The Venetian Barn
Copyright© 2026 by Paul Darkblue
Chapter 4: A New Start
After three years of that wild lifestyle, I was a ghost of the man I had been during my first happy years of marriage.
Hard work, sleepless nights, exhausting fucking sessions, and drinks were taking their toll on my body. I had lost weight. At thirty-seven, streaks of grey were appearing in my hair. The face I saw in the mirror every morning while shaving was that of an unhappy older man.
It was a cold but sunny December morning. After my usual tour around the land, I had just parked the tractor and was walking to my parents’ house to discuss some business with my father.
A commercial van was parked in front of the shed. The sign read ’Veronesi Sementi’ (’sementi’ is not a name; it is an Italian word for seeds). I knew Mr Veronesi well; he was one of our oldest and most trusted suppliers. I think he was a few years younger than my father, and they had known each other and worked together for what felt like forever.
Just that morning, I saw a cute female arse covered in military-green cargo trousers sticking out from the driver’s door. The rest of her body was buried inside the van, one knee on the seat, as she searched for something while cursing: “Shit, where the hell is the delivery note? That idiot at the warehouse must have forgotten it!”
I stepped close to the cute arse and spoke: “Hello, can I help?”
“Ah, fuck!” The girl jolted and straightened up from the van. I saw a very beautiful young woman, about five-foot-six, in her mid-twenties, with short black hair, two amazing green eyes framed by long black eyelashes, a neat little button nose, and lips that seemed to be asking to be kissed. No trace ok makeup except for some light mascara around her eye line. Over her cargo trousers, she was wearing a practical fleece jacket that suggested a perky pair of mid-sized breasts. Vapour left her lips as she breathed. Her face was somehow familiar.
The girl looked at me and smiled. Her smile was the best smile I had seen in years. It lit up her face and her eyes. “Hello, I’m Cinzia Veronesi. Sorry, you startled me. I’m here to deliver two bags of seeds, but I’m afraid the guy at the warehouse forgot to give me the delivery note. I’ll email it to you later.”
“Oh yes, sorry, Cinzia, my bad. I remember you now; you’re Giulio Veronesi’s younger daughter, aren’t you? I haven’t seen you since you were a child. I’m Maurizio Bassetti, by the way. Do you remember me? Let me help you with the bags,” I replied, taken aback by her simple, next-door girly beauty.
The smile vanished from her face, and she replied coldly: “Ah, yes. Now I see. I remember you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for the offer, but I can handle the bags myself.”
Wow, that was cold! But I didn’t give up: “Please, let me help you. I haven’t seen you in a long time, and you’ve grown into a very beautiful girl. Where have you been all these years? Come with me to my parents’ house, and we can have a coffee. I’m sure my parents will be more than happy to see you.”
She softened a bit, and perhaps blushed when I said the words “beautiful girl”. “Okay, just for a few minutes; I’d certainly appreciate a moment in the warmth and a hot coffee. It’s deadly cold today. I have to leave soon, though. I have several more deliveries to make this morning.”
We spent half an hour at my parents’ house. I learned she had studied at the local Liceo Scientifico and graduated two years earlier in Economics from Ca’ Foscari University in Venice. She was helping out with her father’s business while deciding on her future career.
She was an easy talker and funny. My parents were clearly already up to speed on her education and life, whereas I was completely in the dark. From time to time, I caught her glancing at me with a strange look. Scared? Worried? Interested? I couldn’t read her yet.
I walked her back to her van and helped her, saying, “Well, Cinzia, it was lovely to meet you again; don’t be a stranger.” She gave me the same weird look when she replied, “It was nice to see you, Maurizio. Thank you for your help and for the coffee,” then drove off while I stood watching the van disappear down toward the main road.
For the next two days, I found myself thinking about her. I checked whether any other seed deliveries were scheduled, but unfortunately none were. I even called a few of my friends to ask about her. They told me she wasn’t a party girl, which explained why I’d never seen her out at the local nightlife scene. She’d had a boyfriend since her second year at ‘Liceo’, but they broke up a few months before she graduated from university.
