TWENTY-THREE
Italy for the next ten days provided time to unwind and set new goals for myself. I saw things moving around a little for me. I wanted to make a few changes. I thought of ideas on ways to scale my business. I wanted to plan a few adventures. It only took a two hour flight to reach peak clarity in my life. Kind of crazy. Our time was never guaranteed, I knew this after my dad died. I decidedly wouldn’t waste another day living in any shadows, hiding from myself, ignoring big feelings, or waiting around for something I could get myself. I committed to feeling the feelings, chasing the dreams, prioritizing myself and choosing to be happy.
Italy never disappointed, and the Amalfi Coast followed suit. Even as the sun was heavy in the sky, the Amalfi Coast was like a dream come to life. As my taxi wound down the narrow cliffside roads, I couldn’t take my eyes off the turquoise water stretching endlessly below. Whitewashed buildings seemed to tumble down the hills toward the sea, their balconies dripped with bursts of bougainvillea. The pastel colors of the changing sky decorated the streets, much like all the famous paintings created over time. The salty, sun-warmed breeze filled the air, carrying hints of citrus.
The moment I stepped out of the car, I felt it—that sense of rightness, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I stood outside Hotel Luna Convento, a historical hotel perched high above Amalfi town. The creamy stucco walls gleamed in the sunlight, accented with hand-painted ceramic tiles in shades of blue and gold. A sleepy golden retriever lounged near the front steps, wagging its tail lazily as I walked by.
The hotel was built in the most enchanting position overlooking the bay of Amalfi. Stunning views from every point. Saint Francis of Assisi, founded and built it in 1222, originally as a convent. Europe had a magical ability to intertwine hundreds of years of history into building used in modern times. If a woman felt the calling to be a nun, take the vows of chastity, renounce all worldly possessions and devote herself to prayer, religious studies and helping those in society with the most need, at least this view was spectacular.
I could barely find my way into the hotel with all the beautiful views catching my eye. To the right of the main entrance is a private chapel area that looked original to the building. Some women were bustling in and out of the courtyard to the inside of the chapel for what looks like a wedding or something. I saw one woman carrying white and pale pink blousy dahlias into the chapel, so romantic. Planning and having a wedding here seemed like a fairytale.
I made it inside, the lobby was a perfect blend of historic charm and modern elegance, with high arched ceilings, polished terracotta floors and a view that took my breath away. It was effortless perfection. The scent of lemon blossoms in the air and the faint sound of the waves below was remarkable. I couldn’t have envisioned this even if I tried. Big windows and terrace doors were opened enticing the outside wonder and sunshine to fill the inside with a soft breeze and intoxicating happiness.
“Buona giornata, Signoria. Welcome to Hotel Luna Convento!”
I’m greeted by a petite brunette with bright brown eyes and an energy so infectious, it was impossible not to smile back.
“I’m Sophie. You must be Charlie Monroe,”
she said, her accent lilting. “We’ve been waiting for you.
“Hi, Sophie,”
I replied, instantly charmed by her warmth. “That’s intuitive! You have an amazing place here.”
“To be honest, for today’s check in you are the only woman under fifty—so it only took deductive reasoning. Thank you, I love it. Wait until you see your room,”
she said with a grin, picking up one of my bags. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”
She led me to my Suite Luna—The moment she opened the door, my breath caught in my throat. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a view so stunning it almost didn’t seem real—the endless expanse of the sea glittering under the late afternoon sun.
It was grand and luxurious, with romantic details that made my heart flutter. The room itself was perfect. The bed was draped with a canopy of sheer white fabric paired it white linens and soft blue accents. The room was adorned with intricate tiles and antique furniture— that gave it a clean, coastal feel. My private terrace, offered an uninterrupted view of the sparkling blue Mediterranean Sea, complete with a cozy seating area and a plunge pool overlooking the cliffs. To be honest, I never once had a plunge pool at any of the hotels I stayed in and I have checked in and out of hundreds of places. This might be the perfect place to lounge with a bottle of wine or cool off in the evening.
Stepping out the door onto the terrace, I noticed a tower at the top of one side of the bay.
“That tower was built in the late 1500’s—to guard the Bay of Amalfi from pirates!”
Sophie answered my question before I even had a chance to ask. She noticed it caught my attention.
“Are you serious, pirates?”
I’m not sure why, but the idea of pirates seemed to add a sense of naughty fun to an already alluring place. Pirates gave bad behavior a sort of pass—at least in my mind.
The breeze brushed my cheeks with soft salty kisses and the sun warmed my skin. It felt like pouring happiness into my soul. I’m not sure if any other moment in my life felt this great. No stimulation. No entertainment. Just being present to the grandeur of being in Amalfi.
I found the hotel pool—and there was no way to miss it. Looking down at the sea, the pool was built into an outcropping. It was purely medieval surrounded by the rocky sloping walls. The stirring indigo sea below made some noise making sure to get the appropriate amount of attention. Stunning.
“It’s beautiful,”
I whispered.
“I knew you’d love it,”
Sophie said, leaning against the doorframe. “And if you’re looking for places to explore, I’ve got some recommendations for you.”
I turned back, smiling. “Tell me everything.”
Sophie launched into a list, her excitement contagious, “To start, here in the hotel the restaurant serves amazing Mediterranean food. I recommend the Moussaka or Paella. We also have a popular piano bar that stays open very late with a large panoramic terrace—tourists from other hotels often spend evenings here. It’s a popular place. Ristorante Marina Grande is perfect for fresh seafood and an elegant, beachside setting. I recommend Bar Pasticceria Pansa in the town square for the best sfogliatelle and limoncello spritz in the area. Have you had one of those before?”
