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“Wonderful,” she griped.
We passed through the village of Padola on the way to my cabin. It’s a small ski resort during the winter, but during the summer, fewer than a thousand people live there.
My place was up in the woods. As soon as we turned off the main highway onto a gravel road, Lucia freaked out.
“What’s that?!” she cried out.
“What’s what?”
“That crunching, popping sound!”
“We’re driving on gravel.”
She looked at me like I was speaking Mongolian. “Like – little rocks?!”
“Yes – haven’t you ever driven on gravel before?”
“NO, dumbass! I live on an island where you get around by boat! When the fuck would I drive around on a lot of little rocks?!”
I shook my head and sighed.
If she didn’t like the gravel road, she was going to love the cabin.
The gravel quickly gave way to a dirt road – and the car’s shocks were pretty bad.
“What is this?! Why is it so horrible now?!” she cried out.
“We’re on a dirt road.”
“I thought dirt was soft!”
I didn’t say anything and just let her yammer on.
After about 10 minutes, we finally reached my place. I pulled up just outside the front porch.
Lucia sat there, eyes wide, staring at the house in the car’s headlights.
“…are you kidding me?” she asked, stunned.
“Nope. This is it.”
It was a one-story with a sloping tin roof covered with dead pine needles, a crumbling brick chimney off to the side, weathered wood planks on the exterior, and a small front porch with a rickety railing. Everything was built on short columns of stones so that mice would have a harder time getting into the floorboards.
Basically, it was a rustic wood cabin out in the middle of nowhere.
Not something a spoiled rich girl from Venice would care for…
Which was evident from what came next.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” she screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”
“It’s where we’re staying.”
“I am not staying in a third-world SHACK!”
I gripped the steering wheel and gritted my teeth. “It is not a third-world shack – ”
“Who the fuck would live here?! Inbred mountain weirdoes?!”
