The Masseria Baglio del Marchese was once owned by a wealthy man. A man who desired money, and power. It was one of twelve Oceanside resorts that he owned, but it was the only destination that had once been a castle. He also owned two businesses, his own private jet, and three mansions; one in La Rochelle, Valencia, and London. His wife was a forgiving and naïve woman, who took his long trips abroad with a certain gullible faith. She preferred to live in Marsala, at the Masseria Baglio del Marchese, where the wind was always cool, and the waves were always playful.
    She bore her husband twin girls, and one son, whom he tried desperately to take under his wing. But his son Nevio would have no part in it. Nevio’s head was in the clouds, he had no desire to exchange currencies, or calculate profits. He enjoyed creativity, and spent a lot of his time admiring landscapes, or writing songs about muses and movement. The Masseria Baglio del Marchese was his fathers’ last attempt at persuading his interests, and in his will, entitled him ownership. Nevio loved the Masseria Baglio del Marchese just as much as his mother had, but its grandeur had lost much of its’ brilliance when his mother was no longer alive to enjoy it.

    Nevio sits on the patio of his private suite, once a haven for him and his mother. With idle interest, he strums a guitar, singing nonsensical words indolently. This is what he does when he’s trying to concentrate. He hears a knock at his door, and answers;
    “Come in!” he shouts, and then sings it over a few times, to the rhythm of his melody.
    “Mr. Angesell,”
    “Camilla, for the last time, it’s Nevio. I’m not my father, I don’t need to illustrate authority.”
    “Sorry,” she says, and blushes. Nevio is used to women acting bashful around him. “I wanted to inform you about a woman staying at the resort.”
    “What about her?”
    “Well, she doesn’t seem to know where she is. I found her wandering up the beach, as naked as Venus, like some sort of an ocean maiden. She might be another victim of date rape, like that teenager a while back…I gave her a room to stay in, I didn’t think you’d mind at all.”
    “No, of course not. What room is she in?” Nevio asks.
    “I put her in 205, close to where my room is. There’s something about her, I just can’t explain it.”
    “I’ll go see her right away. Is that all Camilla?” he turns to her to see her blushing again. It isn’t until he gets up that he realizes that he isn’t wearing a shirt. He pulls on a long sleeved button up, and heads towards room 205, guitar still in hand.

The End

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