Page 29 of Wicked

As I walk from the main castle to the newer manager’s villa, stables, and a 1970s barn, I come across old surviving chickens.

Somehow, they have survived on the property, and I think about their existence.

How on earth have they survived? Either way, it is great, and they must have been breeding here for generations, just like my family. I like the idea as I push on, and I think of ways to retain the family asset.

An hour later,the Tuscan sun is high. It’s hot and midday, so I eat my lunch in the sun and catch my breath.

Looking at the old buildings, I sit with my roughly made sandwiches of bread, local cold cuts and two types of cheeses.

As I strip off my shirt, I lay in the sun. I am doing well, not thinking of how I would claim the virgin, when I see a bicycle rider head my way.

“You have to be kidding,” I mumble.

I do not pull on a shirt, and I do not move. I do, however, remember her naked in the bath. As I watch Raven’s legs in her jean shorts get closer, she peers around. She has not seen me yet, and I am laying in the long grass ahead.

I watch her tight butt climb off the bike as I sink my teeth into the soft sandwich.

As I lick crumbs from my lips, I imagine licking her seam and tasting her. I then think of her as she bucks under pressure and comes in my face.

As she is ruined.

The virgin pushes the old bike around the building, and finally she notices me in the sun. As she walks over, she smiles freely.

I’m reminded of another reason why I love Americans. They are usually so relaxed, so chill, and so informal, unlike many in much of Europe.

“Hey.”

I chew, watch her, and finish the mouthful before motioning to the ground. “Sit.”

As the cute stranger sits in the warm grass, I lean against an old statue and wipe my mouth.

“It’s nice,” she says.

“It is,” I say proudly. “I grew up here.” My eyes run over the many windows and rooms of the Tuscan castle. All I can see are adjustments to be made before remembering my primary duty.

Block the sale.

As Raven’s eyes take in the building, she glances over.

“Did your father help look after the castle, too?”

“Kind of,” I say, “but more my grandfather. He lived here at times.”

Her eyes move around in awe.

“You know, I once read some of the old Europeans stuck to one career, for generations. Almost like generations of butlers, grooms, or caretakers, you know, working for the wealthy or landed gentry.”

I grin at her, and she catches me. “What?”

“Nada,” I say, telling myself to contain my energy.

Raven’s fascination with history is charming, and I like smart women, much more than beautiful ones. She is both. I’ve also grown bored of ultra glossy stick figure catwalk types who read less books than they have in years of life.

“It’s good that great old families have folk like you,” Raven says. “Willing to sacrifice your own time and freedom to serve others more fortunate.”

I try not to smile, and the poor virgin really has no idea.

“I am only doing a little,” I say, playing along and enjoying it. I then remember she knows nothing about me. Absolutely fucking nothing.

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