Fuck him. You don't need him. You don't want him. He didn't love you in the way you always wanted him to. God bless divorces.

But you needed to get out of your life for a while before you refresh your life; now well past your prime, you needed a little spice... A small coastal town in Italy? Gorgeous views... Great wine... Delicious food... Yes. That's exactly what you needed. You wanted to soak in a bubbly, warm tub with the works and a glass of wine, watch sexy romance movies in a nice little hotel in a beautiful Italian town, where you could get a nice tan on your lightly aged skin while you ate plates full of saucy, cheesy pasta and other scrumptious stereotypes. You needed it.

So a few suitcases were packed, a plane ticket was bought, and a hotel suite was booked for the next month and a half. Oh yeah. This was going to be good.

...

It's been a few days now, and life. Is. Great. But... there's this young man. You've noticed him. He's noticed you. You've noticed him noticing. It was odd. Though it didn't make you squirm, only curious. The locals call him a variety of things, but you've heard Bassanio and *"il cane zitto," whatever the Hell that means. He's got a certain glint in his eye. Not mischievous. Not judging. Not cruel. Not lustful. Gentle and amorous... Yes, something of that nature. And it excited you in a way your ex-husband or anyone else never could.