STEPPING THROUGH THE doors of the Vitale mansion felt like a familiar routine, almost like déjà vu. I gave my shoes a good shake on the doormat, flicking off any stray leaves that had clung to the soles and greeted the grumpy butler before he wandered off somewhere.
The warm glow of the chandeliers cast a soft light over the grand entrance hall, illuminating the elegant marble floors and grand staircase. The familiar scent of wood and polish filled my nose, taking me back to the first time I had been there.
I released the grip of my claw clip, letting my dark hair spill down my back in a waterfall of loose waves. Shorter strands framed my heart-shaped face, creating a halo of shadow and light. My lips were tinted a deep shade of pink, and I nervously ran my fingers over them, appreciating the way the oil amplified the hue to match the shade of my blush pink cable-knit sweater.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered my composure with a mental pat on the back as I moved through the foyer, following the long hallways deeper into the Vitale mansion. The sound of my heels echoed off the walls, drawing the attention of a few maids and butlers who were bustling about their duties. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. I had always thought the mansion was run by a solitary butler—a grumpy old man who barely cracked a smile. Had Romero hired more staff? Or had they been there all along, and I had simply not noticed?
As I approached the imposing door, my composure scattered, and the deafening hush of the hallway felt palpable. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, nerves of seeing Romero again brewing like an impending storm within me. I smoothed my hair and adjusted my sweater, but the butterflies in my stomach refused to settle. This was not the first time I had entered this room, yet it felt like a brand-new experience, like I was taking a test I had not studied for.
When I finally mustered the strength to grasp the handle, a wave of nervous anticipation swirled in my gut. My legs felt unsteady, as though I was a delicate lamb venturing into the territory of a dangerous predator.
I scolded myself for being foolish and delaying the inevitable, then opened the door.
The library was just as I remembered it, with walls lined with books from floor to ceiling, and shelves casting long shadows across the room. Romero was standing at one of the shelves next to his desk, and as soon as our eyes met, a hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips.
"Ah, there you are, stalker," he said, his voice low and carrying a slight slur. "I have been eagerly awaiting this moment, counting the minutes until fate allowed our paths to cross again."
"It's only been five days," I replied, dryly.
"Feels like an eternity," Romero said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Every moment spent apart from you is a moment wasted."
I could not help but notice the half-empty tumbler on his desk. I suspected that the rich notes of whiskey were influencing his words, rendering him a besotted romantic poet.
"You're quite the charmer," I said, trying to hide the amusement in my voice.
"That's the whiskey talking," he replied with a low chuckle, his playful demeanour never fading. I could not help but smile at his sudden shift in mood. It was a far cry from the brooding and enigmatic man I had first encountered.
As much as I was currently enjoying his company, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than meets the eye. One minute he was charming and playful, the next he was telling me to leave or meddling with things I never asked for. I couldn't quite figure him out, and that both intrigued and frustrated me.
"You read when you're drunk?" I asked, my eyes flicking towards the open book next to the tumbler.
"I'm not drunk," he defended. "I'm simply high on the power of knowledge."
"Oh, I see," I teased, squinting to make out the title. "So 'Crime and Punishment' does that for you?"
"Why don't you take a seat, Miss Calimeris?" he said smoothly, redirecting the conversation. "You arrived at the perfect time."
Well, that's convenient considering the fact that the letter he had sent me was missing crucial details, such as the time he expected me to arrive.
"Just Zahra is fine," I insisted, settling into the comfortable black leather seat closest to him.
"Zahra," he tested my name like a fine wine on his tongue, rolling it around before savouring the flavour.
This close to him, I could notice the subtle changes in his appearance. The once unkempt stubble was now meticulously trimmed, highlighting the strong angles and contours of his face. His sun-kissed skin glowed like warm embers, a beautiful contrast to the intense blue of his eyes, the shade reminiscent of stormy waters. I forced myself to look away before I drowned in them.
"Unfortunately," he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "my assistant can't be here today. Something about feline castration. And per our agreement, I would request that you accompany me to a book signing,"
My eye twitched at the word 'agreement.' Blackmail seemed like a more fitting term for what he was doing. But then again, he did fix my tire, and without his help, I could have been facing bankruptcy. So, maybe it wasn't exactly blackmail.
"Also," he continued, interrupting my thoughts as though he could read them. "I would like to apologize for my behaviour when we were first acquainted. It was uncalled for me to ask you to leave in such an uncivilized manner and to fix your tire without your permission."
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden display of contrition.
"You can decline my invitation if you wish. And you can keep the tires as an apology for my initial rudeness," he offered, almost hesitantly and raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck.
His words had caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. I wasn't one to hold grudges, but his sudden apology took me by surprise. From the discomfort in his body language and the sincerity in his voice, it was clear that apologizing was not something he was used to doing.
