A Lucchese Love Story
Reclaiming the unedited version of our proposal story
Dear Hearts,
With Venus and Valentine still lingering in the air this week, I thought I’d share with you a piece I wrote a few months ago as a submission to Italy Segreta, my favorite online editorial celebrating all things Italy and La Dolce Vita. My husband and I had just celebrated our wedding in September and, shortly after, a call for public submissions on the subject of love interlaced with the Bel Paese landed in my inbox. I had a story! I emailed in my 600-words-or-less to be published anonymously and a few weeks later — on our two month anniversary — there it was in their weekly Amore publication.
But it wasn’t my voice.
Words had been added, taken away and substituted — some I’d never use — and the tone felt almost unrecognizable, juvenile even. My heart sank. All of the consideration required to trim down one of the biggest stories of my life thus far into a mere handful of paragraphs suddenly felt erased. My excitement to share this story and to have my writing published evaporated as I read it through.
Today I am redeeming this heart-piece here, in a safe space, where my words remain my own, in honor of love, in remembrance of this treasured chapter of my life, and in protest to the Instagram reel I tried to post for Valentine’s Day that glitched and now collects dust in my drafts. (Another reminder to self that IG has lost its luster.)
And so, still in 600 short words, but all my own…
In September of 2022 we spent three and a half weeks traveling through my ancestral homeland, filling our bellies and hearts with the beauty and pleasures of one of the most magnificent countries in the world. It was September in Italy and we were floating blissfully in the liminality of the seasons. The hot and sticky of late Summer had officially given way to the pleasantness of early Autumn, where daily afternoon gelato could still be enjoyed and also, truffles.
We had sojourned from the oh-so-grand Grand Canal of Venezia to the bustling, awe-worthy artistry of Florence and now found ourselves in my ancestral region of Lucca. It was our last day and the feeling was bittersweet. Tomorrow, the train would take us to the coast and then south, ending with a crescendo in Roma.
We arrived in Lucca the day before La Luminara di Santa Croce and over a memorable aperitivo at our corner spot, watched the little Piagio trucks install frames of votive candles around every window. In the following days we ate and walked and ate some more, exercised our subpar Italiano with the nonnas at the water fountains, and gasped at the expansive Tuscan landscape from every vantage point we could climb.
In the late afternoon on our final day, I decided to stay alla casa for a rest and a shower before dinner. He said he had a secret errand to run and would return in an hour. Leading up to this moment, we had casually shopped for rings along Florence’s Ponte Vecchio and paused at every gioielleria window in town. After nearly ten years together, marriage was a topic we discussed openly as a ‘maybe someday’. Perhaps it was l’amore in the air or the vino, but it was now very much on the mind. So, in honesty, as he closed the apartment door behind him and set off solo into town, I thought to myself, “is he doing what I think he’s doing?”. It was five days before our anniversary and signs were pointing to this being one to remember. He arrived back at the apartment nearly thirty minutes late with no evidence of shopping bags, but he had made a reservation at the corner spot where we’d enjoyed aperitivo on our first day.
A small outdoor, candlelit table and a somewhat suspiciously gracious staff awaited us. Our drinks arrived with a bowl of taralli. We sipped and held a hand across the table, recapping our time in this Tuscan gem. Then he took both of my hands tightly in his. They trembled gently as he spoke softly of our shared life — the homes we’ve made, our shared joys and losses, the bright future of potential ahead — and before I could process what was unfolding, he slid from his seat and knelt beside me, presenting a matching pair of locally crafted hammered wedding bands, our initials inscribed inside. Our anniversary was still nearly a week away, but the magic of Lucca called for this to be the place, and now to be the time.
As if on cue, Prosecco arrived. We forwent our dinner reservation down the street and instead relished in the glow of the moment, each recounting our side of the afternoon’s events. I glanced around shyly at the sidewalk peppered with other guests and to my pleasant surprise, they were still chattering over their wine and stracciatella. This moment was all our own.
And there, eight-thousand miles from our little island home, in the small town of generations before me, we both chose to say the big yes to doing life together.
How beautiful. I felt every word.
This is such a delightful nugget of a love story! I’m so sorry your words were changed in publication. The ones you chose, perfectly capture the sweetness and simplicity of your proposal story. I felt like I was right beside you, savoring in the ambiance and food of Tuscany!