Eternal Adoration [ON PAUSE]

2. Tortellini

SERAPHINA

If the House of Terror had a twin that is its exact opposite in every way, this place would be it.

Both places have the same underground, warehouse feel, but this place? Now this place is simply beautiful. Sleek, dark, and mysterious-this is what every man wishes their bachelor pad looked liked.

"Your home is beautiful," I whisper in wonder, staring at his built-in glass stovetop and trying hard not to drool all over the floor. "Your stovetop is the stuff dreams are made of."

I don't think I've ever seen a stove so beautiful, so ready to be utilized. I bet if I turn the knob, it will actually work. I won't need to be pressed down and held for thirty seconds or for a lighter to be utilized to spark the fire.

Aristide doesn't say anything to my compliment, but I feel him a couple of feet away from me, just observing me as I touch one thing and marvel at the other thing. I'm sure if he knew how shameless I can be when allowed to, he would stop me right now.

When I move to the living room, I almost collapse on his leather black couch, but I tell myself that I don't know Aristide and that though he probably won't kill me, I should still remain on guard.

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask him, instead, picking up a book from the overflowing bookshelf on the side of the living room. "Oh my gosh, is this what I think it is?!"

He walks toward me. "I brought you here to feed you." Even though I hold the book high, his gaze is on me. "And that is one book in the set of the Afri-"

"-cana Encyclopedia," I finish, giving him a duh look. "I know!"

He watches me with interest, or maybe it's wariness. "You're a fan of Encyclopedias?"

"Yes!" I look down at the black book in my hands. "Especially this set!" I look up at him with a grin. "And so are you, apparently?"

"The books are Giorgio's," he mutters, in seeming annoyance.

I look back at the bookshelf, all my worries about being in a stranger's home going up in a cloud of smoke as I spot more goodies scattered on the shelf.

"When will he be done 'accompanying Silvio to the car'?" I turn back to Aristide with a smile, too excited to dwell on Silvio's probable death. "I need to talk to him about this. And somehow convince him to let me borrow these babies!"

See? Shameless.

"You won't be needing to talk to him," Aristide, who suddenly looks like his cereal got pissed in, which for him means a slight frown, grunts at me. "You can borrow any of those books whenever you want."

He walks over to the fridge as if he didn't just make my whole month. Whom am I kidding? Good things rarely happen to me, this man has made my whole year. Maybe two.

"Book lover?" He stares at my stupefied face for a moment, and though he tries to brush it off with his hand, I see the smile that starts to form on his lips.

It's not just books. I don't love all forms of reading. Quite the opposite, I mostly hate fiction. Magazines can burn, and while non-fiction can be good, if it's not somehow revolving around history, I don't want it.

"History buff," I profess proudly, happy to have something to be that is completely mine. "Books about anything other than history don't interest me."

"Giorgio is similar." He seems annoyed by this fact. "He can't read anything but non-fiction."

Looking at his book collection, that much seems true. The man has range. Everything from poetry to James Baldwin's Go Tell It on the Mountain. I'll be snagging that one next. Autobiographies are cool, too.