As they raced through the Italian countryside the sun fully set upon them, transforming the sky from pink into the swirling milky blue of Van Gogh’s starry night. The stars were more phenomenal here than Keira had ever seen in her life, bright, clear, numerous, like a billion blinking flashlights.

The Vespa continued up the hills, passing cute stone villas built into the mountainside. The air was so fresh here. For the first time, Keira could really feel fall in the air. Not a New York fall that was chilly and rainy and hinted at the snow to come, but a sleepy Italian fall that was warm, like the embers of a dying fire. A farewell to summer.

Finally, Cristiano slowed his Vespa at the side of the road.

“We’re here,” he told her.

Keira looked first at the beautiful house, an ochre-washed villa with a flower-filled yard, just like the houses she’d seen in Positano. Then she looked the other way, turning her head toward the gorgeous, unfathomable view. The lights of Florence twinkled below her, the stars above, and adding to the beautiful display were all the flickering flames of people in graveyards across the city celebrating those they had loved and lost.

Cristiano helped Keira from the bike and took her in his arms. They stayed that way for a long time, together, basking in the feel of each other’s bodies, the warmth and togetherness.

“I’m nervous,” Keira confessed.

“Don’t be,” Cristiano said. “They will love you.”

He moved her gently out of his arms and pressed the most tender, reassuring kiss upon her lips. Keira’s whole body fluttered from the sensation. Then Cristiano put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a sideways embrace. He walked her through the garden gate and up the stony path. When he reached the front door, Cristiano produced a key and opened it.

Keira almost squealed aloud at the sight of the interior of Cristiano’s parents’ home. Their style was impeccable.

The front door led straight into a vast living room, with traditional tiled flooring, two large, crisp white couches facing one another, numerous rugs, and an enormous fireplace that was probably the height of Keira herself. To her left was a large white brick arch that lead to a kitchen that gleamed with cleanliness. Another arch to her right showed a dining room, as clean and bright as the other rooms, with a vaulted glass ceiling and a gorgeous walnut table big enough for a banquet. Straight ahead, the third and final archway led to a corridor that contained a winding staircase leading up—to the bedrooms, Keira presumed—and a glass double doorway that showed glimpses of a stunning courtyard covered in ivy. Keira could see the shadows of dancing flames flickering on the walls. Candelabras lined the terrace, but the dancing shadows must be coming from a bonfire just out of Keira’s line of sight.

“They will be in the backyard,” Cristiano told her. “They always are when the weather is fair.”