Scarlett's POV"My grandmother", Tomasso continued at full volume, somehow navigating impossibly narrow streets while maintaining eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, "she used to say that Florence streets are like the veins in your body, all connected, all alive, all going somewhere important! Ha! She was a wise woman, God rest her soul, though she did burn the polenta every Sunday without fail for sixty years! Sixty years! How do you burn polenta for sixty years?"Despite everything, despite the shattered heart and the lies and the rage burning through my chest, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch."I have no idea," I said."Neither do I! My grandfather never complained. God bless that man! Now, American lady, you are very beautiful, but you look very sad. Did someone hurt you?"The question was so direct, so unexpectedly kind, that tears pricked my eyes again."Something like that.""Ah." Tomasso nodded sagely, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck with inches to spare. "Men.
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