Amapola

Just like in the morning, I wake up to Salvatore's kisses and gentle touches. I think I could get used to this, but I know the reality is quite different. I'm afraid of the moment when all this calmness will end, and I know it will.
A fairy tale is all I ever wanted, but Salvatore was far from being a prince charming—that wasn't his essence.
"How can you sleep so much, Bella?"
"I think you drained all my energy," I reply, my voice still rough from sleep.
"Well, make sure you recover it. I've given you enough time." I know what he's referring to, and I must confess I’m eager for it too.
I put on denim shorts and a loose t-shirt and head out to the terrace. I admire the man lying on the chaise. He really is a prince—sometimes, I think he's the prince of darkness, but that only adds to his beauty, giving him an air of even greater dominance.
"Can I go to the kitchen?" I ask, grabbing his attention. It was already nighttime, and I needed to start cooking soon.
"Of course, I'll come with you. I dismissed the staff," he says, grabbing his laptop and phone before we leave the room.
I admire every place we pass through, but the kitchen surprises me the most. It's not rustic like the rest of the estate, but modern, despite having a wood stove and some older items. The kitchen is fully equipped.
On the large counter, all the ingredients I had listed are laid out, along with pots and other utensils I'll need. I’m grateful to whoever prepared everything for me. Judging by the materials, they probably knew what dish I was making, which made my job easier, saving me time.
I tie on an apron and gather my hair into a ponytail before starting. Salvatore sits at the table, opening his laptop, and I understand that he’s going to work while I cook. Just having him around is enough for me.
"Want a glass of wine?" he asks, showing one of the bottles we brought from the vineyard.
"Better not," I explain. "I’ll join you during dinner, but right now I might mess up the recipe." He smirks, pouring himself a glass and focusing on his work. I do my best to focus on mine, making sure he doesn't distract me.
I chop the ingredients for the filling—onion, rosemary, nutmeg, salt, and other spices—and put them on the stove with the meats that will serve as the filling for the pasta: pork fillet and chicken breast, both cut into small pieces. I add a bit of pepper and set it to cook.
As the delicious smell of the filling fills the kitchen, I turn my attention to making the pasta: eggs, flour, and water. The ingredients are simple and few, but after kneading and rolling it out with a machine, I know it will turn out perfect. Back home, when I made this dish once, it took me forever since I had to roll it by hand. I mentally thank the machine for making things easier—I really love this dish.
Once the filling is done, I add an egg, breadcrumbs, and ham, mixing everything with a large spoon. I cover it with plastic wrap and let it rest and cool for an hour.
I make a traditional tomato sauce and, after rolling and cutting the pasta sheets, I begin filling them. I glance over at Salvatore and see him watching me. While I was cooking, I’d completely forgotten his presence, but now I can feel his gaze pulling me like a magnet.
"What are you making?" he asks. "It smells divine."
"Tortellini di Valeggio," I say, starting to fill the pasta and finishing it with a sort of knot.
"**Nodo d'Amore?**" he asks, and I smile in response.
"Yes, the famous love knot," I say, smiling, and Salvatore stands up, walking over to where I am.
"Seems difficult," he comments casually.
"It’s not really; it just takes practice." I continue working. "Do you know the story behind this dish?" I ask, smiling.
"No."
"Would you like to hear it?" I ask, and he shrugs, sitting in front of me at the counter, so I decide to tell him.
"It's a legend from the 13th century. They say soldiers arrived at the waters of the Mincio River, and back then, actors were hired to entertain them. One of them told a story about nymphs living in those waters, who would come out at night to dance. But since they were enchanted, they would transform into ugly witches when they left the water. One of the soldiers became intrigued by the story, and that very night, while he was sleeping, he was awakened by the witches dancing. Curious, he went to them, but they fled, and as one of them ran, she dropped her cloak and transformed into a beautiful nymph in front of him. They fell in love and spent the night together, but before dawn, she had to return to the lake. As a token, she gave him a knotted handkerchief."
"Here, have some." Salvatore offers me his wine glass as I pause in the story, sharing his drink with me. I continue.
"The next day, during a celebration, he recognized his beloved, dancing before the men. She had braved the dangers to be close to him, but their glances stirred jealousy in a village woman who desired him. She revealed to everyone that there was a nymph among them, and though the soldier managed to help his love return to the river without being captured, he was imprisoned. That night, when everyone was asleep, the nymph came to him, and he decided to follow her. The jealous woman, realizing how much they loved each other, helped him escape, asking for his release. They fled to the river, and at the place where they disappeared, on the riverbank, they found a golden silk handkerchief knotted by the lovers, which became a symbol of their eternal love. That’s how the **Nodo d'Amore** came to be, forever reminding us that no love is impossible."
"You like stories," Salvatore says.

"Especially the love ones," I reply with a smile on my lips, but I don't miss his stern expression and realize he doesn't share the same thoughts as I do.
After finishing, I carry our plates to the table already set in the enormous dining hall.
"Salvatore?" I call for his attention as he pours my wine glass.
"Yes?"
"Let Amadeu and Matteu know I left their dinner on the counter."
"Why the concern for them, Amapola?" Is his voice irritated? "They can take care of themselves, they can get their own food."
"I'm sure they can." I shrug. "But since I cooked for the two of us, it didn't hurt to serve them as well. Besides, I made a lot of food, and I don't like wasting it."
"You surprise me, Ragazza," he says, staring at me.
"I like that," I reply, smiling.
Then we eat until we're satisfied. Apparently, he really liked my cooking since I saw him go back for seconds three times.
We head upstairs to the room, with another bottle of wine in hand and a tray of cannolis we brought back from the restaurant yesterday.