The American Lady
“How can the sun still be so warm this late in the year? she wondered sleepily. Back in Lauscha it would be snowing in early November. She shifted out from under Franco’s arm, which was lying heavily across her belly, until the sun was shining directly on her face. Just one more minute . . .
“Mia cara, come back here,” Franco muttered, then scooted over to her side of the bed. “How is my princess?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And how is our baby?”
“Hmm.” She kissed his mouth. Don’t say a word. K...eep quiet and let the day come.
Marie loved this moment between sleep and wakefulness more than any other time of day. In bed with Franco, with a thin curtain between them and Genoa—close to the bustle of the city where the fishwives, housewives, tradesmen, and schoolchildren were all going about their business on the streets, but just out of earshot—she sometimes imagined she was back on Monte Verità, and she felt that same lightness and freedom that had flooded her there.MoreLess
“Mia cara, come back here,” Franco muttered, then scooted over to her side of the bed. “How is my princess?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And how is our baby?”
“Hmm.” She kissed his mouth. Don’t say a word. K...eep quiet and let the day come.
Marie loved this moment between sleep and wakefulness more than any other time of day. In bed with Franco, with a thin curtain between them and Genoa—close to the bustle of the city where the fishwives, housewives, tradesmen, and schoolchildren were all going about their business on the streets, but just out of earshot—she sometimes imagined she was back on Monte Verità, and she felt that same lightness and freedom that had flooded her there.MoreLess
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