"As per our agreement," I echoed his words, trying to put him at ease. "I accepted your terms and would like to accompany you."
He bent his head to check his watch, and for a moment, I caught a flicker of relief that crossed his face. "Good," he said, moving away from the desk and pulling at the collar of his shirt. "We had better get going."
I stood up, feeling a bit more at ease now that we had resolved any tension lingering between us.
"You're wearing a suit to a bookstore?" I asked, disbelief evident in my voice.
"Yes," he replied with a confident nod. "What else would I wear?"
I couldn't help but wonder if he was familiar with the concept of casual.
"Jeans and a sweater maybe?" I suggested, raising an eyebrow.
"Boring," he declared, striding ahead of me toward the door. "I prefer a sophisticated approach."
"I see," I mumbled, glancing down at my own attire of jeans and a sweater.
At least I won't have to worry about splitting my pants when I sit down I thought wryly, following after him and not commenting on the flask I watched him slip into his jacket pocket.
❀ ❀ ❀
The drive to the bookstore wasn't a long one, but Romero seemed determined to make it feel like an eternity. He sat in the backseat, glaring at the driver for any perceived infraction, whether it was a red light or a pedestrian just trying to cross the street. At one point, he even scowled at a crow perched on a nearby tree branch, as if it had personally offended him by existing.
Despite his grumpiness, I couldn't help but find it amusing while I wasn't on the receiving end of it.
When we finally arrived at the bookstore, my breath caught in my throat. The two-story shop was a feast for the senses, every inch adorned with the most enchanting decor I had ever laid eyes on.
The spacious interior was lined with towering, mismatched bookshelves made of warm brown wood. From leather-bound classics to modern bestsellers, the shelves were filled to the brim with literary treasures.
The high windows above the shelves filtered in soft, natural light, with vines running down and intertwined along the shelves, lending an almost magical quality to the space.
As we walked further in, I could hear the gentle strains of classical music playing in the background, adding to the already peaceful ambience. And in a cosy corner, a couple sat at an old-fashioned wooden table, sipping freshly brewed coffee and losing themselves in their books.
It felt like I had just stepped into a Studio Ghibli movie.
"Oh, look" I whispered excitedly, tugging at Romero's sleeve and pointing over at a small black figure. "There are cats here!"
"Yes, well, that's why it's called the Cat Library," he pointed out.
"I've never heard of anything like that," I said, practically bouncing on my feet. "Can we pet them?"
As he went to answer, a voice intercepted him. "Mr. Vitale."
"Later," he whispered to me.
A blonde woman had appeared in front of us, dressed smartly in black straight-leg pants and a white blouse embroidered with lace and a name tag that read 'Julia'.
"We are delighted to have you here with your..." she trailed off, her tone professional and courteous as she looked toward me.
"Assistant," he finished for her, a devious grin spreading across his face. "This is Zahra Calimeris."
I scowled at him.
"Okay, Mr. Vitale and Miss Calimeris, if you can just follow me, we can get everything ready for you," she instructed us, leading the way as we followed closely behind her.
"I didn't agree to be your assistant," I grumbled, huffing under my breath.
He chuckled deeply in response, which didn't annoy me but made me feel oddly comforted.
Julia led us to a rustic oak table that was scattered with stacks of books, seamlessly blending with the quaint interior of the room. Two glasses of water were placed in front of the chairs behind the table, waiting for us.
"If you could please take a seat, we will begin to allow guests in," Julia informed us. "Since it's a highly anticipated event, we had to issue tickets on a first-come, first-served basis to manage the number of attendees."
Romero simply nodded in acknowledgement.
"Thank you, Julia," I added politely.
"Alright," Julia smiled. "I'll leave you to it then. If you need my assistance I will just be at the front desk where you first came in." She turned and walked away, leaving us to sit down alone.
Interest piqued, I reached out to one of the books on the table and read the front cover out loud.
"The Art of Living by Romero Vitale."
At the sound of his name, Romero turned his attention to me.
"What's it about?" I asked, flipping through the pages.
"Why don't you read it and find out," he replied, deadpan. Just then, the first few people began to stream into the room.
The line in front of the signing table grew longer as the afternoon wore on, consisting mainly of middle-aged men and young women, with the occasional teenager. It was impressive seeing how many people enjoyed his work.
Two hours passed, with me reminding Romero to smile as he signed away at all the books. Feeling a wave of fatigue wash over me, I let out a small yawn.
"Here," he said, sliding a black card over to me without even looking up from the book he was writing in. "Get yourself something to eat."
I hesitated, but he nodded towards the nearby cafe, his expression commanding. My stomach growled in agreement, and I decided to follow his suggestion.
