Читать книгу Mistress - The Italian way - Delilah Jay - Страница 6

I left the office and drove myself and my midnight-blue Porsche Carrera 4 back to Como, to Don Juan and Devina and to my removal boxes because I had made my decision: back to Berlin. My friend Aurelia was living in my flat now. I didn’t want to give up completely on my love for Italy, but the infatuation had weakened in the grey, damp chilliness of the Northern Italian February. Tomorrow, Evita and Alexander will arrive from the stables near Berlin, to collect me, my horses, my Hutschenreuther dinnerware, the crystal glasses and silver spoons, and my designer clothes by Versace, Chanel, Cavalli and Valentino. Three suitcases full of shoes: stilettos in every shade of colour, courts of all types, Sergio Rossi vying for space with Prada. Handbags for every outfit. Louis Vuitton next to Hermes. Chanel dresses, riding boots, spurs and saddles cuddled up to each other in Alexander’s Dodge, pulling the horse trailer with my Westphalian Don Juan and my Hanoverian Devina. Travel in style! We spent a lovely evening in the little pizzeria in Como and I floated in-between feeling bad for not having managed to survive in macho country as a straniera - a foreign woman - and congratulating myself for having had the guts to at least try. Probably it had to do with the mist over Lake Como, a place I have not missed to this day.

In the February cold, accompanied by fog, ice and snowstorms we drove in convoy across Austria to Berlin - Devina, Don Juan, Evita, Alexander and I.

How beautiful is the rain in Berlin during the winter months! Aurelia was waiting for me and a wonderful time began. She had problems: job, money, family, men... We went back and forth between Berlin and Verona, where she had a flat right next to the Arena. We enjoy our life, currently so easy, in-between cappuccino, prosecco, pasta, sex, the sea and the future.