#como cathedral

[careful-disorder]

Como Cathedral

[whereishermes]

In-depth Look into Como's Historical Sites and Tourism Potential

[interdimentional]

[postcard-from-the-past]

Interior of the Como Cathedral, Lombardy region of Italy

Italian vintage postcard, mailed to Nice, France

[lensontales]

[a6dulaziz]

Cathedral of Como, summer24

[docpiplup]

La Catedral del Mar -> 1×05, No somos como ellos @asongofstarkandtargaryen @isadomna Winner of the favourite episode poll

[gloriawriteshere]

Basilica di San Fedele -- #ThursdayDoors

Thursday Doors is a weekly challenge for people who love doors and architecture to come together to admire and share their favourite door photos, drawings, or other images or stories from around the world.

This was inside a quaint little church in Como, Italy; Basilica di San Fedele. Thursday Doors is a weekly challenge for people who love doors and architecture to come together to admire and share their favourite door photos, drawings, or other images or stories from around the world. If you’d like to join in and create your own Thursday Doors post each (or any) week, visit nofacilities.com for…

[adventurebeforedementia]

Lago di Como e Milano

Staying just a stone's throw from the lake shore in Domaso was so relaxing and a mixed bag of weather including three thunderstorms and the odd cloudy day failed to spoil this wonderful place.

We took the local buses to visit several of the medieval villages which sit on the shores of the lake. These tiny communities with houses tucked away down cobbled streets are a valuable reminder of a past era. But no matter how small the community we always found the most impressive historic church with its doors unlocked welcoming visitors.

Inside, the buildings were lavishly decorated with vibrant paintings on both the walls and ceilings and gold leaf, marble and the most stunning stained glass windows. Visitors travel across the world to marvel at great cathedrals but these parish churches are no less spectacular and so well cared for by their clergy and parishioners.

Menaggio is one of the prettiest towns on Lake Como so we couldn't leave the lake without visiting. During the Second World War the town hosted fascist leaders and wealthy families of Milan who moved to villas on the lake to escape the air raids.

The colourful historic buildings were impressive and a climb up "cardiac hill" - and several stops along the way to make sure we were still breathing - gave us a fabulous view across the town to the lake.

After a last bike ride round Como, we left the peace and quiet for the crowds of tourists in Milan. Stepping out of the Metro station we were immediately faced with the fabulous Gothic Cathedral of white marble - one of the largest cathedrals in Europe and just stunning. A great way to start our visit.

Another major landmark which can't fail to impress is the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, one of Italy's oldest shopping galleries and a major landmark with its glass domed roof.

Having bagged a tourist map, we set of on foot and 23,000 steps later we had taken a look at most of the major attractions including the Basilica, Opera House, Leonardo Da Vinci Science and Technology Museum and various impressive churches. After a walk along the canal with its resident artists and an array of stalls we made a brief stop to relax over a glass of Chianti.

A visit to Milan - the Mecca of fashion - wouldn’t have been complete without a trip to the fashion district, especially as Milan Fashion Week starts tomorrow (19 September). Most of the major fashion houses and labels are based in Milan and outside the flash shops, yellow and purple Lamborghinis, black and silver Porsches and chauffeur driven Mercedes were parked up while their wealthy owners shopped in these exclusive outlets where you must ring the bell to be admitted. I’m sure I couldn’t even afford the clothes hanger let alone the item hanging on it, so I didn’t get past the front windows.

In stark contrast, we were lucky enough to be in the city for the annual Hari Krishna parade. This colourful, traditional parade with its music and dance and highly decorated float was great to see.

We're back into Milan this afternoon for a last visit before heading on to the next stop on our adventure.

[sefaradweb]

重建清真寺记

🇪🇸 La inscripción de piedra de 1489, conocida como "Registro de la Reconstrucción del Templo Puro y Verdadero" (重建清真寺记), se erigió en julio de 1489 en Kaifeng, China. Es una de las primeras inscripciones de la comunidad judía de Kaifeng y conmemora la reconstrucción de la sinagoga después de ser destruida por una inundación del Río Amarillo en 1461. Esta inscripción fue escrita por Jin Zhong, un judío de Kaifeng, y mide 60 x 30 x 5 pulgadas, hecha de piedra caliza gris oscuro. La inscripción describe tres temas principales: el origen e historia del judaísmo, las prácticas de oración y arrepentimiento, y la trayectoria del judaísmo en China y su relación con el confucianismo. Destaca cómo los judíos de Kaifeng se adaptaron a las costumbres chinas y cómo las similitudes culturales con la comunidad musulmana Hui a menudo llevaron a confusiones entre las dos. La inscripción también menciona figuras históricas clave, como el rabino Levy y los hermanos Jin, y detalla la integración de conceptos chinos y judíos, fusionando figuras como Pangu y Adán. La estela aún existe y fue trasladada a la Catedral de la Trinidad por la Misión Anglicana Canadiense en 1912.

🇺🇸 The 1489 stone inscription, known as the "Record of the Rebuilding of the Pure and Truth Temple" (重建清真寺记), was erected in July 1489 in Kaifeng, China. It is one of the earliest inscriptions from the Kaifeng Jewish community and commemorates the reconstruction of the synagogue after its destruction by a Yellow River flood in 1461. This inscription was written by Jin Zhong, a Kaifeng Jew, and measures 60 x 30 x 5 inches, made of dark gray limestone. The inscription covers three main themes: the origin and history of Judaism, practices of prayer and repentance, and the trajectory of Judaism in China and its relationship with Confucianism. It highlights how Kaifeng Jews adapted to Chinese customs and how cultural similarities with the Hui Muslim community often led to confusion between the two. The inscription also mentions key historical figures, such as Rabbi Levy and the Jin brothers, and details the integration of Chinese and Jewish concepts, merging figures like Pangu and Adam. The stele still exists and was moved to Trinity Cathedral by the Canadian Anglican Mission in 1912.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Places

Rivers

We use the before the names of rivers.

