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The villa of the Counts Aloisio Marazzini stands isolated on a hill overlooking the entire village. The owners come from time to time during the weekend to spend a few days away from the city. You can see them arrive with their luxurious SUV sometimes alone and other times accompanied by friends who make their entrance into the villa with cars worthy of that noble country residence. According to reports in the village, the Counts live in Genoa in a sumptuous penthouse in the historical centre. The nobleman is a wealthy ship-owner while his wife, a very cultured woman, delights in writing novels (no one in the village, however, has ever read one) and organizes receptions; in his living room on the top floor there are at home the most prestigious intellectuals, the bourgeoisie more inclined to the world of culture and all the rich nobility of Northern Italy. In the village nobody has ever entered their villa except Giovanna, the lady who is in charge of looking after and cleaning the house during the periods of absence of the owners and Ilio the gardener. Besides the two of them, the only ones in the village who know the Counts personally and who have exchanged a few words with them are my husband and me. We manage the small grocery store in the square resisting competition from supermarkets since there are none in the village and you have to take the car and do about ten kilometers to find the first one. In addition, my husband Gianni has selected some special products, such as bread baked in a wood-burning oven or some artisan cheeses, which you can't find anywhere else. For this reason sometimes you can see the Count and his wife appear in our little shop in search of delicacies and delicacies found by Gianni.
Also the bridge of last December 8th, the Count and Mrs. Aloisio Marazzini passed him in their country house and on the afternoon of the 7th, they made the noble appearance in our grocery store, trying out the days of their stay in the village. I was not in the shop that afternoon so when Gianni came home in the evening he gave me the sensational news: "The Count and the Countess would like us to go to dinner at their villa the day after tomorrow evening" I was speechless. That invitation was quite exceptional for people like the Aloisio Marazzini who had always lived secluded in their luxury and wealth without ever having had any kind of relationship with the rest of the village except for occasional greetings or some chat in the shop with me and Gianni. I felt very excited and honored for such an invitation. "But will we live up to it?" I asked Gianni. "I must immediately call Marta - the hairdresser of our country - and make an appointment for the day after tomorrow morning" I thought. It was impractical for me to show up at the Conti's house without my hair done and in place. I ran to the closet to check the clothes for Gianni and me to wear for that great occasion.
For that special evening, I wore a dress with a color knitted dress that was tight enough to show off, without false modesty, my slender physique and my firm breasts. In addition, some lace inserts made it even more provocative. Cream-colored tights, low shoes that matched the dress (I'm tall enough not to need heels that I find uncomfortable to wear) and a few jewels completed my figure. Marta had given me a haircut and makeup that wouldn't disfigure even at a debutante ball. When I told her about the event I was doing that hairstyle for, she was amazed. Then she had recommended that I let Countess Aloisio Marazzini know that the haircut had been done by her and that if the Countess found it to her liking she could visit her at the salon; Marta would have been honoured to be able to comb and style her hair. Finally she had not let me leave without the promise, on my part, to report to her in the details of the evening and the Countess' villa. Gianni was also in a great shot: with his black suit, a white cotton shirt and dark tie: he was a knockout. Shiny black shoes; hair and beard done in the afternoon by the barber. I had a husband who could have paraded on the catwalk as he was handsome. To drive the couple of kilometers that separated our house from the stately home we took the mid-size sedan that, although not comparable to the SUV of the Conti, was certainly not disfiguring. We had only bought it three months ago and it was the latest version of that car model. A few meters from the gate of the villa it opened automatically: probably the Conti were waiting for our arrival. We walked along the long avenue that, after crossing the garden, led to the main entrance of the house and we parked our car right next to the Aloisio Marazzini's one. The Count was on the door of the house: "Welcome dear. Take a seat. It's a pleasure to have you in our home." How exciting! We made our entrance, amazed by the magnificence of the interior of that country residence.
