Nancy Barone

Ciao, bella, want a rrride?’

I ignored the slowing Ferrari that had materialized next to me on the deserte

Castellino, in the province of Siena, the place we had chosen to be our home almost eight years ago, could not have been more idyllic. It was a vast, bucolic setting of endless patchwork hills of greens, yellows and russets that c

That was the only thing I never liked about Julian being a writer. And the fact that to him running A Taste of Tuscany had become secondary.

That was the only thing I never liked about Julian being a writer. And the fact that to him running A Taste of Tuscany had become secondary