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"Ah, Italy. Never seems to stop amazing me," I say to myself like I'm the main character while I'm walking down the streets. Italian culture is purely beautiful.
"Buon pomeriggio, signore!" a young boy yells to me while running with his friends.
"Bueno pomeriggio," I say in my best Italian accent. It's been a week since I came to Italy and now I'm headed to meet the bosses. They're bosses of the extension building of the magazine company Playbunnies originated from France, the one I'm modelling for in London. They have a bit different setting here and the boss in London said I would use some environmental change. And I agree with him, my staying in Italy for a week before shooting was awesome. I explored the shops here, the beaches, I've visited some of the sights. It's relaxing. I could get used to it.
I've always dreamed of travelling the world one day. Maybe I can ask my boss in London to send me to other countries, too, for modelling purposes. I would need to stay for at least a few days so it would give me time to see at least some sights and similar.
I stop in front of a big building. The glass is all around it, it is clear it's newer, has reinforced concrete structure, it's built mainly from concrete and glass to have more natural light. The room looks large, the building function is reeking business function. The architect chose the regular rectangle windows used for that kind of function objects. I hope it's as modern and clean inside as it is outside.
I walk into the building, ignoring the stares I got. The receptionist smiles at me and I feel welcoming vibes from her.
"Hello! How can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm here for the photoshoot that is scheduled in an hour," I smile back at her.
"Louis Tomlinson?" she asks. I nod. "Oh my gosh! I knew I recognized you!" she squeals. "Mr Malik and Mr Payne will be here shortly," she says as she furiously fast types a message, probably to them. "Can we please take a selfie? I always wanted to meet you," she asks.
"Of course, come here, love," I say. She stands up and hurries around the table to stand next to me, the camera already open. We get in a selfie position and she takes a photo. I can tell she is nervous and doesn't want to come closer because she's anxious. I take the phone from her before she can put it in her pocket, putting an arm around her and bringing her closer. She blushes so much and intensive, she looks like a strawberry. Or Strawberry shortcake hair. The older version where she has more red hair, not the modern pink.
"T—thank you," she says, stuttering.
"No problem. What's your name?"
"Eleanor Calder."
"Want to grab a coffee one day? I'll be in Italy for some time and I don't know anyone here. I could use a guide," I chuckle.
