Lights On
I would have made supper, but Federico was even more fussy and valetudinarian than your average Italian man, and insisted on making himself risotto bianco with only a single leaf of basil to flavour it. He was already on beta-blockers and drank no wine at all. There was never any question of his sleeping anywhere but in the big bed with me, but he was horrified to find that I slept with all the windows open.
[…]
The next day he said, “Let me bring you light. I’m going to give you a generator.” I thought he meant an old one, but what I got was brand new. Then he sent his own electricians to wire it up. “Now, every time you turn the lights on, you’ll think of me,” he said.