We usually write the without a capital letter.

If we use the word river, we usually write it without a capital letter: the river Thames, the river Severn, the Yangtze river.

We don’t always use the word river, especially when it is obvious that we are talking about a river: the Mississippi, the Nile, the Ganges, the Loire.

Mountains and Islands

We use the with the names of some mountains: the Matterhorn, the Jungfrau.

We do not use the if the name includes Mount or Mountain: Mount Olympus, Brokeback Mountain.

We often refer to some mountains just by their name without the: Everest, Kilimanjaro, Snowdon.

We usually use the before the names of ranges of mountains and groups of islands: the Dolomites, the Himalayas, the Rockies, the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, the Canaries.

Deserts, Oceans and Seas

We usually use the before the names of deserts, oceans and seas.

We often leave out the word desert, ocean or sea: the Sahara or the Sahara Desert, the Atlantic or the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean or the Mediterranean Sea.

Cities, Countries and Continents

We don’t use the with the names of cities, countries or continents: Paris, Tokyo, France, Peru, Africa, Asia.

A small number of country names include the: The United Kingdom, The USA, The United Arab Emirates, The Netherlands.

Lakes

We don’t usually use the with the names of lakes.

We often use the word Lake before the name: Lake Como, Lake Michigan, Lake Geneva, Lake Tahoe.

Buildings, Monuments, Cathedrals, etc.

We use the with some names of buildings (we usually write the without a capital letter, the Taj Mahal, the Alhambra, the Houses of Parliament, the Pentagon) but not with others:

Stonehenge, Windsor Castle, St Paul’s Cathedral, Chichen Itza.

Roads, Streets, etc.

We use the with the names of major roads in a country: the M6, the A40,

but not with the names of areas, squares, streets and roads in a town or city: Broadway, Covent Garden, Times Square, Princes Street.

Facilities in a Town or City

We usually use the with the names of hotels, cinemas, museums and art galleries: the Marriott, the Louvre, the National Gallery.

When we are referring to buildings or institutions that don’t include the name of a town or city, we use the: the airport, the University Press,

but not when the name of the town or city is included: Gatwick Airport, Cambridge University Press.

But there are some exceptions:

Have you been on the London Eye?

They’ve been on the Eye at least ten times.

We saw ‘Mamma Mia’ at the Bristol Hippodrome. (the name of a theatre)

Have you been to the Hippodrome since they renovated it?

The Sea, the Coast, etc.

When we are referring to general features of a country or its landscape, we use the:

the sea, the countryside, the city, the coast.

Places: Fixed Expressions

There are a lot of common fixed expressions relating to places.

We don’t normally use the with these expressions.

Here are some of them:

to town: I’m going to town this afternoon.

in town: She works in town.

at school/university: They met at university.

from school/university: What time do they get home from school?

in hospital: Linda’s been in hospital since Friday.

in prison: Her husband is in prison, and life is very difficult for her.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[whereishermes]

The Magnificent Duomo of Como

[mooniminididi]

My mother said, "Never stay with the love of your life, but with the love of your days. Because you love the love of your life so much that that love becomes destructive." And as I said that I only thought of Hannibal and Will. Under that definition of the "love of your life", their names and their history are the answer to the meaning of it. Their love is so intense and impetuous that Hannibal wanted to consume it on several occasions, he even came close to eating his brain, because he wanted to meet Will, I wanted to know each of his thoughts and I wanted to understand, to understand the reason for many things that Will hid in the depths of his beautiful thoughts. In Will's case, he threw them off the cliff as an acceptance of what Hannibal was, of what he was himself and in turn accepting the fact of what Hannibal was to him, what it really meant. Fully understanding what Bedelia told him in one of her sessions: "You can't live with him, you can't live without him," I couldn't. And I accept it when they slew the dragon together, reaffirming that truth when he said, "It's beautiful" and Hannibal's arms entangled him and, after a constant struggle, he also embraced that feeling, finally falling into who they both were and what they really meant. The excitement of truth; the unbridled love that unites them; the warm feeling of knowing that his other half, his soulmate, the love of his life were in the same corridor sharing large halls of his mental palaces. The stream and the cathedral merged and the lines blurred.

Original:

Mi madre dijo: "Nunca te quedes con el amor de tu vida, sino con el amor de tus días. Porque amas tanto al amor de tu vida que ese amor se vuelve destructivo." y mientras decía eso solo pensé en Hannibal y Will. Bajo esa definición del "amor de tu vida", los nombres de ellos y su historia son la respuesta al significado de ello. Su amor es tan intenso e impetuoso que Hannibal quizo consumirlo en varias ocasiones, incluso estuvo a nada de comerse su cerebro, porque quería conocer a Will, quería conocer cada uno de sus pensamientos y quería entender, entender el porqué de muchas cosas que Will escondía en lo más profundo de sus hermosos pensamientos. En el caso de Will, los aventó por el acantilado como aceptación de lo que era Hannibal, de lo que era él mismo y a su vez aceptando el hecho de lo que era Hannibal para él, lo que significaba realmente. Entendiendo por completo lo que Bedelia le dijo en una de sus sesiones: "No puedes vivir con él, no puedes vivir sin él", No, podía. Y lo acepto cuando mataron al dragón juntos, reafirmando esa verdad cuando dijo: "Es hermoso" y los brazos de Hannibal lo enredaron y, después de una lucha constante él también abrazó aquella sensación, cayendo por fin en lo que ambos eran y lo que significaba realmente. La excitación de la verdad; el amor desenfrenado que los une; el caluroso sentimiento de saber que su otra mitad, su alma gemela, el amor de su vida se encontraban en un mismo pasillo compartiendo grandes vestíbulo del sus palacios mentales. El arrollo y la catedral se fundieron y las líneas se difuninaron.