At the end of the second day, I called the landline at her father’s office, as I didn’t have a personal number. It was a Thursday. She answered the phone herself: “Veronesi Sementi, Cinzia speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hello Cinzia, it’s Maurizio Bassetti. I...” I started to say, but before I could get another word in, she cut me off with a tone that was far less friendly: “Ah, it’s you. I don’t have any deliveries scheduled for your farm over the next few days. What do you need? Why didn’t your employee call as usual?”
Wow, again. I could tell she didn’t like me, but I was completely blind to the reason why.
Still, I didn’t give up: “Hey Cinzia, if you treat all your father’s clients like this, you’ll lose a lot of business over the next few years,” I replied, half-jokingly. Then, before she could respond, I added: “Anyway, I’m not calling about business. I’m calling to ask if you’re free tomorrow night.”
There was a silence on the line for at least ten seconds before she replied: “No, thank you. Thank you for asking, but I’m really not into clubs, bars, or the kind of places you usually frequent. I have to go now; a customer is waiting at the counter.”
Well, she certainly seemed well informed about me.
“Wait, please, Cinzia. I wasn’t talking about clubs or anything like that. In town, there’s the premiere of the new Star Wars movie, ‘The Last Jedi’. Do you like those kinds of films? We could stop at a restaurant or a pizzeria for a quick dinner, and then go to the cinema together. It’s been a long time since I last went to the cinema, and I’d really like to see it. I’ve heard plenty of good reviews.”
“Oh, I’d actually love to see that movie, too. I’ve watched the whole Star Wars saga ... but ... I don’t know ... Let me think about it.” She sounded genuinely torn.
“Okay, Cinzia. I understand. If you already have plans for tomorrow, forget I asked. Maybe another time,” I replied, feeling a bit disappointed.
“No, that’s not the problem. In fact, I am free tomorrow ... it’s just ... Look, I’ll call you tomorrow morning, okay? Bye.” She hung up before I even had the chance to say goodbye.
The next morning, quite early, actually, my smartphone rang from an unknown number. As I swiped the green icon, I heard Cinzia’s voice: “Hello, Maurizio. Okay, deal: pick me up at my parents’ place tonight. Text me what time. I’d like pizza ... Oh shit!” and she hung up again.
‘What the fuck! This girl must have some serious issues dealing with men, especially me!’ I thought to myself.
I called the number back. The first attempt went straight to voicemail, but on the second, she picked up. “Maurizio, I just told you I agree!” she said, her tone rushed.
“Good morning to you, too, Cinzia. I got that. I only called to say hello. You know, my parents taught me that it’s good manners to return a greeting,” I replied, joking in an attempt to break the ice.
Finally, I heard her laugh. It was cheerful and warm, with a subtle, sexy edge. “Sorry! I was talking to you on the phone while driving on a delivery, and I spotted a police checkpoint up ahead. My father’s van doesn’t have Bluetooth as it’s an old model. I didn’t want to get caught talking on the phone and get fined, so I had to hang up and hide the phone. So, are we still good for tonight?”
“Of course. I’ll text you what time I’ll pick you up. Is this your personal number? I was thinking of booking tickets for the late screening at 10 PM, so we’ll have plenty of time for pizza and a proper chat beforehand. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, this is my mobile; text me here. See you later!” And with that, she hung up again.
Later that afternoon, around 4:30 PM, I had just texted Cinzia, ‘6:30 PM at your place. M.’ when one of my workers called me about an emergency. A tractor had been involved in an accident while crossing a secondary road, and I was called to the scene to assess the damage and speak with the police. By the time I finished, it was 6:15 PM, and I was still at the accident site. I phoned Cinzia: “Hello Cinzia, sorry to bother you, I’ve been caught up in a last-minute emergency...”
She cut in before I could even finish my sentence: “I knew it! I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation. I bet you’ve found something better to do, right? Well ... fuck you! I’m fine, bye!”
I almost shouted down the phone, “Wait, don’t hang up, let me finish, for Christ’s sake! I was just saying I’m heading home right now and need time to shower and get dressed. Maybe you could drive over to my house in half an hour and pick me up here? We can save time and make it to the pizzeria on time, since it’s closer to my house than to yours. Is that okay with you?”
