I'm the fabulously wealthy wife of a well-known eccentric inventor.

He has no time for me. His guilt moves him to buy me a villa, where I live a full but solitary life as a dilettante.

Childless, alone, and head over heels in love, I write the next great American novel. https://twitter.com/andrewchen/status/1344033685046087680

And then another man steps into the picture...

He was a financier in the before times, back when Campania didn't need a seawall and crypto hadn't replaced fiat currency. The last time we spoke I was just a girl...

And here he is, in the south of Italy, saying hello like nothing had happened between us...

I'm excited to see him. I can't hide it--and why should I?

So we decide to take a stroll... Just to the Piazza Berlusconi (it's since been renamed) and back. We're only catching up, it's totally noncommittal...

Day turns to night. We've spent 11 hours together. Nothing untoward has happened. It's not just that I'm married, I'm also a lady. And he... he has a wife and children. We make plans to meet the next day in the Piazza Berlusconi. It's only lunch.

We keep things kosher, but the connection is palpable.

And then one night, he says, Default, come to the Teatro di San Carlo with me. I have tickets to Tosca. I spend the whole night drinking...

When it's intermission, he asks if we can step outside. He looks at me and says, "Ever since I met you, you're the only one who can help me be my authentic self..."

If this is thin ice, I'm ready for it to break.

"...things between the wife and I... they haven't been good."

And just as I'm about to go in for a kiss...

"Are you still in touch with those Gen Z Mafia kids?"