My friend Giacomo's wedding in Montevarchi went well. It could have gone much worse. He was handsome, kind, well-mannered, good, elegant, smiling. I can't say what I think about the wife because Dad told me that everyone reads what I write. So if anyone wants to know what I—Benedetta Mattei—think, they'll have to call me. And I'll tell them exactly what I think, loud and clear. Anyway, the Mass was beautiful and I sang along with the choir. Then we had an excellent dinner and danced a lot. I had fun. But there's a great big "but." I can't write it. I'll say it in person, very gladly indeed.
Last year Giacomo's sister Betta got married. To Alessandro. I was at that wedding and I was very happy. I liked that one a lot. Now Betta and Alessandro live together and that's nice. But now Giacomo's gone too, and his parents and sister Sara—who is my best friend—are the only ones left at home. I call there almost every evening. Before there were almost always five of us. Now there are three. I don't much like this. Not one bit.
They promised that when I go to Montevarchi they'll take me to see Giacomo's house—and his wife's, though I'm not even going to say her name: Chiara. This is something that absolutely has to happen because I, as best friend to everyone, need to see the house properly. The rooms, the kitchen, the bathroom. How else would I know? It needs to happen right away.
Weddings are beautiful, but they have to be done right. The Mass is very beautiful: everyone dresses up nicely and almost everyone buys a new outfit. Then everyone kisses. Then you eat a lot, especially at the appetizers. There's always cake and the waiters ask if you want more slices. In Montevarchi they dance. I like that. I'm a very good dancer and I never get tired. And this time it was better to dance than get angry. Because everyone knows perfectly well that Giacomo was supposed to marry me. None of this nonsense with someone else. He made a real mistake. But now it's too late, or maybe it's not—I honestly don't know.