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Dancing on Sunday Afternoons
By: Linda CardilloHarlequin Romance eBooks Imprint: Harlequin Everlasting
Format: Adobe Encrypted (DRM)
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Reading letters written to her grandmother decades before, Cara Serafini finally learns the great secret, the triumph, of Giulia's life—the love she shared with her first husband, Paolo.
It's a love that began when Giulia left the Italian village of her birth and came to New York, where Paolo Serafini captured her heart…and took her dancing on Sunday afternoons.
And as Cara discovers, it's a love that's never ended—and never will.
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| Title of Harlequin Romance eBook: Dancing on Sunday Afternoons | |
| Release Date: 02-01-2007 | |
| Publisher: Harlequin Everlasting |
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
| Parent title | Dancing on Sunday Afternoons |
|---|---|
| Encrypted (DRM) | Yes |
| SKU | 9785551599449 |
| File size | 1211 |
| Security | n/a |
| Printing | Not allowed |
| Copying | Not allowed |
| Read aloud | No Sys requirements Download reader |
| Devices | Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin |
| Note | Excellent navigation features are available via Adobe such as bookmarks and a quick access table of contents. Text search is easily accessible. An Adobe DRM-protected file is different than a pdf file in that it uses Adobe DRM (Digital Rights Management) technology, which authors and publishers use to protect their content from illegal online distribution and to set certain privileges such as restrictions on copying and printing. |
Dancing on Sunday Afternoons
Two Husbands Giulia D'Orazio 1983
I had two husbands--Paolo and Salvatore.
Salvatore and I were married for thirty-two years. I still live in the house he bought for us; I still sleep in our bed.All around me are the signs of our life together. My bedroom window looks out over the garden he planted. In the middle of the city,he coaxed tomatoes,peppers,zucchini--even grapes for his wine--out of the ground. On weekends, he used to drive up to his cousin's farm in Waterbury and bring back manure. In the winter, he wrapped the peach tree and the fig tree with rags and black rubber hoses against the cold, his massive, coarse hands gentling those trees as if they were his fragile-skinned babies. My neighbor, Dominic Grazza, does that for me now. My boys have no time for the garden.
In the front of the house, Salvatore planted roses.The roses I take care of myself.They are giant,cream-colored,fragrant.In the afternoons,I like to sit out on the porch with my coffee,protected from the eyes of the neighborhood by that curtain of flowers.
Salvatore died in this house thirty-five years ago. In the last months, he lay on the sofa in the parlor so he could be in the middle of everything. Except for the two oldest boys, all the children were still at home and we ate together every evening. Salvatore could see the dining-room table from the sofa, and he could hear everything that was said."I'm not dead, yet," he told me."I want to know what's going on."
When my first grandchild, Cara, was born, we brought her to him, and he held her on his chest, stroking her tiny head. Sometimes they fell asleep together.
Over on the radiator cover in the corner of the parlor is the portrait Salvatore and I
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