behind me, and then I took the stairs down to the third floor and knocked on Giulia's door. I heard her shuffle around until she opened the door and smiled up at me.

"Te ne stai andando ora?" Are you leaving now? the sweet Italian woman asked me.

"Sì, starò via per una settimana, credo. Chiamami se hai bisogno di qualcosa," Yes, I'll be away for a week, I think. Call me if you need anything, I replied, handing her one of the extra keys to my apartment. I had asked her to water my plants at some point during the week, if she had the energy for it.

"Divertiti, mia cara," Have fun, my dear, she told me as I took my suitcase down the stairs with a big smile on my face, even though I didn't want to go.

I step out on the hot streets of Bologna, the sun immediately burning on my skin, as it's in the middle of the summer. I heard traffic and rumbling in the distance, and there was that horrible smell of trash being in the sun for too long wherever you turned in the city. You grew to get used to it, eventually. But I had bought a spray for my home to keep it smelling better.

The one thing that really stood out in the neighborhood was my car. The black Ferrari I had gotten as a birthday gift on my 20th birthday, and it was parked in its usual spot. I had been told it was risky having it out like that, because some gang could come across it and trash it for fun, but I honestly didn't have much choice, because there wasn't decent parking anywhere near my apartment building. I packed my suitcase into the back, and then I got into the boiling hot car, turning the AC on immediately.

The first thing I did was send a text saying I was getting into my car, I got a thumbs up as a response, and then I headed for the airport. I would fly for four hours, meaning I had four hours to think of all the different kinds of conversations I could start in case it did get awkward. It shouldn't get awkward... but you know; just in case.

After last time it's hard to know how it'll go, even though we've talked a lot since then. We just haven't actually seen each other since, as he's busy doing the usual flying around the world thing, and I don't go back to Monaco more than to visit my parents and some friends every now and again. I'm really happy in Bologna. It's my home now.