[10siglosdehistoria]

CODEX ROTUNDUS

(English / Español / Italiano)

During the Medieval period, many illuminated codices and Books of Hours were produced: some of them are true gems to be admired and leafed through. Some have peculiarities that make them unique in the world: this is the case with the precious 'Codex Rotundus'.

The Codex Rotundus is rightly considered a fine example of medieval book culture, not only because of its size but especially because of its peculiar shape. Containing 266 pages written in Latin and French, the manuscript is rightly considered a unique example in that both the cover and the pages are cut in a circular shape, approximately 9 cm in diameter.

The 'Codex Rotundus' was written in 1480 in Latin and French. Unfortunately, we do not know the name of its author, only the place where it was made: Bruges. We can certainly say that the author of this Codex was an extraordinary artist, capable of painting very fine illustrations on very small sheets.

Currently, the 'Codex Rotundus' is kept in the Cathedral Library in Hildesheim, Germany.

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Durante la Edad Media se produjeron numerosos códices y libros de horas iluminados: algunos de ellos son verdaderas joyas que hay que admirar y hojear. Algunos tienen peculiaridades que los hacen únicos en el mundo: es el caso del precioso "Codex Rotundus".

El Codex Rotundus se considera con razón un excelente ejemplo de la cultura del libro medieval, no sólo por su tamaño, sino sobre todo por su peculiar forma. El manuscrito, que contiene 266 páginas escritas en latín y franc��s, se considera con razón un ejemplo único en el sentido de que tanto la cubierta como las páginas están cortadas en forma circular, de unos 9 cm de diámetro.

El "Codex Rotundus" fue escrito en 1480 en latín y francés. Desgraciadamente, desconocemos el nombre de su autor, sólo el lugar donde se realizó: Brujas. Sin duda, podemos afirmar que el autor de este códice era un artista extraordinario, capaz de pintar ilustraciones muy finas en hojas muy pequeñas.

En la actualidad, el "Codex Rotundus" se conserva en la Biblioteca de la Catedral de Hildesheim (Alemania).

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Nel periodo Medievale sono stati prodotti molti codici miniati e libri delle ore: alcuni di questi sono dei veri e propri gioielli da ammirare e sfogliare. Alcuni presentano delle peculiarità che li rendono unici al mondo: è il caso del prezioso “Codex Rotundus”.

Il Codex Rotundus è giustamente considerato un bell'esempio di cultura libraria medievale, non solo per le sue dimensioni ma soprattutto per la sua forma peculiare. Contenente 266 pagine scritte in latino e francese , il manoscritto è giustamente considerato un esempio unico in quanto sia la copertina che le pagine sono tagliate in una forma circolare , di circa 9 cm di diametro.

Il “Codex Rotundus” è stato redatto nel 1480 in latino e in francese. Purtroppo non si conosce il nome del suo autore ma solo il luogo dove è stato realizzato: Bruges. Possiamo certamente affermare che l’autore di questo Codex era un artista straordinario, in grado di dipingere illustrazioni di grande pregio su piccolissimi fogli.

Al momento il “Codex Rotundus”è conservato nella Biblioteca della Cattedrale di Hildesheim in Germania.

[adore-laur]

CLOUD NINE

— a swoonworthy sequel to pink velvet 💍

——

Lake Como is an area with timeless appeal that seizes the eyes of every wanderer roaming the enticing paradise of solitude. Rolling vineyards weave throughout the countryside, with snow-capped mountains rising above the clouds. Romanesque cathedrals and theaters overlook the grand lake, beautifully shaped by glacial movements. Opulent gardens of cascading wisteria and olive groves blossom across the region, decorating the premises of historical villas and estates. 

It's bliss for the second time. 

It also happens to be one of the most desired places in Italy for wedding venues, which is why you're currently driving through the captivating village of Bellagio with Harry the evening before the big day. A year has passed since you were in Salerno together for your third anniversary. A year since he proposed on the secluded beach he rented out for you, bent down on one knee with shaky hands holding a pink velvet ring box that encapsulated evermore. 

Now you're back and ready to marry the man who has one hand on the steering wheel of the vintage car and the other resting on your thigh.

Bellagio, which juts into Lake Como, greets you with cobblestone streets hugged by dainty shops and restaurants. Stucco and terracotta houses painted with pastel colors sit with their wooden shutters open, plants on their balconies, and ivy climbing their walls. Everything is perfectly placed and flourishing under the European sky. 

A boat launch is where both of you are headed since the sun will be setting soon, and being on the lake is where tourists say it is the most idyllic place to admire. You're going to rent a private speedboat for two hours to wind down and spend time together on the alpine waters before being the center of attention tomorrow. 

The narrow backroads lead to the pier, where many boats are docked. Harry has brought a comically large backpack filled with various snacks, books, and other items to keep busy while on the lake. He's currently humming along to a solemn Italian waltz statically playing through the car's antique radio speakers. His hair whips in the wind, and golden hour light dances across his face.

"I know you're looking at me," he says, gently squeezing your thigh. 

You snap out of your trance and lean over the console to kiss his dimple. "You're just really... bello? Is that how you say pretty?" 

