A private tennis court in Los Angeles. In its place, a sun-drenched afternoon pulled straight from the Italian countryside. Wisteria, ferns and cascading crimson blooms hung from a canopy of green above long white tables dressed in gold, jewel-toned glassware and bursts of wildflower color. The hedgerows held. The sky opened. A bar waited in the shade. The hostess stood at the center of it all in a floral dress that matched the world we had built around her. Tuscany has never been so close to home.