The ceiling dripped water on Cristina’s buttocks just after they finished having sex.
“Blasted pensione,” Norman said, looking over Cristina’s bronzed shoulder. “We’d better get a new camera.”
Cristina turned her back to him and got out of bed. The last thing she wanted her muscular boyfriend to see was her flabby tummy when she sat at the edge of the bed. “Not before we have dinner, Norman.”
They returned from dinner at the Piazza della Republica to the addetto at the front desk, who informed them with pursed lips that he would be most glad to give them another rom, as Mrs. Alden had complained about the noise coming from their room yet again.
“Mary Alden again,” Cristina exclaimed. “It feels like she lurks behind the curtains. She should go back to her grandchildren in Manchester and leave us in peace.”
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