Spacious rooms with brick vaults and frescoed ceilings followed one after the other. On the walls there were large paintings that were wisely illuminated by lights spread on the wall. The noble owners of the house guided us from the entrance to a sumptuous dining room, passing through a reading room with library and a room dominated by a blue cloth billiard table in the middle. Count Aloisio Marazzini then moved the chair upholstered with a very soft velvet and invited me to sit at the table. When we were all sitting there appeared a sexting maid in uniform who, after having bowed to us as a greeting, whispered something to the Count and quickly disappeared. Everything denoted wealth and opulence at that table and in that room. The crystal chandelier above our heads, the precious furniture, the fine porcelain plates, the crystal glasses and the silver cutlery. Everything made us feel, in turn, like nobles just because we were there. The Count was dressed in a very elegant and impeccable way: a dark wool dress with a white shirt and black satin bow tie; gold cufflinks showed off a white silk handkerchief at the wrists of the shirt and from the pocket of the dress; he completed his figure with dark wool socks and a pair of black leather shoes with a round toe. Beyond the dress, he was in himself a man who expressed elegance and royalty: a fifty-year-old man who would make any woman of any age lose her head. The Countess was no less in her low-cut blue dress that fell softly on her curves, enveloping her body and highlighting every shape. The accessories immediately caught my attention: a pair of white gold earrings with a midnight blue sapphire mounted and a necklace with oval-shaped aquamarine gems and a shine I had never seen before. On the fingers several rings covering a wide range of shades from blue to blue.
"So, my dears, I hope you can spend an evening to your liking in our home," the Count began his speech. At the same time the sexting maid just now entered with the hors d'oeuvres cart. A second waiter, whom we had not seen before, also entered the room and uncorked a bottle of champagne that the master of the house tasted. To give an idea of the exceptionality of the dinner, here is what was served from appetizer to dessert: lobster Catalan style, French oysters, canapés with fine caviar (the Count wanted to point out that it was Calvisius Beluga), octopus carpaccio, shrimp oil and lemon in aurora sauce. All washed down with several bottles of Cristal champagne. The first ones followed: fresh lobster risotto and fusilli tomato and fresh scampi. Change of wine: a Taittinger rosé champagne was served. And then, some white sturgeon fillet with potatoes and baked tomatoes (needless to say, combined with its wine: white Chardonnay). The Count also brought a trolley with cheeses that Gianni would taste: French Roquefort and English Blue Stilton; both paired with a 12-year-old Port wine. Finally, raspberry aspic, coffee and Hennessy cognac were served.
A more abundant and equally singular and unusual meal for our senses awaited us after dinner.
Also the bridge of last December 8th, the Count and Mrs. Aloisio Marazzini passed him in their country house and on the afternoon of the 7th, they made the noble appearance in our grocery store, trying out the days of their stay in the village. I was not in the shop that afternoon so when Gianni came home in the evening he gave me the sensational news: "The Count and the Countess would like us to go to dinner at their villa the day after tomorrow evening" I was speechless. That invitation was quite exceptional for people like the Aloisio Marazzini who had always lived secluded in their luxury and wealth without ever having had any kind of relationship with the rest of the village except for occasional greetings or some chat in the shop with me and Gianni. I felt very excited and honored for such an invitation. "But will we live up to it?" I asked Gianni. "I must immediately call Marta - the hairdresser of our country - and make an appointment for the day after tomorrow morning" I thought. It was impractical for me to show up at the Conti's house without my hair done and in place. I ran to the closet to check the clothes for Gianni and me to wear for that great occasion.
