We live together in Berlin, but neither of us has family here; Sam is from New York and I am from Helsinki. So when we decided to get married, we figured we might as well do it someplace festive. Everyone is happy to go to Rome—so we thought we could just book a church and a restaurant and be done with it. One thing led to another, and now we are throwing a day-long party for 250 people in an abandoned villa with all the fixings.

We have big families, we like to host and we are not good with money, so things got out of hand. The first issue we faced is that Rome is full of churches, but they are all Catholic, and we are not. It seemed the most logical move was to join the Catholic Church, which prompted surprising discussions about religion: Sam had assumed I believed in God like he does, while I had assumed he was an atheist, like I am. We spoke to many priests but they tired of our flakiness. We wavered. Then I fell for a ruin of a church on the Appia Antica and cajoled the archaeological park into letting us have our ceremony there. The plan is to ask Tacita Dean to officiate: She has the right gravitas and cadence of speech and we both revere her.

The party venue already existed in the periphery of my mind. Some years ago, a friend of a friend inherited a villa next to the baths of Caracalla, and was just sitting on it. The house is a Fascist-era design completed in 1946 and was later converted, cheaply, to serve as the offices of Olivetti, until typewriters went obsolete. There are countless rooms all collecting dust and the garden is overgrown with nettles. It was perfect. We sent out save the dates to all our relatives and friends and even some acquaintances. Then we started talking to caterers and thinking about the budget. A tip: do it the other way around.

The invitations are done by our friend Leo of Something Fantastic. We sent him a grainy photo of the 1970s sign of Hotel Il Pellicano, and he came back with the ideal package: a little invite with a moon in the corner, a Rome mini guide (the font taken from Terraini’s signage) and a photo of an empty marriage announcement board on the Campidoglio.

Sam has our wedding planning mood board on Post-its that now cover a wall in our house. A sampling: “Flower Chain” with drawing; “Rice” with a sketch of a grain with an up arrow; “TOAST!” and two champagne flutes; “Matches, poem?”; “Tiny Potatoes” with the addendum “Out of season :(”; an architectural plan and section of a giant tiered cake; “ice sculpture.” Since I speak Italian, it’s my task to execute it all.

As a rule, I think people have more fun at a party if they helped make it come together, so my 12-year-old cousin Julia is playing the wedding march on her saxophone, Sam’s niece Fanny is making our wedding bands, my dress is my aunt’s, et cetera. The considerations are endless. We need to remind ourselves to keep our eyes on the bigger picture. What are we doing all this for? What is a celebration, really? Sam thinks it has to do with traditions. I think it’s about dancing. Neither of us is entirely sure yet.

Inside Sam and Stella’s Wedding Plans

Surveying.

Church with no roof. Champagne toast, rice throw.

The aisle.

The main entrance.

Fountain where people get sparkling water.

Fill the pool with ice and booze.

We did a test for the yellow.

Band photo by Stella.

The dance floor from outside with pool.

Regoli cake.

200 is a lot of people.

Always adventure. At first we had to climb the fence.

The ring looks right.

Pair fits the occasion.

Caracalla, nearby.

Invites.

If it rains, 50 people in here!

Dance floor arrow goes wrong way.

People can sneak off to those terraces up there.