His cheeks flush an endearing shade of pink. "Bello, yeah," he murmurs with a shy smile. "Thank you, baby." 

After another few peaceful minutes of driving, Harry pulls into a parking lot by the docks. The piers bob in the shallow water. The lake is even more stunning up close, with delicate ripples and a mountainous backdrop that resembles a contemporary impressionist painting. 

As you gaze upon the elegant villas sitting along the coastal cliffs, the passenger door swings open, a gentlemen-like gesture Harry always makes, no matter how many times you've told him you're entirely capable. You sling your tote bag over your shoulder and pick up Harry's backpack, which is crammed in the space behind the seats. You hand it to him and then interlock your fingers with his before walking to the launch. Luxurious boats rock in the water; their exteriors are glossy and classic, and their interiors are more modern with white leather seats. 

"Ciao, siamo qui per il noleggio di due ore," Harry greets the group of men standing on the pier with cigars poking from their lips.

They all smile and wave the both of you over. Harry initiates a foreign conversation with them that you can't understand, save for a few fleeting words. Eventually, one of them claps their hands together and leads you to a speed boat. As the other men remove the ropes that secure it, Harry reaches his hand out to help you step on. He then guides you to the driver's seat, sitting down and settling you on his lap as he sticks the key into the ignition.

"Ready, cipollino?" he asks, recalling the nickname he gave you last year while tipsy under a streetlight. His hand rests on the curve of your back as the engine rumbles to life. 

"Yeah," you reply with an eager nod. "And stop calling me that!"

"What should I call you, then?" 

"Your wife." 

"Not yet, darling." He kisses your neck and then looks behind him, giving the men a thumbs-up.

They return his gesture, and he doesn't waste any more time as he pushes the throttle forward, making the boat lurch. With your legs draped over his, the village becomes farther away. Sailboats and ferries float on the water, and Italian flags are proudly attached to them. 

The speed creates swells of water that refreshingly spray your skin as you lean your cheek against the top of Harry's head. He steers with one hand as the other reaches down to unzip his backpack. He sifts through the belongings, eventually taking out a container of mixed cheese cubes he bought a couple of days ago when he went shopping at a local food market. 

"Close your eyes and guess," he says over the gusty breeze, hiding the container behind his back. 

You close them and open your mouth so he can feed you. You hear him snap the container's top off and then feel a cheese cube on your tongue. You chew it, humming thoughtfully while you figure out the distinct flavor. 

"Provolone. That's too easy," you say after swallowing. "Give me another one." 

A second piece is given; this time, it's a uniquely rich flavor you've never tasted. You decide to just guess fancy names you've heard in passing. "Um, mascarpone? No, wait. Gorgonzola?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I have no bloody clue what it is." You laugh and open your eyes, but Harry quickly covers them with his large hand. "One more," he murmurs cutely. 

Parting your lips again, you wait for another piece of unknown cheese. However, a pair of soft lips capture your mouth instead. You feel Harry smirk against it, causing you to tilt your head with a bright smile. 

"Was that too cheesy?" he asks, playfully tickling your ribs before cutting the engine so the boat can drift. "Eh? Get it?" 

You drape your arms over his broad shoulders. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

He scoffs under his breath. "What do you mean? I come up with these killer jokes on the spot." 

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, calling his bluff. "Tell me another one." 

Harry pouts his lips and thinks. "Let's see. Give me a second; I have loads of good ones." You giggle into his neck as he struggles. "Okay, I've got it. Why does water never laugh at jokes?" 

"I don't know. Why?" 

He cradles your head and whispers in your ear, "It isn't a fan of dry humor." 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "That was terrible." 

He pretends to throw you overboard, leaving you squealing and holding on tight to his shirt. "Sii gentile."

The following two hours are spent cruising around the lake, pointing out extravagant architecture, and reading the several translated Italian romance novels you bought from an independent bookstore. The mountains are hazy due to the clouds drifting past the jagged crests. The faraway sounds of ferry horns and coos from the wading birds provide a serene atmosphere. You don't plan to remove yourself from Harry's lap anytime soon since his calm breathing and affectionate kisses against your skin make you fall into a blissful reverie. 

It doesn't feel like the wedding is tomorrow. The reality hasn't quite hit you yet; you've always felt like it's been some unreachable day that won't ever happen. But now you sense the forthcoming nerves and anticipation somewhere deep in your bones. 

There's only one more sunrise until he's eternally yours. 

Once the sun has plunged below the horizon and left a blended tangerine and turquoise sky in its wake, Harry lets you take control of the steering wheel to drive the boat back to the docks. You successfully maneuver it between two narrow piers. The men that previously helped get up from their chairs and come over with rope. Harry takes the key out of the ignition, puts his backpack on, and then grabs your hand and ushers you to land. 

"Grazie per la vostra generosità," he tells them with a hand on his heart. "Buonanotte." 

"Sei il benvenuto," replies one of the men with a kind bow. "Guidare sicuri."

The both of you smile and walk to the parking lot, getting back in the car.

"That was so relaxing," you say as you slightly recline the seat and sigh happily.

"Mm-hmm." Harry rubs his full stomach and yawns. "I'm definitely going to sleep like a baby tonight." 

"Really? I think I'll be up all night with anxiety." 

"Why? Getting cold feet already?" 

"No, just nerves," you say. "It's a life-changing event we've been planning for so long." 

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as he starts driving. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty confident I made the right choice in marrying you." 

"I'm not doubting that. I just—" 

"I know, love," he interrupts softly. "I'll probably be a jittery mess tomorrow if it makes you feel any better." 

