"God, y'all are too fucking cute." The drunk woman at Di's left gave her a bleary eyed glance. She was older, in her forties maybe, and had a martini ...glass sitting in front of her."I'm sorry?" Jason asked with an angry burr in his voice."Are you here for a destination wedding?" Her bitterness was softened by the tear that slid down the crease of her nose until she wiped it off with the back of her hand. The jewelry and clothing she wore looked expensive, but Di didn't know enough to judge."No,. The pair of German female students sitting next to her was chattering away talking about the pros and cons of Italian men and what was it about them that made them so romantic toward the foreign visitors to their country. She joined in with them with a phony story about how she managed to get laid inside the Vatican itself behind a statue of some unknown Saint that she didn’t recognize. Her description of the man’s sexual equipment had the girls on the edge of their seats wondering what might. It had tall windows with ornate guards, and a polished copper plate fixed on the wrought-iron gate engraved with her name – as if everyone for fifty miles around didn’t know who she was. It was far too big for a widow-woman who’s children had grown-up and departed, but she insisted that someone of status – a person such as herself – needed to maintain a home that impressed. And anyway, Boroclough’s had lived there for so long it was now something of a family heirloom. The inside of the house. Smelled the incense.It had been a long time since she'd been in a church. She was conscious of the inappropriateness of her summer dress, with its bare shoulders and too-high hem. It was too warm to wear panties. The church ladies had stared at her.But it was so hot in the sanctuary; a line of perspiration gathered at the base of her neck, under her short red hair, and ran, tickling, down her spine.She hadn't taken her eyes off the priest throughout the mass, in case intense concentration would.