Now separated from my husband after 15 years, I was whirling around London like a middle-aged dervish.
I flirted with men. I slept with an old friend. I had a casual relationship with the gorgeous 27-year-old Eliot. I kissed a man I had just met on the subway, on the way home from a night out.
In short, I acted like a cliché divorcee (even though my relationship hadn’t materialized yet). It was fun, but I acted like a 48-year-old teenager.
So when my lawyer friend suggested I come to her firm’s summer party, I jumped at the chance. I needed to meet a good lawyer, preferably a divorce lawyer, considering the expenses I had.
Sunshine and Aperol spritz were on the menu at the Chambers’ summer party… but was there anything more romantic in Annabel Bond’s plans?
Annabel (not her real name) found the perfect staycation romance with Italian waiter Alessandro
A much more sensible proposal than Eliot’s, whose hold on me I was desperate to loosen.
The party was in full swing when we arrived. The cobbled square was decorated with lights and the bar was awash with Aperol Spritz. The high earners took off their jackets and loosened their ties. It was a hot night, it was summer in the city!
My friend introduced me to a lawyer who was my own age. He was shorter than me… and he was wearing a wedding ring. He was charming, but the conversation quickly died down.
It’s time for a cocktail. There must be someone here who isn’t married. The lawyers clustered in animated groups, talking about business and office politics. There wasn’t much flirting, at least not with a stranger.
But no matter, the cocktail was what I was looking for and the DJ was playing my favourite song. There were only three people dancing, one of them was a tall guy, about 30 years old, with a tight suit jacket and a three-day beard. His tight polo shirt showed off a slim physique.
His name was Alessandro and he took me by the hand and spun me around until I didn’t care that we were the only ones dancing. Then he bought me a drink and after some more dancing he led me to a dark corner of the patio.
“Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” I asked.
“So my boss doesn’t see me,” he replied.
He was expecting to see an older lawyer, but Alessandro pointed at the restaurant manager. Instead of attracting someone who had been called to the bar, he had attracted someone who worked in a bar. But so what! An Italian waiter, on a hot summer night… now that’s a fantasy of a different kind. He probably wasn’t ready to settle down with a lawyer yet anyway.
Alessandro explained that even though he was done for the night, it was unprofessional to be with one of the guests.
“But I couldn’t resist you,” she added softly.
At the end of the evening he pushed me hard against the wall and shoved his tongue just as hard into my mouth. Then he asked for my phone number.
“You’re very beautiful,” he said. And he was very handsome, although his aftershave was a little strong.
Well, why not? I thought. It could be my summer fling in London. I hadn’t behaved like this since I was 20, but I was outside the safety net of my marriage and there were no rules for me now. Anyway, maybe Eliot was doing exactly the same thing. The following week I met Alessandro again, at a café near his house. I was grateful that we stayed away from deep, meaningful conversations. I didn’t want to talk about my ex or my three children. We hadn’t met up to chat anyway.
“For years, my divorced friends had been telling me about their crazy sex lives,” says Annabel. “I used to find it exhausting, but now I was one of them.” (Photo posed by models)
I still couldn’t believe what I was doing, though. My divorced friends had been regaling me with their crazy sex lives for years – I’d thought it sounded exhausting before, that I’d rather be lying in bed with a cup of tea, but now I was one of them.
Alessandro’s apartment was tiny, spotless and filled with white furniture. He wasted no time in leading me to his Ikea bed. I liked his authority and his complete lack of shame: it helped me to let go of my own.
I knew I wouldn’t see him again, so I didn’t care that I was older than him or that I might slouch in places he didn’t expect. But now I went to the gym; while I was wobbly, I was also strong. I felt better than ever.
“I want to focus on your game,” Alessandro purred. No Englishman had ever said that to me before, and that was fine by me. I told him exactly what I liked and didn’t like; I was so turned on it was easy to be bossy.
Alessandro was the perfect combination of dominance and eagerness to please. If he had more stamina than me, it was only for about ten minutes, and he seemed genuinely excited to have me in his bed.
Afterwards, as I drove back home, my heart ached a little, but I wasn’t about to bring Alessandro into my life. It was the perfect romance for a staycation.
Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.