𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇

XL

— RORI —

When we arrive in Rome, the time is 11:45 am.

I feel relieved as i step out of the plane. The youngest of my brothers do not want to. They did not sleep a wink the entire flight, mostly busying themselves with the Xbox.

They groan and complain until eventually Vinnie, like the mediating middle child he is, pinches an ear on either boy's head, causing them to immediately clamber to their feet.

For me, the relief is not at all because i am about to embark on a vacation to one of my favourite cities, filled with trips to some of my favourite boutiques and luxury brands, or basking in the sun as i become giddy from wine in the middle of the day. The relief is merely from being freed from the confines of the jet, where time seemed to stand still as i avoided confrontations with my siblings.

Two sprinters are waiting for us on the tarmac. We do not care to order ourselves as we often do, choosing who we will sit with, but i make a point to look Zephaniah in the eye as i walk in the opposite direction as him.

He scoffs at me because he could not care less, and only then do i realise my action was beneath him. After all, he is not Seamus or Quentin.

Nothing of significance occurs on our journey from the airport. My interest piques only as we travel through the city centre and i spot familiar sights. We end up in rural Rome soon enough and, around thirty minutes later, the car turns onto what is obviously private grounds, marked by stone pillars which weathered lion statues rest atop, and wrought-iron gates. 

I do not have time to note what appears on the crest which has been carved onto the stone, nor the Latin words which have been inscribed, though i can only imagine both reflect the privilege of all those who have occupied the other side.

The long and gently winding drive is lined with Cypress trees on either side that are trimmed to perfection, its gravel crunching underneath us as it hits the wheels. There is nothing but greenery for yards. We pass neat rows of vines and ancient olive trees that stretch across each side of the drive in the distance, where few people are seen tending to them.

As we travel further, we are met with more weathered stone structures, such as wine cellars, stables, and storage barns, as well as what appears to be an old servants' quarters. Then we reach the formal gardens, comprising of box hedges that are just as flawlessly shaped as the Cypress trees.

We also see classical statues, fountains that come in tiers, reflecting pools — some of which are amongst a maze that sparks my curiosity.

The last thing that catches my eye is a chapel, overgrown with ivy. Again, it is enclosed with a small iron gate and appears to be inscribed with Latin.

And then there's the villa...

Oh, the beautiful villa, seeming as ancient as Rome itself.

It appeared magnificent in partial view, only now that i am able to see it up close and personal, it is all the more grand.

It exudes wealth. The kind that has amassed through multiple generations. Through nobility.

In fact, it is sickeningly rich.

It is so disgustingly rich that i almost forget i am totally and utterly connected to it.

To go from surviving the fallout of the Soviet Union to experiencing the glamour of Hollywood is one thing — but to now see my family positioned like heirs of the Roman Empire?

That's a whole other pill to swallow.

"I think i'm going to be sick," Quentin says as we exit the vehicle, his tone one of sheer bewilderment as he ogles the villa.