Sugar & Salt ✩ Michael Jackson

Thirteen: When In Rome With Hotshot

In the art studio, I was sitting on a wooden stool in front of an unfinished painting on my easel. I was in a white crop-top and dark blue denim overalls. Andrea called in the middle of my painting session to discuss the start of her semester. As she went on about the heavy workload and dreadful professors, my mind was focused on Michael. I hadn't seen him since I confessed my feelings here. With him and I being a thing or whatever, you'd think I'd get a heads-up before the disappearing act.

The front door of my studio opened and in came Michael, dressed to the nine as always. I quickly ended the call with Andrea before she could hear him talk about hitmen that want to kill me.

"Talking about me?" Michael asked with a mischievous smile, making his way to me. "What's on your mind that you can't talk about with me? How charming I am?"

"Don't think your mind could process anything because of the hair gel that has seeped into your brain."

"Ouch! Back to the insults?" Michael laughed, taken back. "You know I like it when you're feisty! What's the occasion?"

"As of now, you. Why did you leave for a week and a half without any notice?"

"Business." He said, standing by my easel. "Now, I'm back and wanted to see you at work. Paint me like one of your French girls."

"Seriously, Michael. What's going on?"

"Nothing, really. The Italian assassination organization is here hunting you down right now, along with two other assassination organizations." Michael said, oh so nonchalantly. "We have to leave. There are too many assassins for me to handle at once."

My mind went blank for a second because what in the hell did he just say?!

"I'm sorry, can we go back to the part I'm being hunted down like it's hunting season?! Where the hell are we even going to go?"

"Assassins are spawned all over this town. They could be listening in right now, so I can't tell you until we are there. You will love it, however." Michael smiled, then saw the intense distress on my face. "Oh, Doll, it's going to be alright. Where I am taking you is very safe. Just trust that I will protect you. You should change your clothes before we go. Something preferably without paint. Short shorts perhaps?"

"I will knock your teeth in."

After I switched into a brown and black striped sweater, dark blue jeans, and combat boots, Michael had a chauffeur drive us to a small airport. I nearly lost my mind when I saw a colossal, luxurious private jet. How much does a secret agent get paid to throw thousand dollars without a single thought? Even after we got off and went into a luxury black car, Michael refused to tell me where we were.

An hour later, the car came to a halt. I was just a bit anxious. The guy kept me in the dark about where I was going for fourteen fucking hours so, yeah, kind of worried. When Michael opened the door, he took my hand to help me step out. My eyes widened once I saw where we were. I could not believe Michael took me here. Michael took a hold of my hand,

"Welcome to Italy, Bellissima." Michael charmingly said, then he pecked the back of my hand.

Hate to say I swooned just a bit at that.

Thirteen hours was long enough to assume we were going out of the country, but I didn't think Italy. We began to walk along this narrow, brick-patterned street. We passed by tall, cathedral churches, bakeries, flower shops, designer stores, beautifully decorated terraces. People were riding astounding bright-colored motorcycles. When we came upon a large building, he guided me in without telling me where we were at. Concerning, but being my guardian and all, don't think I have much say in the matter. When we stepped in, I gasped and turned around to hit him, excited.