Azalea Faye Larau - The sweetheart socialite with a fire underneath and an up and coming ballet dancer in London striving to stay afloat in an ocean of sharks, all the while dealing with heartbreak and loss.
Harlan Emeric Marchetti - The Italian Maf...
"She was chaos and beauty all in one, my desire and obsession, and my queen the moment her amethyst eyes met mine."
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- A Z A L E A - F A Y E - L A R A U -
"One, two, three and a one, two, three— again! One, yes! Lift, higher! Two, three! Bravo! Perfetto!" (Perfect) Ms. Giulietta's voice echoed in the hall as I lifted my leg higher, and higher, and even more higher, if possible, until I felt as if I would come apart before finally dropping dramatically to the ground and—
"I need more drama! Si? Be drammatico!" (Dramatic) Her shrill voice made us all wince and let me tell you, if I didn't adore the woman, she probably would have been six feet under.
Who am I kidding? I couldn't hurt a fly even if I tried.
"Azalea! You're zoning out again!" She yelled in her thick Italian accent, instantly bringing me out of my murderous reverie as I smiled sheepishly.
"I'll be better, Ms. Giulia." I said softly, watching her jut her chin upwards, a habit of hers to approve of something, so I was safe enough. At least I hoped so.
"Alright then, i miei figli, let's try the seco—" (My children) She was cut off by the even more shrill sound of her ringtone.
"Santo cielo, ora cosa vuole quel bastardo?" (Good heavens, now what does that bastard want?) Her annoyed Italian words flew right over our heads as she stomped over to her phone angrily and picked up the call, rather harshly.
"What?" She snapped to the other person on the line and looked at me, beckoning me over with her finger while signalling the others to continue dancing.
"No, I cannot make it." She spoke frustrated, her thick Italian accent shining through every word she spoke, not that it didn't suit her as she walked towards her office.
"I have students to teach, marmocchio." (You brat) She gritted out.
"Not everyone can enjoy the luxury of full time servants. No, I don't give a flying cazzo about you, your spoiled highness. If you want me there, come and get me yourself." She hissed as I rocked on the ball of my heels awkwardly.
Softly clearing my throat because this felt like intruding a personal conversation— although it was rather entertaining— did she realise I was there too.
"Stai zitto, nipote." (Shut up, nephew) She looked at me and thought for a second before nodding to herself once.
"Have you learnt all the routines?" She asked and I smiled briefly with a small nod her way.
"Yes, I have. Would you like me to do something?" I asked.
"Yes, start off on the second and third set. How are you faring now?" She asked, and I hinted the concern laced in her words when my own smile faltered and I shrugged, looking away.
