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not offering him a drink yet, I said as I stood up and walked over to the door. I was going to get a bottle of wine: I would be back immediately.

Not only was mom worried about the book, I thought as I walked to the kitchen. She had pointed out to me that at my age most girls were already engaged or married. It was time I stopped treating guys like brothers or with exaggerated criticism. She certainly didn't push me to throw myself into men's arms, no, but it was time that I began to show myself more available, to consider a possible husband.

I opened the frigidaire, took a bottle of wine, closed the door with a certain violence. I wanted to live in peace, I told my mother. I had really loved Juan and I wanted to marry him and instead I had supplanted him for Enrico and Enrico, as soon as he came out of the enchanted atmosphere of Capri, he had replaced me for the Venezuelan jungle and when I was able to almost forget him and I was about to fall in love with Niki, it happened. Niki was dead.

I took a tray and placed the bottle and two glasses on it. I wanted to live in peace, I preferred writing to men, I told my mother. When I was writing I had no more problems. And in order not to be continually interrupted and distracted, I had decided to retire to San Michele and to make writing the purpose of my life.

This had frightened my mother a lot. For some time I might have felt content and happy, she said. But then the day would come when I would feel lonely and regret it and it would be too late to turn back. We had made a pact: for a year, a whole year I would go to the places where more people met, I would accept every invitation, I would look at men with a willing eye. If I did not meet anyone suitable as a husband within the year, I would be free to retire to write. I was satisfied with this pact of ours:...