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Ariel pays off the last of her poker debt on trip.

She couldn't see the look on Julie's face as they 69ed, but the ecstasy on Maria's face as Troy pounded into her again and again made up for it.

And then a new look, one Helen had never seen before. One of absolute love and passion as Julie rode Troy. Helen and Maria idly kissed and stroked each other's bodies as they admired it, as well as the joyous look on Troy's face as he thrust up into her. A look like he'd been on a wonderful journey with Helen and Maria; but now he was home, where he knew he belonged, and everything the two of them had done that night had been leading up to their final mutual homecoming.

The look of drowsy fulfillment in her eyes as she and Troy rested their heads on Helen's breasts, holding hands while cupping Helen's pussy and periodically craning their heads forward to share little kisses with Helen or each other.

The contented look of peace on her face as they drifted off to sleep this way, Maria spooning up to Troy and kissing Helen as well before closing her own eyes, and the sight of the three people she loved most in the world in satisfied sleep before her own eyes closed.

* * *

The Sun tried to shine through the closed balcony doors into the bedroom of the castle. It attempted to cast its beam across the marbled floor, onto the Persian rug, across the king-sized bed, and onto the face of Contessa Helena de San Finzione, as was its daily routine. However, on this day, there was a problem. Some crazed Visigoth had closed the door and curtains. This wasn't like The Sun's valiant foe Contessa Helena de San Finzione at all! She usually lost, but she'd never backed down from their daily joust in ages.

The Sun was on a schedule, it didn't have time to stop and ask if everything was ok. It'd call today a draw, but if she wasn't there tomorrow, it'd be upgraded to a forfeit. And it swore it'd make such a heat wave if she didn't show a second time.

* * *

It was often said that nothing happened between 12 and 2 in San Finzione. But this day, something did.

As the bells of St. Francis de Sales Cathedral sounded the hour, many people began their customary two-hour lunch break. Others made excuses to leave work during those hours for a personal matter.

All of them began to congregate toward the city park in front of the Cathedral. As they carefully obeyed all traffic laws while walking, driving, or riding to their shared destination; they produced Zorro masks from pockets, purses, and bags and donned them. Those whose journey took them via the marketplace were observed by an old woman dressed entirely in black who sat at an outdoor cafe drinking her vino and watching the world go by; as she had for as long as anyone could remember and would probably still be doing each day simply to baffle future generations.

Recently, the waiter had become better about making sure her glass was never empty and no longer bothered her about payment. She'd had a dim memory of a nice, respectful American girl who'd drank and talked with her one day having something to do with that. The crazy young thing had even claimed that SHE was a great-grandmother as well. Ridiculous! She'd later heard something about the girl going on to become Contessa. That was nice, good for her.

Memories had been getting trickier for her lately, but she recalled more of what they'd talked about: Another couple of nice young Americans who'd stopped and bought her a bottle and talked to her some time before that. She didn't understand why people seemed to hate Americans so much; the ones she'd met during The War seemed nice, and the only three she'd met since had all bought her drinks.

The memory of what she'd talked about with the young couple seemed hazier than most, but suddenly it had become clear. Not like something she'd forgotten, more like something that the church bells signaling the noon hour on this day had reminded her that she'd set aside to remember at this time.

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