The Italian Devil

twenty-six: baking

twenty-six: baking

gif of ophelia

not proof-read!

When I returned back to the house, I found the place spotless. It was almost like no sick was on the floor in the first place and on the sofa. Just as expected from Mrs. Reid. She managed to do all this in an hour. I really admire that woman indeed.

Marco reluctantly went back to his office due to the fact he left work a few hours early to run away from Camilla, which I decided to tell him about my encounter.

"God." He groaned as he runs his fingers through his hair. "I am sorry, she is a handful. I thought I would be rid of her once she got into her modelling career and moved to Brazil."

I bit my lip to hold in my laugh. "Think before you pick out your mistresses."

I hope that Camilla is the last mistress I will meet.

When Marco went to his office, I went to Finn's room. As soon as I entered I saw Dante sitting on the floor, his eyes were glued to his phone. His eyes met mine and he grinned.

Finn was resting peacefully with a blanket over him.

"Finally." He whispered, setting his phone in his pocket. "What took you so long?"

I smiled sheepishly. "I got held up."

Dante nodded understandably. "By who?"

"A brother of yours."

Dante chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He got up from the floor, wiping his jeans, so any dirt on the floor would be removed. He flashed me a smile before exiting out of the bedroom.

I waited until he shut the door fully. I sat on Finn's bedside, shaking him slightly. He had to take this medicine as quickly as possible.

"Finn?" I whispered softly, shaking him.

He groaned and roll over.

Always the stubborn sleeper.

"Hello? Finn? Wake up, you have to take this medicine." I stated. My voice was still soft.

Finn groaned louder. "Later." His voice was muffled agains the pillow.

"No, now." I sternly ordered.

This is for his own good. We wouldn't want him to be sick on the bed this time.

He didn't move for a while and I honestly thought he was dead. Soon after, much to my relief, he sat up and leaned against the pillows.

"How are you feeling?" I queried softly.

He relaxed his shoulders. "I feel awful. My head is killing me and I feel like I am going to throw up every second. Also my stomach hurts. Worst hangover ever."

I rolled my eyes. So it was hangover? "Why did you even drink so much?"

He shrugged. "When I have one I just can't stop, you know the feeling right?"

"No." Liar, liar. Pants on fire.

I did know what he meant. I was of course a victim to this. 

"Here." I handed him two tablets with a glass of water. Finn took the tablets and digested them into his mouth, after he drank the water.

"Who was this friend of yours?" I questioned curiously. "I didn't know you had friends in Italy."

His relaxed shoulders became more tense and for some reason he looked very fidgety. The effect of the medicine maybe? Is he cold?