You give him a reassuring glance before closing your eyes while he takes the backroads that lead to the villa. The windows are rolled down, warm air envelops your face, and the smell of bread makes you hungry again. Harry will often read the random names of restaurants and shops that he passes or quietly hiccup from all the food he ate earlier. 

Just as everything becomes background noise, you suddenly feel the car slow down and jerk to a stop. You open your eyes and see that you're on a flat bridge made of gray cobblestone that connects the downtown area to a dirt path lined with cottages. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you with an indecipherable expression, his mouth downturned, and his eyes dancing between yours. 

"I think there's something wrong with the car," he says. 

"What?" 

"It just stopped." He scratches his jaw and sighs. I'm pressing on the gas, but it's not moving." 

You blink in confusion. "The car is in park, Harry. 

"No, I think the car just broke down. Stay here. Let me check under the hood." 

"Just put it in drive. Nothing's wrong with it." 

Harry ignores you and opens the door, getting out and slowly walking to the front. His hands place themselves on his hips as he bends his knees and studies the car, like he knows what he's doing. He definitely does not. 

"Hey!" he calls out, pointing a finger somewhere next to you. "It's a little chilly out. Do you mind grabbing my suit jacket from under my seat?" 

Suit jacket? What is he talking about? You turn your head and reach under the driver's seat to blindly grab the jacket he apparently brought along. You feel a soft material against your fingertips, and you pick it up and set it on your lap. Sure enough, it's a suit jacket that's neatly folded and the color of a robin's egg. You've never seen it before, and you don't know when he could have possibly bought it since you've been inseparable since arriving in Italy. 

You hold it up, and Harry grins, shuffling over to the passenger window. You notice that the stripes on his button-up perfectly match the jacket. Interesting.

"Grazie," he says nonchalantly, taking it from you and putting it on. "Fits like a glove. Speaking of..." 

You cross your arms over the window and rest your chin on them. "You're acting really suspicious right now, and I suggest you tell me what's going on before I cancel the wedding." 

Harry simply laughs and heads over to the hood. You watch as he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves made of lace. 

Now you're concerned. 

He gazes up at you from under his eyelashes and smirks, putting on the gloves like he's about to perform surgery. "What?" he asks while straightening his collar. "I don't want to get my hands dirty." 

You shake your head in disbelief. "Where did you even get those?" 

He ignores you once again and pulls out his phone. He types something briefly and then holds it against his ear. "Towing company," he mouths to you, pointing at his phone with a wink. 

You're speechless as you sit in the car, wondering what he mysteriously has up his sleeve. You're not stupid; there's obviously something going on because the car clearly has not broken down, and he's calling a towing company for some reason. 

During the short conversation, you listen to him speak Italian in a low murmur, and before you know it, he's hanging up and strolling toward the metal railing of the bridge. He puts his hands in his pockets and paces back and forth, looking up at the peach-colored sky and then out at the sapphire-blue water. 

As you're about to step out and join whatever he's doing, you hear distant music start playing. You look out the window and see a group of people walking in your direction, all holding instruments such as mandolins, horns, and accordions. Harry is also walking your way in your peripheral vision, a cheeky expression on his face. 

You don't know where to look, but your ears recognize the familiar tune of "That's Amore" by Dean Martin when the group starts singing. Harry quickly rounds to the front of the car and does a clumsy spin, then leans his body and elbow on the hood, lifting one foot up as he begins mouthing along to the lyrics with a satisfied smile. 

"Dance with me, amante."

You release a shocked laugh and join him. "Did you plan all this?" 

He daintily sticks out his gloved hand for you to take. "I might have researched Italian wedding traditions a while ago. One of them involves serenading the bride from outside her window, but... I put my own twist on it, I guess. The car didn't actually break down." 

You hum against his chest as he begins swaying you. "Yeah, I caught onto that pretty quickly." 

"I'm a shit liar," he mumbles into your hair, giving you a twirl. "Anyway, the bride is supposed to lower down a basket of bread, cheese, and prosciutto to accept the marriage." His hand leaves your waist to dig into his pocket. "And my darling, I just happen to have some leftover cheese cubes. Would you be so kind as to do the honors?" 

He pulls out a small bag with only three pieces of cheese left. He takes one out and holds it gently between his fingertips. You take it and dramatically clear your throat. "Harry Styles, I accept this marriage. I cannot wait until tomorrow." 

Grabbing your wrist, he pops the cheese into his mouth, grinning widely as he chews. "I accept your acceptance." 

You continue slow dancing on the bridge as the song crescendos, the singers happily crooning the love-filled lyrics while you're pressed close to Harry. 

Tomorrow can't come soon enough. 

——

White silk with a subtle hue of lavender feels cool against your skin, the thin fabric of your dress lightly blowing in the breeze. 

Harry is right around the corner, probably fidgeting with his fingers behind his back, toeing the ground, and ensuring his outfit is wrinkle-free. You can almost feel his energy, along with the collection of yours and Harry's close family and friends who flew out for the wedding. You hear them distantly chatter as they wait for your arrival. 

Deep breaths are the only kind you've been taking all day, and you're surprised the pendant of your necklace isn't shaking from how hard and fast your heart is pounding. You haven't seen Harry since you fell asleep next to him last night, knowing he planned to sneakily slip out of the villa to get ready with his groomsmen early in the morning. 

It's evening, so a golden tint casts over everything. The private ceremony occurs outside the lakeside courtyard, surrounded by lush gardens and pathways shaded by trees. The white aisle is rolled out, and a tall, flowered arch can be seen from where you stand behind the trimmed hedges. Stone statues guard the premises, some with moss and chipped bodies. 

