BREATHE FOR ME

Chapter 18: No Going Back

"Woah." I say, taking it all in. I make my way over to Lorrie, who is glancing around the garage proudly, most likely thinking of his Dad. His Dad. We'd better not keeping him waiting.

He leads me through a door that takes us straight into the house. The first room that we enter is the kitchen. It's a lot smaller than my one at home, as is the house, but it is so much more homely with its numerous family pictures, frames of medals and fridge covered in colourful magnets. I immediately begin to feel the love of his family. Glancing over at Lorrie, I see his vulnerable expression underneath his small smile. He's curious about what I'm thinking, given that he's never had a girl around here before. I've never had a boy around so I guess it'll be my turn on Monday.

He then leads me through into what must be the living room. It has beautiful large windows with large white ledges, covered in potted plants and cacti. The plush cream carpet looks brand new and feels fluffy beneath my bare feet. The tall walls are also a creamy colour, lined with shelves of books, more plants, a few collectors' models of cars and more family pictures, including an adorable picture of Lorrie's squad, looking a lot younger and a lot skinnier. There is a huge plasma TV, on the longest wall, structured in the middle of three large couches. One of the couches, the biggest one, is made up with fresh, white bedding. The whole room smells like a mix of fresh linen and rubbery tyres. Sat in one of the chairs, is a tall, handsome man with caramel skin and short black hair, styled neatly with hair gel. He's wearing clean red overalls, with MARCHESI embroidered down the sleeve. His mechanic's gear. When he notices us, he gracefully jumps up off of his chair and walks over to me with a warm smile plastered across his face. I can't get over how physically fit he is, given that this is obviously Lorrie's Dad. Dad' are supposed to have Dad-bods and beer bellies, not look like wrestlers. I wouldn't want to pick a fight with him, that's for sure. Up close, he looks around forty years old, with light lines across his forehead and around his smiling eyes. He doesn't look like a member of the original Rose Street mercenaries, he looks like an average, if not slightly more good-looking and physically built, Dad. He's not quite as tall as Lorrie but it's obvious, from his luminous green eyes, that Lorrie takes after his Dad.

"Ciao Genevieve. It is my pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you over the last few days, it seems that my boy has taken quite a liking to you." His warm voice is heavily accented with the Italian accentuation, the same accent that accidently falls out of Lorrie when he's too comfortable sometimes. It makes me feel drawn to them both.

"Hello Mr Marchesi, I've been hearing many wonderful things about you too. It's so lovely to finally meet you." I reply, smiling back up at him. 

His eyes, the same shade of green as Lorrie's, sparkle as they take in my dress and curled hair. I almost forgot that I am dressed up in party gear. That awful party seems like such a long time ago.

"Please Genevieve, call me Franchesco or Fran. Yes, call me Fran, like Lorrie does. My, Lorenzo, she looks beautiful. Bellissima." He says, taking my hand and leading me further into the living room. His accent drawls over Lorrie's full name, making my heart do a little flip. Man, I wish I was Italian. "Like a movie star straight from the spotlight of Venice."

"Doesn't she just?" Lorrie quietly muses from behind me. 

I look over my shoulder at him, still leaning through the doorway, to see that he is smiling adoringly at the pair of us, his father and me. His Dad seats me on the bedded-out couch, gives Lorrie a quick instruction in pure Italian and effortlessly makes his way over the couch perpendicular to me, so that he can sit forwards and talk to me. I hear the kettle switch on in the kitchen.

"So Genevieve, tell me more about yourself. Lorrie says that you love art, that you make beautiful drawings. Lorenzo's mother was an artist. La grazia dell'arte. The grace of art." Fran leans forwards, offering me an encouraging yet curious smile. I feel like his warmness is melting my heart, openly inviting me into his company.