Page 115 of Wicked

As my passionate Italian relatives cheer, toast and drink, I speak loud above the chaos. “Grazie, now let’s give it a month to see if it works.”

“Wise,” our grandmother says, cutting in. “And if your mother and father are not in, we will buy them out!”

After excited discussions and hugs, we wrap the successful gathering up, and my family heads off in their cars. We have done well.

Raven and I head upstairs, and we open another old wine to celebrate. Raven then sits, and she focuses on the last chapter of her book.

As I leave with Tito to make some last-minute calculations, I feel like we’re on fire.

I’m exhausted from no sleep, but it is what it is. I’ve received more emails from NYC that are alarming, but I will get onto them in the coming days.

Inside and out, I plot the areas of the estate and castle to be converted for use, and I think of the woman in the castle.

I like her work focus and drive, and I’ve not met many like her. She is hot. Industrious and wicked.

The perfect woman.

48

RAVEN

Over the next few days, I write, but we focus mainly on the theme park. We plan, meet, sketch, budget, and schedule the various elements of it, and we work fast.

It’s fun, but intense and hard work.

Dante seems to have a natural knack for knowing what people might enjoy and what experiences would work. Maybe that’s why he knows how to manipulate my body to perfection. As we work hard on the theme park during much of the day, I get to tick off a few more things onmy listin the night.

Those include really working on my G-spot. Anal. Spanking… Even choking.

Oh, my God!

Are you kidding me?

As Dante’s relatives dig in and work hard, the theme park becomes more real and fun.

To stay involved with the park, and here in Italy, I had to ask my horrible boss for a week off, unpaid. For whatever reason, she agreed, but it was lucky timing.

For the first time in my life, my life seems to flow, and I think I’m even becoming content. It’s a new sensation for me, and I like it a lot.

I polish my positive Italian travel article for the company I work for, and I lean back to finish reading it again.

I wrote two solid drafts a week ago, and it is now tighter. I’m proud, and it really does sell the great nation. I hit send, and the positive travel article,‘Bravo Italy,’is shot across the globe. I cannot control which story my evil boss runs with, and I’m nervous about the first I was forced to write.

After my incredible stay in this stunning old nation, and after so many glorious experiences, I hope to God they run with the version I feel is accurate and respectful.

It’s hard to imagine why my boss would want to make Italy sound boring or even nasty. The idea now makes me sick.

Italy is far from boring or nasty. It is alive, it is electric, and it is incredible.

I do not know what my boss has in the game, but something stinks. Maybe she’s getting big budget travel advertisings from competitive destinations, and she is ruthless.

Maybe she’s selling out and say, helping France, Spain, or other destinations.

Mid-morning,and excited, I refocus on my novel. I am pages away from completion, and I have to finish it. In the zone, I sit fireside, and I work on the last ten pages with Tito at my feet.

As I polish sentences and form more, I start to lose focus.

I then worryabout us,and if I’m now too far out on the branch of life, picking and tasting the sweetest of fruit. I’m in a place where there are no safety nets.

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