As you focus on a yellow butterfly that lands on a blade of grass, you suddenly hear the ceremonial music begin playing. Someone behind you squeezes your shoulders and gently pushes you, whispering encouraging words in your ear. You're too distracted by the movement of your dress to comprehend them as you begin walking down the aisle. 

Watch your step. 

One foot in front of the other. 

Don't trip. 

Yet when you finally turn the corner, keeping your eyes on the ground is impossible. It's as if everything happens in slow motion. You hear excited gasps and violins in your ears, but your eyes are your strongest sense at the moment. They naturally gravitate upward to find Harry. He's wearing all silk, just like the both of you planned, along with the same hue of lavender threaded into the fabric. Silk trousers with a silk dress shirt tucked into them and white suspenders. A couple buttons are undone. 

He's so stupidly handsome.

Once your gaze meets his, matching smiles of pure love take over both of your faces. His is a dimpled one that leaves you breathless, and yours is a gentle one that makes his tears spill over. 

You see him roll his trembling lips in, looking down with a soft laugh and a sniffle. When you reach him, you accept his bouquet of flowers and stand face-to-face with him for the first time today.

"You look gorgeous," he whispers while shaking his head in awe.

"You look pretty," you whisper back. 

He bites the inside of his cheek and glances down at your lips. "I want to kiss you, but I can't."

You laugh and look at the officiant when he raises his hands. "Welcome, everyone," he says. You may be seated." 

Everyone sits, and you exhale a long breath. You feel Harry squeeze your hands as the officiant drones on about the joining of the couple and what lifelong commitment means. You're not listening; you're too lost in Harry's teary eyes as they roam your face and dress. 

"Is the bride ready to say her vows?" 

You snap your head to the side and nod, a little embarrassed that you zoned out during what were probably important and sentimental words. 

You release Harry's hands and take the folded note from your bra, making the crowd laugh. Harry rolls his eyes with a smirk. As you smooth the paper's creases, you feel your throat bob with emotion, thinking about how you poured every bit of your soul into the inked words you wrote for him. 

Inhaling deeply, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Harry," you say with a tender squeeze of his sweaty hand, "you are someone who I believe comes into people's lives with a purpose. You came into mine when I wasn't looking for love, but you swept me off my feet with your kindness and attentive nature. I'm so in love with you, truly. When your eyes crinkle with laughter or when you remember intricate details about me. I even love the annoying things, like how you really love peas or how you have to turn the radio down when the roads are busy so you can concentrate. Everything you do and say is beautiful. Your presence is graceful and warm. I'm so thankful I get to be around it for the rest of my life. I love you and promise to do so through every moment, whether rain or shine. Ti amo." 

When you finish, your cheeks are damp with tears as the crowd claps. Harry looks past you, quickly wiping under his eyes. 

"And would the groom like to say his vows?" asks the officiant. 

"Yeah, one second," Harry says as he tilts his head and blinks back tears. He looks back down and takes his vows out of his sock. 

"Ew," you say.

"Shush," he says with a smirk. "Okay, um... I'm going to try to get through this without completely losing it." He clears his throat. "So, I wrote this last night when you were sleeping. I wasn't procrastinating; I just wanted to write it when my emotions were high." 

He unfolds the paper and straightens his posture. "I love you so much. You know it. Everyone knows it. You've had me whipped since I met you, and I swear it's only gotten worse over the years. I told you when I proposed that I was weak for you. Well, I still am. Always will be. Because I hang onto every word you speak, and my heart beats like a madman every time you look at me. The tremendous love you give me is something I don't deserve. It keeps me going, and the fact that I get to feel it for a lifetime makes me the happiest man in the world. Ti amo forever." 

You let out a soft sob and dab under your eyes with your knuckle so your makeup doesn't smear. You secretly give Harry the middle finger for making you cry, and he gives one back, making your family and friends cackle. 

"Now for the rings." The officiant hands both of you your designated bands and then looks at you first. "Does the bride take the groom to be her lawfully wedded husband?" 

You slide the gold band onto Harry's ring finger, his hand shaking. "Lo voglio." 

He seems surprised by your unexpected Italian, raising his eyebrows.

"And does the groom take the bride as his lawfully wedded wife?" 

Harry slides your ring on. "Lo voglio," he repeats confidently. 

"Then it is my delight and honor to now pronounce you husband and wife," concludes the officiant. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Styles!" 

Everyone stands and cheers, hollering in celebration. Harry spreads his arms and pumps his fists with a wide smile. 

"Can I kiss him?" you ask impatiently. 

The officiant laughs and nods. "Yes, you may kiss the groom." 

You immediately grab Harry's cheeks and slot your mouth over his, feeling his arms tightly wrap around your waist as he dips you toward the ground. The crowd whoops, and camera shutters click, capturing the official moment.

"Mrs. Styles," Harry murmurs against your lips, kissing them repeatedly until they ache. 

You grab his hand and walk down the aisle together, waving and smiling at your families as they throw white flower petals in your path. There's a green convertible parked at the end, a getaway car of sorts, for you and Harry to take to the reception. It has a wreath hung across the trunk and bottles of alcohol and bread in a basket on the console. Harry opens the door for you as family and friends gather around, taking pictures and chatting with one another. 

"Wait, we have to change into our outfits before we get there," you say abruptly as he begins slowly driving away. "We didn't think this through." 

When you and Harry were planning the wedding, you agreed that you should both change into comfortable party outfits for the reception so it would be easier to move around and dance. Outfits the others hadn't seen yet were picked out and secretly packed in separate suitcases. 

You took a risk with yours, to say the least. 

"No," he gasps dramatically. "What are we possibly going to do? Bloody hell, we'll have to change in the woods!" 

