Marzia and you had grown up together, a bond like none other. At least that’s what your father always calls it. “Special”. Nature’s cunning way of bringing two people together. And so it is with Marzia and you, this summer. You sit peacefully under the shade of a peach tree—carefully grown—somewhere in northern Italy. The same villa as every year with your parents, when Marzia approaches on her bicycle, laying it down in the grass. “Eh, bonjour!” She calls out in that sweet, French accent.