I expressed my gratitude and walked towards the counter to order a fruit salad and a spicy tofu wrap. As the server handed me my food, she handed me a copy of Romero's book and eagerly asked if I could get it signed for her as she was working during the event.
Sitting at an empty table, I savoured my meal and took the opportunity to stretch my limbs for a good half hour before disposing of my wrappers in the designated bins.
Feeling satisfied and rejuvenated, I headed back to the signing table. However, my pleasant mood was abruptly interrupted when a hard body crashed into me, causing the server's book to fall onto the floor with a loud thud.
My skin prickled at the heads that turned at the sound. Immediately, I could feel the temperature of my face rising at lightning speed.
"Watch it," a sour voice spat. I looked up to see an old woman who looked to be in her 60s with a scowl etched deep into her face.
"I'm so sorry," I apologised profusely. "I didn't see you coming."
"Well, you should watch where you're going," the woman replied, her voice dripping with disdain. "You should pick that book up before you damage it even more. Do you have any idea how valuable that book is? Honestly, some people just don't belong in public spaces."
"I'm sorry," I repeated, feeling embarrassed as I bent down to retrieve the book. My anxiety was choking me, and I struggled to focus on what she was saying. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down and subdue it.
When I stood back up, Romero was in front of me and the lady had walked away.
"What the fuck, Zahra," he spoke harshly, his voice carrying a protective edge. "Do not let anyone talk to you like that."
All traces of his earlier calm had vanished and the light-hearted atmosphere had completely disappeared.
"What?" My voice cracked, and I was sure I looked as disoriented as I felt. "I'm fine."
"Is that why you sound like you're about to cry?" he accused, his brows furrowed. However, I knew his anger wasn't directed at me.
"I'm serious, I'm fine," I said firmly, trying to quell the tremble in my voice. "It was my fault for not looking where I was going. Maybe she's having a bad day and I made it worse."
"She wasn't having a bad day. Some people are just assholes," he retorted. "Don't waste your kindness on people who don't deserve it."
"And what makes someone deserving?" I countered, my confidence slowly returning. "If we can't spread kindness, won't that make the world a bitter and ugly place to live?"
"Pray tell, Zahra," he said, his voice less harsh and his intense gaze fixed on mine. "How could the world possibly be ugly when you're in it?"
With that, he strode back to the signing table while his words echoed in my mind and weighed heavily on my thoughts.
As I walked back to my seat, I couldn't shake the feeling that his perspective had been skewed by something in his own life. Kindness wasn't a reward for good behaviour or a gift given only to the deserving. It was a powerful force that required strength and courage to wield, especially in cruel or difficult situations.
My parents had instilled that lesson in me since I could crawl - that kindness was the key to humanity, to our connections with one another, and to our hope for a better world.
I refused to believe that it was a weakness or a flaw. It was a core aspect of being human and the very thing that made the world tolerable to live in. Even if some people failed to appreciate it or reciprocate it, I would not let their negativity change who I was.
"I'm finishing this up now," he declared when I returned. "Let's go see the cats before we leave."
❀ ❀ ❀
Romero's driver dropped me off outside my apartment complex. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon, leaving behind a warm glow that slowly dissipated into the deepening blue of the night sky. The stars had begun to twinkle above, like tiny diamonds scattered across a dark canvas. The air was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the promise of a peaceful night ahead.
But as I climbed the stairs, the serenity was shattered by the unmistakable screech of my upstairs neighbour.
"I'll fucking kill you," Mandy's shrill voice echoed through the halls, threatening to burst my eardrums. I closed my eyes, accepting that I could forget about the peaceful night that I had hoped for. All I wanted was to relax in my bed and study, but it seemed like that was not going to be an option with my neighbour's incessant noise.
I heard a door slam open and a man's body bounced into the railing above mine.
Did she just push him into them?
From the bald head, I identified the man as her on-and-off boyfriend. Despite my living there for a couple of years, I still had no idea of his name.
He bounced off the railing and huffed. "Fuck you, stupid bitch."
I must have really racked up some bad karma in my past life to deserve this fate.
I glared at the steeply angled stairs that exposed everything to anyone passing by. The complex manager must have had a sick sense of humour to design them like this.
"And you can forget about this,"' she fired a pack of something that looked suspiciously like condoms out the door that hit him square on the chest.
"Couldn't use them anyway after last time," he shouted back at her. "Your pussy is so dry it gave my dick carpet burn."
That says more about you than it does her, idiot. God, men could be so stupid.
I heard another screech and quickly scrambled from the stairs to my apartment door, eager to escape any drama before it escalated. I shuddered at the thought of witnessing a murder and having to testify about it in court.
With a heavy sigh, I unlocked my door and stepped inside, ready to leave the chaos of the world outside my home behind for the night.
tsym for reading and interacting with my story it really motivates me to keep on writing <3