Two houses, two temperaments. Both set in the same quiet stretch of countryside between Brisighella and Faenza.
A pool that sits where the garden thins out. Morning light first, shade by four. No music, no schedule.
A kitchen garden that feeds the table. Tomatoes, herbs, whatever the season decides. You pick, you cook, you eat.
Not the Romagna on postcards. The one with unmarked trattorias and winemakers who pour before they talk.