She paused for a few seconds, then replied: “Sorry ... That’s fine by me; I know where you live. I’ll be there in half an hour. See you later.” And she hung up.
Well, I figured I’d have to get used to this. Unlike many other women, she clearly didn’t like long phone conversations.
She arrived right on time, driving a small Toyota city car. She parked in my garage and climbed into my Land Cruiser. I’d had the vehicle cleaned that morning, but after the last-minute emergency, the back seat was still cluttered with tools and paperwork.
I apologised: “Sorry, the car’s a bit messy, but I didn’t have time to clear everything out.”
“Well, there are only two of us, so we don’t need the back seat anyway, right?” she replied with a playful smile and that usual weird look. Then she added: “Besides, I like this car. Did you know it’s engineered to run for at least twenty-five years under heavy conditions?” I liked her even more for saying that.
We headed to the pizzeria for our reservation, then went to the cinema. We had an enjoyable evening, talking comfortably back and forth. By the end of the night, I’d learned a few more details about her life. On a personal level, she confirmed what my friends had already told me: she’d been through a painful breakup with her ex. He’d been her sweetheart since ’Liceo’, only to dump her a few months before her university graduation. A couple of months later, he began seeing someone else, while she simply wasn’t ready to jump into a new relationship. Professionally, she was considering a career as an auditor, though it’s a long, demanding path that involves a three-year traineeship followed by a brutal final exam.
When we stepped out of the cinema at around 00:30 AM, a big surprise was waiting for us outside: thick fog.
I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a heavy, foggy night and what it’s really like to drive in it. I assure you that here in the Po Valley, fog is a complete nightmare.
That night, visibility was no more than twenty metres ahead of the bonnet, and with the headlights on, it was like driving straight into a milky wall.
On top of that, it was a freezing December night, and fog had iced the ground, creating dangerous slippery spots along the road. Luckily, the Land Cruiser’s four-wheel-drive system helped get us back to my house safely, but it took almost half an hour longer than usual. It was getting extremely late, and Cinzia still had another twenty-minute drive ahead of her, alone, through winding country roads.
I turned to her and said: “Cinzia, I think it’s better if you stay over at my place tonight. Driving your little city car in these conditions could be really dangerous. Besides, we can have breakfast together tomorrow morning before you head home.”
It was a friendly, obvious suggestion in my mind, but she snapped. I think she was on the verge of slapping me: “Asshole, do you think I’m just another trophy on your wall? I had a lovely time tonight; I thought we were getting along, but forget it! I’m not sleeping over at your place!”
‘Holy shit, this girl has some serious issues, ’ I thought, and I was starting to get really annoyed by all the attitude.
I raised my voice in exasperation and slammed my palm against the steering wheel. “Right, I’m done with this bullshit. I was just trying to keep you safe, Cinzia. My house has four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and three sofas. There’s plenty of space for you to sleep safely without even seeing me. But even if you don’t trust me, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive alone either. I’ll drive you home right now in the Land Cruiser, and then I’ll come back. Tomorrow, you can send someone to collect your car.” I shoved the gear lever into first and started turning the car around to head toward her house.
She reached out, placing her hand on my arm to stop me: “Wait! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I overreacted; I don’t know what came over me. No, you can’t drive me home. It’s far too dangerous, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you while you drove back in the middle of the night. I accept your offer. Just let me text my parents; I don’t want them calling the police to look for me when they realise I’m not in my bed.” Now she was smiling again.
So, I finally parked up, and we stepped into my large, silent house. In the living room, I switched on all the lights, including the Murano glass chandelier, and a quiet “Wow” escaped her lips as she took in the room.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“No!” she replied instantly.
Well, I think she was the first person ever to dislike my living room. She must have caught my disbelieving expression, because she sighed and added: “Sorry, as usual, I spoke without thinking ... I mean ... I do like it. It’s wonderful, really. I’ve never seen a room quite like this. But it feels like a museum. It’s a room that belongs in an interior design magazine, not in a real home. If children lived here, half the things in this room would be dangerous. It’s just not built for family life. There are so many details I would change here and there.”