Disclaimer: I own some of the characters in this story, but that's all. Nothing related to Gilmore Girls belongs to me. I don't know who owns GG now, but whoever it is: Lucky you!
A/N: Not my first fanfiction, but the first I try to translate in english. My native language is german and normaly I write in german. This story already exists on an other side, although not in english. Thought, I give it a try. So, please be nice, I try really hard. Sorry for all the mistakes in here, I hope my english gets better soon.
Reviews would be great! Because they make happy! Verrrrry happy! 'harhar' Thanks a lot. :)
Summary: Total AU - Lingueglietta was the name of the little, strategic hamlet he lived in and were he grew up. Little did he knew that soon a little eddy wind should blow into his life. And she carried the name Lorelai Gilmore. LIT
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Lingueglietta
Prolog
Lingueglietta was the name of the little strategic hamlet he lived in and where he grew up. It was situated at the Italian Riviera, near San Remo and not far away from the French-Italian border. The small, romantic town lived from tourism during the hot months in the summer. That was one of the reasons why there were always people around in Lingueglietta.
His father was Italian; his mother was born in America. From his early childhood he spent the hot summer-months in his true home country – Italy – and the cold winter in his second home in the United States. New York to be exact.
Nowadays he spent most of his time in the small town at the Italian Riviera. He only came back to the United States when he had to settle business things in his New York restaurant, or when he wanted to visit his parents, who now lived there permanently. Occasionally – he never would say it out loud – he even got a little homesick and just wanted to see his second home country.
But - as previously mentioned - most time of the year, he spent in Lingueglietta or in San Reno where he owned another well running Gourmet-restaurant.
He lived in a not especially large, however beautiful mansion with view over the sea, which he had bought a few years ago, after his parents had finally moved to the States. Jess Mariano loved his life exactly like it was, and he had no intention to change anything about it. How mistaken he was if he believed his live would remain like it was. Because soon, a little eddy wind should blow into his life. And she carried the name Lorelai Gilmore.
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"Benvenuto all'aeroporto di Nizza. Vi auguriamo di godere un buon soggiorno." The woman's voice from the loudspeakers spoke in fast Italian.
Italy. How in the world did it happen that she was in Italy? France would've been okay, England too, or Spain. She could speak all of those languages.
However she understood not a single word of Italian. She didn't even know what to say to introduce herself!
But her boss – the conductor of the Guggenheim museum in New York – had meant she would be exactly the right person for this job. Together with a coworker of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice she had the task to put together an exhibition of famous arts from all over the world in a new, never before seen way. The two of them had to open a smaller Guggenheim in San Remo and organize things up to the opening and some weeks beyond. Normally a task with sufficient challenges for a Lorelai Gilmore. If there wouldn't be this teeny-tiny problem: Italian.
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"Matteo Bernardo Rovelli! Don't you dare touch one of those apples! I swear to the holy mother of God, I beat you with the broom out of this house!" The voice belonged to an old woman who was sitting in a wooden chair on the terrace of her house. She was screaming at a young man who just wanted to steal himself a piece of the delicious fruit out of the basket right beside the lady.
"But … Nonna Katalina …" he sighed and tried it again, only a second later he withdrew his hand with pain-distorted face and wagged it around in the air.
"For heavens sake! That hurt! How does Papa Giogio bear with you? " He groaned and looked at the old woman.
In the same moment a cheerful laughter rang out from the garden gate and another young man stepped on the terrace to join the arguing couple.
"Ciao Nonni," he greeted his grandmother with a kiss on the cheek she raised in the air for him. Afterwards he took the peeled apple that Nonna delayed to him.
Matteo observed the whole scene and immediately began to whine, but the woman prevented it with her words.
"Sush, you ill-bred rascal! He's my only grandson and you're just his best friend."
Insulted he crossed his arms over his chest and started to sulk playfully.
Matteo Rovelli was the exact opposite of a typical Italian. Although through his veins flowed pure Italian blood, he had short blond hair and the most stunning ice-blue eyes somebody could have. His skin however had this olive glow which was so typical for southern countries. And his figure revealed that he loved – like every full blooded Italian – to kick a ball over a field together with ten of his comrades.
"How comes you're already in Lingueglietta?" Jess wanted to know, "Didn't you tell me you wouldn't return before the first large summer celebration?" He smirked and took a heartful bite from his fruit.
"You're so lucky, amico; because you're gonna have the pleasure of my company almost daily now, because I'll have to be here for business-reasons." Now it was Matteos turn to grin. At the same time he snatched himself the last bite of apple from Jess's hand.
"And what does Mrs. Rovelli say to all those things?"
The blond man shot a destroying look at his best friend and explained: "She – naturally – is inspired. Since we moved down to Venice she whines day after day after day how she misses this town and wants to come back. And because I couldn't stand all of this whining shit any longer I said to myself that she should have her will. And I have finally my peace again. That's the reason why I accepted the job in San Remo."
The next moment Nonna Katalina - surprisingly for both men – held out a piece of peeled apple to her grandson's best friend. Matteo took it, more out of curiosity then anything else, and regarded Jess with an asking view. He just shrugged.
It was the old woman herself who cleared up why she did what she did.
"That is the first wise decision of your life, Matteo; I mean after becoming Joanna's husband in the first place." She rose from her seat, put the knife aside and cleaned her apron with her hands. Then she looked kind of grumpy at the two young men.
"Surely you two rascals want to stay for dinner. And like I know your grandfather, Jess, he's gonna be highly pleased about it."
Jess's grandfather – as everybody only knew him as 'Papa Giorgio' – chose exactly this moment to enter Nonna Katalina"s herb garden from the adjacent vineyard through another garden gate. He saw the two young men and the second after a pleased laughter was heard.
Nonna only rolled her eyes. Although she was happy about the company, even she would never admit it.
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Truth to be told she didn't quite believed it when her boss, Mr. Humphrey, told her about the "amazing apartment" in San Remo. But he didn't lie, at least not about the "amazing". Because you couldn't really say "apartment" to the small, but fantastic mansion. From her bedroom balcony she had a wonderful view over the port and the sea. To the house belonged a small garden with a little terrace where a wooden table found place, together with matching seats. The air here was filled with the smell of the sea and of wild herbs which grew in the garden. Rory had to be honest: She had fallen in love from the very first moment she laid eyes on this beautiful building. Mr. Humphrey actually hadn't promised too much.
Her work would start in a few days and until than she had enough time to explore the area in and around of San Remo.
But first she simply wanted something to eat, an enormous cup of coffee, and a telephone so she finally could call Lorelai. She surely already sat on hot coals because she wanted to know about everything: How was Italy? How was the coffee there? When could she finally visit her most favorite daughter – even if she's only been there for four hours?
Rory snatched her keys and purse and disappeared through the door into the streets of San Reno. Without knowing that the adventure of her life had just begun.
TBC
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Benvenuto all'aeroporto di Nizza. Vi auguriamo di godere un buon soggiorno.
Welcome at the airport of Nice. We wish you a wonderful stay.