You took me to a cute restaurant somewhere in Venice where it was quiet and secluded. Ten circular tables were set outside, clothed in a brown tablecloth with five white metal chair surrounding it. Draping branches and vines protected our eyes from the piercing sunlight. The waiter sat us down at the seat in the end beside the restaurant building—from my seat I could see the crowds of tourists inside, waiters rushing to get their specific order.
“Uhm… Scusi, cameriere?” I asked in my best Italian, believing that it meant “excuse me waiter.”
The male waiter turned to look at me, dressed in his fancy fitted black slacks and dress jacket with a white collared shirt underneath. He looked at me, content that I was attempting to speak some Italian. He must have been amused by this—both of you seemed amused by this.
I bit my lip, not even sure of what to say. I felt like a idiot for being those totally stereotypical people that couldn’t speak a think of Italian—the ones that I was totally bitching about since I got here.
“Uhm… ¿hablas ingles?” I asked stupidly, knowing that it was completely the wrong language.
The waiter chuckled and spoke in perfect English, “Yes I do ma’am, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I like tourists to try and practice their Italian—it will improve their daily life if they practice, even if it’s just a couple phrases a day. I was intrigued by your approach of using Spanish to try and find similar words between that foreign tongue and ours.”
I blushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m new here.”
“Yes, I can tell,” the waiter looked over at you, “Mr. Lunae here had requested that the outside area be reserved for just the two of you. Roivas and I have known each other for quite some time now, so I was able to pull a few strings and arrange it, I hope it is to your liking Miss Montero.”
It was as if he read my mind and was able to answer my question, “Y-Yes sir.”
“May we have some menus, Marco?” you asked kindly.
“Of course Roivas.” Marco left and came back within seconds, handing us our menus. You skimmed through it quickly before I could even open my menu and you took it away from me, giving it to Marco, beckoning him to come closer. He leaned down and you whispered something in his ear, he looked at me and smiled.
“I’ll get that to you as fast as I can Mr. Lunae, now if you will excuse me,” Marco bowed and left to head inside the restaurant.
“What the hell was that?” I exclaimed, voice cracking a bit. You chuckled softly.
“It’s a surprise.” You smiled at me and Marco came back with two waters and a small basket of freshly baked bread wrapped in a cloth napkin. He left again and I unwrapped the napkin to unveil the bread, taking a piece and breaking the crispy bread in half, smelling the sweet wheat, smoky and soft. I took a bite and felt the soft bread melt on my tongue, taste buds dancing; I swallowed the delicacy. Things in Italy sure did taste better.
“My God, I have never tasted anything so amazing!” I took another bite, then another. You smiled and watched me, cheek propped up against the pad of your thumb. You watched me with a strange look in your eyes—a dreamy look. “Are you okay Roivas?” I waved my hand in front of your face and you blinked, sitting up straight.
“Huh? Oh, I was just thinking.”
“What’s her name?” I asked casually.
YOU ARE READING
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Teen Fiction"Pretty boy distracts girl, pretends that he’s in love with her. When she least expect it, he assassinates her and pretty boy lives happily in a giant ass headquarters as the number one Master Assassin." Zora’s a young sixteen year old girl who’s so...