For that special evening, I wore a dress with a color knitted dress that was tight enough to show off, without false modesty, my slender physique and my firm breasts. In addition, some lace inserts made it even more provocative. Cream-colored tights, low shoes that matched the dress (I'm tall enough not to need heels that I find uncomfortable to wear) and a few jewels completed my figure. Marta had given me a haircut and makeup that wouldn't disfigure even at a debutante ball. When I told her about the event I was doing that hairstyle for, she was amazed. Then she had recommended that I let Countess Aloisio Marazzini know that the haircut had been done by her and that if the Countess found it to her liking she could visit her at the salon; Marta would have been honoured to be able to comb and style her hair. Finally she had not let me leave without the promise, on my part, to report to her in the details of the evening and the Countess' villa. Gianni was also in a great shot: with his black suit, a white cotton shirt and dark tie: he was a knockout. Shiny black shoes; hair and beard done in the afternoon by the barber. I had a husband who could have paraded on the catwalk as he was handsome. To drive the couple of kilometers that separated our house from the stately home we took the mid-size sedan that, although not comparable to the SUV of the Conti, was certainly not disfiguring. We had only bought it three months ago and it was the latest version of that car model. A few meters from the gate of the villa it opened automatically: probably the Conti were waiting for our arrival. We walked along the long avenue that, after crossing the garden, led to the main entrance of the house and we parked our car right next to the Aloisio Marazzini's one. The Count was on the door of the house: "Welcome dear. Take a seat. It's a pleasure to have you in our home." How exciting! We made our entrance, amazed by the magnificence of the interior of that country residence.
Spacious rooms with brick vaults and frescoed ceilings followed one after the other. On the walls there were large paintings that were wisely illuminated by lights spread on the wall. The noble owners of the house guided us from the entrance to a sumptuous dining room, passing through a reading room with library and a room dominated by a blue cloth billiard table in the middle. Count Aloisio Marazzini then moved the chair upholstered with a very soft velvet and invited me to sit at the table. When we were all sitting there appeared a sexting maid in uniform who, after having bowed to us as a greeting, whispered something to the Count and quickly disappeared. Everything denoted wealth and opulence at that table and in that room. The crystal chandelier above our heads, the precious furniture, the fine porcelain plates, the crystal glasses and the silver cutlery. Everything made us feel, in turn, like nobles just because we were there. The Count was dressed in a very elegant and impeccable way: a dark wool dress with a white shirt and black satin bow tie; gold cufflinks showed off a white silk handkerchief at the wrists of the shirt and from the pocket of the dress; he completed his figure with dark wool socks and a pair of black leather shoes with a round toe. Beyond the dress, he was in himself a man who expressed elegance and royalty: a fifty-year-old man who would make any woman of any age lose her head. The Countess was no less in her low-cut blue dress that fell softly on her curves, enveloping her body and highlighting every shape. The accessories immediately caught my attention: a pair of white gold earrings with a midnight blue sapphire mounted and a necklace with oval-shaped aquamarine gems and a shine I had never seen before. On the fingers several rings covering a wide range of shades from blue to blue.
"So, my dears, I hope you can spend an evening to your liking in our home," the Count began his speech. At the same time the sexting maid just now entered with the hors d'oeuvres cart. A second waiter, whom we had not seen before, also entered the room and uncorked a bottle of champagne that the master of the house tasted. To give an idea of the exceptionality of the dinner, here is what was served from appetizer to dessert: lobster Catalan style, French oysters, canapés with fine caviar (the Count wanted to point out that it was Calvisius Beluga), octopus carpaccio, shrimp oil and lemon in aurora sauce. All washed down with several bottles of Cristal champagne. The first ones followed: fresh lobster risotto and fusilli tomato and fresh scampi. Change of wine: a Taittinger rosé champagne was served. And then, some white sturgeon fillet with potatoes and baked tomatoes (needless to say, combined with its wine: white Chardonnay). The Count also brought a trolley with cheeses that Gianni would taste: French Roquefort and English Blue Stilton; both paired with a 12-year-old Port wine. Finally, raspberry aspic, coffee and Hennessy cognac were served.
A more abundant and equally singular and unusual meal for our senses awaited us after dinner.
Mia Malkova
Renae Erica
Poke Bella
