After a few months passed by, I was brave enough to introduce Pierre to some girlfriends.
There was one instance when he came to say hello to a group of them on the street.
Not to mention that he was incredibly sexy in a George-Clooney-cum-Colin-Firth way.
One day, Pierre’s son, who was a mere one year younger than me (and to whom we didn’t want to disclose our relationship), accidentally found my passport stashed away on a shelf in his father’s house when he went to pick something up.
In a way, Pierre, with all of his 51 years, taught me what it felt like to be in a real, functioning, and healthy relationship. Two weeks following that, he brought me to Rome on a business trip.
After striking up a conversation with him that night in the café, we ended up talking for what seemed like hours. We never officially became a couple, but the effects of the pasta, wine, and all of Rome’s glorified romanticism never wore off from that moment on. We went out to dinner, watched movies, texted each other all day long, and, of course, had great sex, especially in the beginning of the relationship.
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