My Italian Nightmare

Chapter 33: Butterflies

After our main course, we both exhaled contently and smoked another cigarette. Edoardo poured the last of the wine into our glasses. I was already a little tipsy and felt really comfortable.
"The food was fucking great", I exclaimed in leaned back in my chair. Edoardo grinned and raised his glass at this.
"You're welcome." I grinned back and clinked glasses with him another time.
"Do you want dessert?", he asked and I groaned half-loudly.
"I really want to but right now I couldn't possibly eat another bite. Can we take something to go maybe?" Edoardo laughed quietly and nodded.
"Certo", he said and I noticed how I loved his voice when he was speaking Italian.
"Maybe we can take a tiramisu and a bottle of wine for a walk?", I suggested. Edoardo's face turned a little grave and looked around the restaurant.
"That sounds like a good idea. I just don't know...here are so many paparazzi and I don't want to be disturbed when I spend time with you." I understood his doubts and sighed a little. "We don't have to...we can also go back to the hotel", I said and took a drag from my cigarette.
"I'll just...I'll just text the driver...", Edoardo mumbled and took out his phone. "I want to make this happen. It's stupid that we should care about things like that." He typed something into his phone, frowning.
"Alright, so...", he said and looked up at me, "let's go for a walk."
"Really?", I asked and he nodded, smiling genuinely.
"I texted our driver to pick us up whenever I say so."
"Okay!", I exclaimed and brushed through my hair with one hand. Edoardo called for the waiter and gave him his credit card, mumbling something into his ear. The waiter nodded and Edoardo got up after drinking the last bit of his wine. I grabbed my jacket and my bag and followed his example. We walked to the exit, where the waiter handed Edoardo a bag and gave us another bow.
"Grazie mille Signor Bianchi. E buonanotte." He nodded to us and smiled at me, before we left the restaurant.

The waiter has packed a tiramisu and another bottle of white wine for us, and we started to walk down one of Los Angeles' long roads. While sharing the tiramisu, the bottle of wine and lots of cigarettes, I finally got to hear something about Edoardo's life story. He was born and raised in Rome, like the other members of the band. He had met them in school and they had been a band before they had become friends. His taste of music ranged from Jazz over Classical music to Hard Rock. He was interested in bass and electric guitar as well, and he missed being in the studio whenever they were touring. He had been bullied in school before he joined the band because of his quiet and reserved personality. Making music and going to the gym gave him more confidence and he would always try to protect people from what he went through. He had a good relationship with both his parents, who supported his decision to become a musician. He was very family oriented and missed his folks, whenever he wasn't home. As we approached the topic of family once again, an unsettling feeling arrived in my stomach.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?", Edoardo asked me and I told him I had a younger sister. She was eighteen and lived with her boyfriend's family. Edoardo hesitated before asking another question, but eventually seemed to decide against it.
"I wish I had siblings. I imagine it to be a much more fun childhood."
"It was fun to have somebody to play with, yes", I agreed. Desperately wanting to change the topic I asked: "What would you have done if not music?" Edoardo thought about it a little while.
"I would have probably studied something, like philosophy...or, I don't know, musical theory. It's hard to imagine myself doing something that is not music." I totally got what he meant. Sometimes it feels like you were born to do something, and doing something else would never measure up to the thing you felt in your heart was right for your life.
"What about you?", he asked then, "have you been always into fashion?"
"I would say, I have always been into art. I was born into a very creative family. My dad's parents worked at the theater, doing costume and stage design. But I only got into fashion when I felt comfortable exploring it for myself. But I guess, if I hadn't...there would've been another creative field for me."
"Mhh", Edoardo made. We had been strolling around for almost an hour now. It had already gotten quite dark, and the second bottle was already well emptied. I was pretty drunk now but not in a way that it felt uncomfortable.
"Why are you not drunk?", I blurted out and looked at him from the side to see his face. He grinned slightly. "Why would you think that?", he said and lifted the bottle so I could see how little was left.
"You are so...you", I argued and he chuckled.
"I am not a light-weight like you. But I am also a little...intoxicated already", he admitted and I did a little 'Wooh' sound, which made Edoardo chuckle.
"I've seen you more times drunk than sober", Edoardo remarked and I poked him into the side. "It is just normal in Germany, nothing to do with me."
"Oh, don't tell me something about alcohol culture", he replied and we both started laughing. I wish we had music right now, I want to daaaance", I whined and turned around a couple times, swaying on the sidewalk. Edoardo took me by my elbow and made sure I didn't fall down. "Easy, tiger", he muttered and chuckled quietly. "We can go back to the hotel and have a little private dance party there, if you want."
"You don't dance though", I said and pouted a bit.
"Just not like Teo", he said and I rolled my eyes.
"Teo's dance moves are absolutely legendary. Maybe he's gonna be the next Jagger."
"Oh, he would love to hear that", Edoardo assured me. "So, what do you think, Ari – back to the hotel?" I nodded and took Edoardo's hand, that was comfortably warm. He made a little surprised noise before he interlocked his fingers with mine. They were so long that they fully embraced my hand. We kept walking like this and he sent a text to his driver.
"He's gonna be there in a couple minutes." We didn't exchange another word until our car pulled up to the sidewalk, but kept our fingers interlocked.