|Subject:||Re: What if...|
|Author:||Fiammetta (Authenticated as lady murasaki)|
|Date:||July 11, 2012 at 4:01:16 AM|
|Reply to:||What if... by La Reina|
July's room was fit for a fairytale princess, with antique furniture, fluffy carpets, and a huge bed with soft, gauzy material billowing from the baldaquin.
Spread on the bed, she found an exquisite evening dress, of a soft shade of pink, with a halter neck, many layers of taffetta spangled with tiny sequins. A pair of high heels satinated pink Jimmy Choos stood on the floor. July blushed slightly at the thought that Signor Lorenzo had selected and purchased such an expensive outfit for her.
She showered in the enormous marbled, gilded tapped affair that was the bathroom, then slipped on the dress and shoes. She stood a long time in front of the full length mirror, brushing her long silken hair, barely recognizing the figure, apparently out of a Oscar night, that gazed back at her.
Moving delicately with her long skirts, July trod down the stairs to the hall. There she noticed Signor Lorenzo at the bottom of the monumental staircase.
"Ah, Giuliana!" he said, with a theatrical wave. He always insisted on using her full name. July's heart almost stopped when she saw him. He was wearing not, as could be expected, a tuxedo, but a suit of an almost metalic shade of grey linen. His dark eyes roved over every inch of July's body and she felt herself blush.
"You look divine." He sighed, taking her hand. A shiver of desire shot through July's body. As if on cue, the orchestra started to play "Fly Me to the Moon" and Signor Lorenzo waltzed her gracefully through the hall, down to a buffet laden with Tuscan delicacies and prosecco. The evening proceeded in a daze of conversation, dancingwine and delicious morcels. July even forgot that she was the nanny of Signor Lorenzo's baby girl Preziosa, the nanny he had hired because his supremely beautiful, adored wife Ghisolabella had died tragically, and he would never recover from that.
Then, all of a sudden they were on the massive, ivy-covered balcony. surveying rows and rows of vines that stretched into the distance.
"Ah" Signor Lorenzo said hoarsely "come colombe dal desio chiamate..." Before July could ask him to translate he had enfolded her in his arms, and his mouth was on hers, before one of his hands slipped towards the deep neckline of her dress. July's body was on fire.
[Uhrm, this does sound suspiciously like the sort of stuff I wrote when I was 15].
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