Lovestruck in San Francisco

Part Two, Chapter 4 of 9

Chapter 4: An Unexpected Visitor:

Two mornings later, I am awakened by the abrupt ringing of the doorbell, forcefully pulled out of a dream in the process, despite the largely sound-proof door to my master suite being shut. The minute I open my eyes, I quickly and completely forget what I was just dreaming about, though I pay it no mind and quickly glance at my digital clock. It reads 8:30, a good hour and a half before I usually get up on my off-days.

With a groan, I proceed to climb out of bed as quickly and quietly as possible, so as to not disturb Katrina, who is sleeping less than an inch away from me. However, I can do nothing more than lift my head from the depths of my faux-feather pillow, for she wakes up within a couple of seconds, looking considerably more drowsy than I am.

"Mark?" Katrina asks, bags under her avocado eyes. "Wh-What's goin' on? Somethin' wrong?"

"Oh, uh, nothing's wrong. Just the doorbell," I reply. "It's probably not anyone important, but ignoring them would be too harsh."

"Okay then," Katrina replies, before she abruptly gasps and lets out a half-pained, half-aroused groan. "Ya'... do realize you're still inside me, right?"

"Ooh, yikes! Hang on!" I say frantically, remembering how we fell asleep almost immediately after going at it the previous night. "...Then again, can you blame me?"

With a bit of guidance, I wordlessly pull out, eliciting a sigh of relief.

"Alright, I'll be back soon," I say, lightly kissing her on the head as she proceeds to go back to sleep.

I manage to stand up and climb out of bed, but by the time I manage to do so, whoever is at my door has already rung it three more times. Wanting so badly to storm downstairs and start cussing him or her out, I instead take a deep breath and step into my slippers, slowly shutting the door behind me as I exit the room and heading downstairs. Normally, Vladik would be the one to answer the door at a time like this, but the time when he's required to be up isn't for another thirty minutes, and there's no way I'm about to let some person wait on my doorstep for that long.

By the time I finally reach the front door, the doorbell has rung another three times. Not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house, I hastily open the door, revealing a young woman who looks near-identical to Katrina, barring deep violet eyes and skin that literally pales in comparison. The only garments she appears to have on include a black trench coat, white-framed sunglasses worn on her forehead, and a scarlet beret precariously near her beehive.

It's also then that I realize how hard it's raining outside. Though she initially has a rather sour expression on her face, most likely from having to stand out in the rain for a little while, the woman quickly widens her eyes and her jaw drops slightly, almost as if she's in shock at the sight of me. However, she quickly straightens up and adopts a courteous and friendly facial expression as she reaches out to shake my hand.

"Hello. Sorry if I woke you, but I'm here to see Katrina Vicciotelli," she asks politely, her Brooklyn accent thrice as thick as Katrina's.

"Okay, first of all, who are you?" I ask in reply as I reciprocate the handshake.

"I'm her sister, Priscilla Vicciotelli. Surely you know who I am, right?" Priscilla replies.

"Well quite frankly, I've never heard of you, apart from your sister bringing you up a few times," I reply with complete honesty.

"Don't make me laugh. You seriously don't pay attention to the Broadway scene? I'm quite a big fish over there," Priscilla chuckles. "In fact, next year I'm gonna be joining the cast of Hamilton."