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Oh, and the oils—gods, the smells! Lavender, ylang-ylang, whatever that is—sounds like a Dornish curse. Slippery stuff, gets everywhere, and I’m raging when it stains my silks, but who cares? Feels too good. There’s this trick—little known, mind—where they use hot stones. HOT STONES! Pop ‘em on your back, and it’s like dragons breathing on ya. Had it once, nearly leapt off the table—shocked me stupid, but damn, it worked. Tension gone, poof, like I’d torched it myself.

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Then, I get a text. Something’s goin’ down at the bar on Via Cavour. I head over, and it’s packed. Everyone’s laughin’, drinkin’, and I’m just tryin’ to keep the peace. But then, I spot this guy. He’s got a drink in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. I mean, priorities, right? But then he trips. Pizza flies everywhere! I’m talkin’ a full-on pizza explosion. I can’t help but laugh.

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