“Limoncello, yes! Too many of those on numerous occasions, but I don’t think I’ve had the other. Sounds like a pastry?”
“Yes—sfogliatelle is a traditional Italian pasty with layers of flaky dough like a croissant, but it’s filled with ricotta and zesty lemon—finished with a dusting of powdered sugar. It’s so delicious. You have to try it,”
she delightfully explained, the love for the sweet treat apparent just from her words.
“Absolutely, I need to try one!”
I agreed with her.
“Da Gemma, a cozy little trattoria, for homemade pasta and lemon risotto that seriously will changed your life,”
she promised. I wanted to bottle her energy up and sprinkle it on me when I needed a pep.
Sophie continued, “And for sunset drinks, Bar La Scogliera, perched right on the edge of a rocky ledge with views that would win any battle.”
She had an easy air to her. She was relatable, likable and the kind of woman you wanted to spend a fun night out with because she wouldn’t steer you wrong. She even handed mea hand-drawn map, little hearts marking her favorite spots.
“This is amazing,”
I said, tucking the map into my bag. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to love it here,”
Sophie said, her voice warm. “Amalfi has a way of wrapping itself around people. You’ll see. Would you like me to have a meal and wine sent to your room? Or do you have other plans?”
“That actually sounds perfect. A quiet evening is just what I need. Thank you so much for being wonderful. Are you from the States?”
Sophie laughed. I definitely wasn’t the first person to ever ask her this question. Her English was perfect, but so was her Italian. I heard her when I first came into the hotel talking to another person on staff in the lobby—flawless. Besides my sister and myself, I had only met a few people ever with this kind of efficiency switching between languages.
“Yes and no. My parents met during a summer holiday—a casual hookup. My dad is from Southern California and my mom is from Trieste. They never married but have always remained good friends. They raised me together without missing a beat. It’s a weird situation, but a lucky one for me. I enjoyed the best of both worlds. I’m going to have the food and wine delivered in about twenty minutes. Please, feel free to call if you think of anything else you need. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“I hope so,”
I told her as she left my suite. I really meant it. She had the kind of energy that I loved being around. Like Lena, she had that free spirit exuding from the inside out.
When she left, I walked back out onto the terrace, letting the sunlight and sea breeze wash over me. I leaned against the railing, taking it all in. In this moment, I didn’t ever want to leave this very spot.
I decided to set up my work space on my balcony. The sea breeze tickled my skin as I worked on my laptop. The Amalfi Coast stretched out before me, a breathtaking blend of azure waters and vibrant greenery. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to be productive, and yet, the quiet hum of the city below added an electric vibrancy to the serenity. It was a strange but delightful contradiction, and I savored every second of it.
Taking a break from work, I browsed some living options for when I returned to New York City. I didn’t really want to spend too much time on it. It was always frustrating. Nothing seemed to call out to me. Right here, this was more than a beautiful place—it felt like a dream. Everything felt weightless. No real stress. Problems. Just a beautiful landscape, warm weather, salty air and all the food and wine I could want.
I snapped a picture of the view and texted it to Lena.
Me: Wish you were here.
Me: Call soon?
I poured myself another glass of wine, savoring its rich, velvety flavor, and decided to test out the plunge pool. Halfway through my glass of Tintore di Tramonti—I was told it’s a local treasure of Amalfi—my body began to melt, any tension slowly uncoiling. But as the wine worked its magic, the sensual moments from the last twenty-four hours surged back, pulsing through me like an unrelenting tide.
Luca.
I replayed every second over and over, and just the memory of it had my body responding in ways I couldn’t ignore. How could all of that have happened only last night—and again this morning? It felt like a lifetime of pleasure, stolen and condensed into a handful of moments in Paris.
One man had managed to shatter the walls I’d built and make me realize just how much I’d been neglecting my own needs. Clearly.
Part of me wanted to be furious about it—how had I let things get so stagnant?—while the other part of me craved nothing less than that level of passion. Could I even articulate this to someone else in the future? How does I explain that a night with an Italian guy I met in Paris—not just any night, but an earth-shaking, soul-stirring one—had completely rewritten my standards?
Do I casually drop, “By the way, I had a life-altering experience with a man named Luca…in Paris…long story. But, just so we’re clear, you’ll need to meet this very specific benchmark?”
Paris had been thrilling and intense, but here? Here, I could jus be. Exist. That was enough. The Italians moved through life differently than the French. I adored the culture. I felt calm from the inside. Paris was the shock to my system I needed to find myself again. Sometimes you have to lose yourself in the world to find out what you’re made of…
The thought made me laugh, but my amusement was cut short by the sharp ping of my phone from the edge of the pool. The sudden sound startled me, and I splashed water onto the tiles as I reached for it. Lena?
Luca: I hope you have a bottle of local red, a view better than Paris, and a reason to never leave.
Luca: Checking that you arrived safely.
Me: Yes to and just a different beautiful view.
Me: It wouldn’t take much to convince me to stay here. It’s pretty perfect.
Luca: It’s missing a tour guide with impeccable taste in wine and conversation.
Me: Bold.
Luca: Am I wrong?
Me: I’ll let you after I check out the locals—get to know the town.
Luca: I am THE local. Don’t get in too much trouble—I’d hate to have to rescue you.
Me: Sounds like you’re reaching for an excuse.
Luca: You’re not wrong.
Me: I’m not looking for a hero.
Luca: I just might be the villain…
My pulse quickened, heat blooming low in my belly. His words were casual, teasing
even, but they carried that signature energy of his—effortless charm.