Reconciliation
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First there was something about a class trip (?) to Italy. Driving in a car/bus, getting used to seeing cars drive on the right again (because I just came from Britain). Staying in an old castle or something, in the middle of nowhere. A discussion about where to buy water from, whether in the small store on the premises or whether it'd be worth it to walk to the next village store. I remember being right in the middle of the discussion and people actually listening to me. Stefan B. (bully type guy from primary school) even agreed with me about something. There's much more, but I can't grasp it.Then I'm the wife of some small king, who goes bancrupt. The marriage was unhappy, arranged, and until then we had apparently hardly seen each other, but now, traveling around looking for new accomodation (with some lawyer/advisor-type old blokes meddling in everything), we suddenly discover that we like each other. There's surprised talks about how no one would have thought that this bancruptcy would not end in the end of a puppet king and his fake life, but how it makes him care - and that, contrary to what his advisors think, this fake marriage might just turn real.
We're both amazed to discover that we're actually in love with each other. There's flirting and hugging and casual touching. He's a big man, wonderful to lean against, curl up with. His voice is lovely, too - all deep, with a gorgeous laugh. I think we speak English.
We go flat hunting in Italy (Florence, Rome) - I insist we check out Venice, although the advisor guy thinks the run-down city isn't appropriate for a king. But we find an absolutely gorgeous apartment in an old people - it's dark and cozy, but it also has a giant courtyard with a glass roof, so it'd be lots of sunlight for my SAD. We (and another couple - friends, who think our new-found relationship is both funny and romantic) walk around, knowing that this is it. The previous owners were a gay couple, I see their photo.
We rest on a couch in the room with the glass roof, my head on his stomach, touching, laughing about our timing. Then, before the advisors return, I go to the bathroom - through the bedroom, which looks as if the owner has just gone to work, and I feel funny walking around in someone else's home. I lock the bathroom door, but the other woman (a lovely, slim dark-haired girl Ã? la Frances O'Connor, who I saw in 'About Adam' last night) can walk in anyway to water some flowers, which she laughs off but which I don't like.
Then it's a change of perspective, I think - I'm him now, the king, and I (the wife) have been kidnapped. I'm worried sick, and furious because it's a plot of the advisors to keep me in line. I have to go to Cannes, to the red carpet and be their puppet for them to return her to me. But before I can discover whether they'll be reunited, I wake up.
Additional Comments:
There were two parts to the dream - or maybe two dreams, who knows.
