Romanza In Rome

|15|

•Taimoor•

The thin lingering dust on the opalescent plates danced with a vibrancy under white ceiling lights. On the stove the French onion soup bubbled, the bowls of bread baked under the warm glow of the orange oven light. Thin strips of meat had been sliced, marinating in the thick marinade. Rosemary and thyme crushed, garlic sliced into thin slivers, ginger and coarse black pepper on top. Aroma of the blend of sixteen spices hovered in the air. Saffron enriched grains of rice had been steamed until each grain stood out with its own individuality.

A thick linen cloth had been thrust into his hands, responsibility on his shoulders to wipe the plates down. The touch of his sweaty fingers lingered on the cool porcelain, the sky blue and silver paint that was etched on the diameter, reflected light into his eyes. Sounds of his father and brother's ceaseless chatter fell onto his deaf ears. His eye made contact with them every now and then, fingers slipped back and forth with the plates. The glasses — made of fiber glass had already been placed on the dining table. A train of sous chefs followed the orders of his father, moving back and forth with sharp knives in hand. It was like a battle of death, so close to it yet the thrill was beyond anything.

Yusuf and Emir had that signature charm in them he noticed. The one that he had inherited too, a high spirit of being able to control an entire room with just a flick of his wrist. Their voices with the calm bleakness pierced sharply through the realm of present, launching them straight into the future destroying the past. Taimoor noted with great earnest attitude the way his father commanded Emir. Inside the kitchen, whilst he was at work, there was no mercy for anyone. Even if they were his own sons.

"Taimoor if you're done here go make yourself busy elsewhere," Yusuf grumbled.

Gulping, he nodded his head. Placing the last of the expensive dishes on the marble countertops. The wristwatch struck a four. Exactly and precisely on the dot. Lilah had been invited over for tea — she would be forced to stay for dinner, he knew.

"Taimoor go".

"Huh—uh yes I was just going".

Sheepishly he exited the large chef's kitchen, crossing the white swivel doors he entered the smaller of the two kitchen's before walking out into the lavishly decorated hallway. The sound of his heeled shoes were suffocated against the thick maroon carpet, the color of it slightly deeper than the one of his red bottom shoes. With one hand placed in his pocket for decor, he scrolled on the screen of his phone with the other. His finger lingered above the contact name of Lilah, for a few seconds he contemplated. Was it worth it? Taking a deep breath he pressed the call icon, placing the phone next to his ear he waited for the familiar ringtone.

"Um-hello Lilah?"

"No you douchebag!"

"Excuse me?" He frowned.

"This is her assistant Nicole. She forgot her phone at my apartment as she was rushed to reach your home sweetheart".

The sarcasm dripped from each word, covered in the thick Italian accent, snubbed his confidence.

"Alright—I'll hang up then. Have a good evening," he spoke.

"I'm not buying this sweet boy act Mr.Khan. You better bring your A game in this redemption arc or I'll end up in the hospital for murder!"