You smack his arm. "Shut up, I'm serious! I've been waiting all year to show you my outfit. We have to stop somewhere." 

"Love, we can just change in the bathrooms once we get there." 

"Fine. Hurry up, though. I'm excited." 

He rolls his eyes and presses on the gas pedal harder. 

After about ten minutes, you arrive at the outdoor reception area, which has circular tables and chairs on the lawn with a dance floor in the middle. String lights decorate the low-hanging trees, and some people are already gathered with flutes of champagne and plates of appetizers in their hands. 

Harry parks the car and grabs your suitcases, sneakily going around the back of the old-fashioned estate that the venue is a part of. A security guard, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece, stands straight as a pin in front of the fancy double doors. 

"Excuse me, sir," Harry says, never letting go of your hand. "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

He clears his throat and looks him up and down suspiciously. "Take the first left. The door is the fourth one on your right." 

"Thank you!" you call out from behind, since Harry is already dragging you down the porcelain hallway. 

Once you reach the bathrooms, Harry enters one stall while you go into the other. You're both breathing heavily and giggling as you unclasp your suitcases and pull out your outfits.

Yours is a rose gold mesh bodycon dress decorated with rhinestones that came with long, matching gloves. Your beige underwear and bra will be visible under it, but that's the intended purpose. You also bought a faux fur boa scarf to hook around your elbows. You unzip your wedding dress and slip on the other one, then walk out of the stall with your empty suitcase. 

Harry walks out a minute later, and your knees weaken. He's wearing a suit jacket and trousers with no shirt underneath. What's even more incredible is that the color of the sequined material is almost the exact shade of what you're wearing.

"Shut up," Harry says with a laugh of disbelief. "No way we picked the same color." 

All you can respond with is, "Your tits are out."

He looks down at them. "Yeah... I suppose they are." 

"You look so hot." 

"So do you." He runs his hands from your waist down to your ass. "You look dazzling, Mrs. fuckin' Styles." 

"Don't start anything," you warn, gripping the lapels of his suit. "We need to say hello to everyone." 

He smirks. "It's crazy that we thought of the same color. I was going to buy a white vest and matching pants, but something told me to get this instead." 

"That just means you have good fashion intuition." 

"No, I think it means we're soulmates." 

You kiss him. "That, too. C'mon, let's go before people get bored." 

The reception commences, and hugs and well wishes are all around as you and Harry wander the lawn hand in hand. The weather is perfect, and the sun isn't too sweltering because of the breeze from the nearby lake. 

Hours pass, the moon is out, and string lights twinkle around the venue. The dance floor has been open for a while, and everyone is a little tipsy and sweaty as they dance with each other. You've already done the first dance with Harry, swaying to "Moonlight Serenade" by Frank Sinatra as he whispered sweet nothings with his forehead pressed against yours. 

After another slow song ends and couples find other people to dance with, "Careless Whisper" starts playing. Harry screeches in your face while shaking your shoulders. 

When the bridge plays, he gets down on his knees before you and belts the lyrics, his hair falling in his face as his outfit shimmers from the strobe lights. You put the fur boa around his neck and pull him closer. His hands run up the length of your legs, eventually reaching your hands as you help him. 

"My pants just ripped!" he yells over the music. 

"Seriously?!" you yell back with wide eyes.

He tilts his head back and laughs with his hands resting on his exposed stomach. You immediately spot the small, ripped seam on his right thigh and begin laughing along with him. It's not even that funny, but cloud nine lifts you too high to care. 

The party goes on, and people slowly leave as midnight nears. Soon enough, it's just you and Harry left as the music volume lowers and the chairs start being put away. You eventually stumble with flushed cheeks and giddy smiles to the sleek black limo waiting at the front of the estate. 

"Where am I taking the happy couple?" asks the driver.

"Villa Balbiano, please," Harry replies. "And turn the music up loud, yeah? Apologies in advance." 

The both of you clamber into the back of the limo, immediately putting the partition up. You straddle Harry's parted thighs as he begins massaging your breasts. "Take your bra off. Let me see your tits under this dress." 

You unclip your bra, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. Harry kneads your ass and tilts his head back against the headrest, the veins in his perspiring neck becoming noticeable. 

"I'm so gone for you," he says, biting your thumb as if restraining himself from doing a more provocative act. 

"That's sweet." You climb off his lap and sit beside him, putting your seatbelt on. "But you'll have to wait." 

His jaw clenches in annoyance, and you grin. You love giving him whiplash. 

The ride to the villa is short but filled with tension. Harry broodingly looks out the window when the driver pulls into the gravel driveway, his right hand gripping the edge of the seat, his thighs tense.

Once the car is parked, Harry kindly squeezes the driver's shoulder, opens the door, and gets out. In an instant, your door is opened, and you're suddenly scooped up and thrown over Harry's shoulder as he walks up the driveway toward the arched doors. He navigates through the spacious rooms and up the grand staircase in complete silence. 

You know what you're in for. 

Harry tosses you on the king-size bed and crawls over you, placing his forearms on either side of your body. His cross necklace dangles over you, which is ironic considering how he's looking at you right now. 

"Gonna let me fuck my wife, or do I have to wait for that too?" he asks lowly, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your breasts and keeping eye contact with you. 

You bite your lip and slide the straps of your dress down, quickly slipping it off. Harry then grabs your wrist and uses his teeth to take one of your gloves, biting the fabric at the top of your fingertips. They're long and tight, so he struggles, huffing and closing his eyes in disappointment. 

"This is supposed to be sexy. Stop making fun of me," Harry says with a defeated laugh, taking the route of just yanking them off and throwing them on the floor. 

