And that was just the first course.
The next tray arrived like a dream. My pulse jumped when I saw it: a riot of colors, textures, and fragrances. Paolo moved with a dancer’s grace, explaining each dish with a soft, melodic lilt that made everything sound even more intoxicating.
“Here we have marinated vegetables from Sicily,” he said, “blended with Pecorino from Tuscany, and finished with a hint of my garden thyme. And here…” He pointed to a delicate mound, “…a smoked beetroot carpaccio with edible flowers from my greenhouse. All infused with a light touch of magic to enhance the natural sweetness.”
I didn’t even process the words properly. My mind was already consumed by the smells, the heat rising in my belly, and the pup squirming with pure, demanding hunger. My hands trembled as I