"I didn't say anything," you say, covering your mouth so you don't let a laugh escape. "And those are really expensive, Harry!" 

He just shushes you and takes your underwear off. He then buries his face into your inner thigh as you spread your legs open. You're already wet; your warm arousal is sticking to your skin. He laps some of it up and rumbles a groan. 

"Will you let your husband take care of you tonight? Hmm? Tell me." 

"God, Harry." You whine when his nose nudges your aching clit. "Yes. Please." 

"So polite for me." He teasingly licks the inside of you with one stroke of his tongue, but it's not enough. "Such a good girl that was dressed like a filthy slut tonight." 

"Says you," you reply breathlessly. "You had your tits out all night while you danced with my grandma." 

Harry hums a laugh and pushes his nose forward, making you wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back on the bed. He lets out a long moan, beginning to unapologetically lick every last slick drop of arousal that seems to keep pouring out. His hands grip your thighs so tight that you're positive there will be bruises left from his rings. 

His quiet moans and suckling are muffled by his face pressed right up against your pussy, his hair tickling the bottom of your stomach as his head tilts with each new angle he tries. Your mouth is parted open, and desperate whimpers leave it as your hands tug at his curls. 

You know he won't use his fingers; he's always keen on making you come with just one method. You feel dizzy from the tingling sensation in your thighs and core; your orgasm is knotting with a deep ache. 

"I'm going to come," you tell him, digging your heel into his back. "Harry, I'm going... I feel it. I can't hold it."

What he does next is heaven. Without moving his head or stopping his tongue, he lifts his hand and presses his large palm down on your lower stomach, massaging it in small circles to help coax the swelling pleasure out. Just as you feel as though you're about to burst, he removes his tongue and lifts his head. 

"No, no, no," you say, jerking your hips up. 

"Hey, look at me," Harry demands, his lips swollen and glistening. "What's wrong? Am I being mean?" 

"I hate you." 

"That's no way to talk to your husband, now is it?" He unbuttons his trousers and takes them off, along with his boxers. "What makes you think I'm not going to stuff you full right now with my cock? Or is that not what you want?" 

You catch your breath and swallow, your throat feeling terribly dry. "No, I want it. I do."

Harry squeezes his throbbing cock and hovers over you with one hand placed next to your head, his arm bulging and sheening with sweat. It isn't going to take long for you to come undone. 

"Yeah?" He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. "You like it when I'm that deep inside you?" he asks, tearing the package open. 

"It's my favorite part." 

He rolls the condom on and kisses your knee. "Is that what you want?" His voice is now soft as he strokes strands of hair from your face. "You want me to be nice and give you what you want?" 

"I know you like it too," you whisper. "Don't even try to lie." 

He smirks while running his tongue across his teeth. "And how would you know that?" 

"Because you always put your hand right here"—you grab his hand and gently place it below your navel—"to feel it. Your eyes roll back every time. I love it." 

His nostrils flare. "You love watching me? How did I not know this about my wife?" 

"You're too fucking gone for me to notice," you say, repeating his words from earlier. 

He nearly growls, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting in with no warning. You gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he rocks inside of you, his cock burning past your walls. The headboard hits the wall with each of his powerful thrusts, and you moan pitifully when he goes long and deep. One of his hands holds onto the top of the headboard, and the other holds your limp hand on the sheets. 

"So tight," Harry breathes out. "How do you fit all of me, huh? You're so tight and pretty." 

Your legs ache as they bend from the force he pounds into you. He sloppily kisses your lips, his teeth knocking against yours and pleading moans escaping into your mouth. His scruff rubs against your face as he continues thrusting faster and faster until the knot forms again, this time stronger than before. You can feel him in the pit of your stomach, leaving you breathless and crazed when his abs move against the slight bulge that forms there. 

"There we go," he praises. "That's it, baby. Is that what you needed?" 

After another couple of thrusts and encouragements from him, you arch and release while gripping his hand and looking into his eyes. Harry comes at the same time, rutting his hips into yours as he shudders with a deep, guttural moan against your neck. 

He hums, pulling out and cradling your cheeks. "You good?" 

You nod, watching him quickly discard the condom and flop on top of your heaving body. Everything feels hot: the sweat dripping down your hairline and Harry's skin sticking to yours. 

"Thank you," you say hoarsely. 

"For what, giving you an orgasm?" he asks with a laugh. 

"For everything," you reply, running your fingers through his damp hair. "I always feel like I'm floating around you." 

"I'm your cloud." 

"That oddly makes sense. How do you say that in Italian?"

He starts giggling into your chest, dimples carving his flushed cheeks. "Nube." 

You scoff. "Did you just call me a noob?" 

His head whips up as he says, "No. Nube means cloud in Italian." 

"Nube… that's funny." The both of you start silently laughing at each other, slowly coming down from the high. 

"Shit." Harry exhales. "Someone left us some wine." 

You turn your head to where he's looking and see a wine bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag on the dresser. There's also a little note attached to it. 

Harry gets out of bed and walks over to it with his ass on full display, making you start giggling again. He grabs the wine and gets under the sheets, weaving his legs with yours. 

You take it from him, popping the cork and raising the bottle. "Cheers to us. Ti amo forever, nube." 

He grabs your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. "Ti amo, Mrs. Styles." 

You take a swig, letting the crisp sweetness coat your throat before Harry has some. 

You've come to realize that bliss can be tangible. Silk sheets and red wine. Heated skin and purposeful touches. Soft eyes and kisses just because. If you could, you would bottle this moment up to drink, letting the liquified love permanently stain your soul. 

——