Gianluca Ginoble and I

Chapter 1

Gianluca Ginoble and I

Chapter 1

 

*Author’s note: Hello everyone, I’m back, and proud to present my second fanfiction to you!!!! This one is about Il Volo, a teenage singing trio from Italy. If you haven’t heard of them, I encourage you to look them up, as the story might be better if you have the soundtrack to go along with it! Those of you who wanted a longer fanfiction will be pleased to know that this one is more lengthy than I Love You, Dan Howell (my first fanfiction). I had a lot of fun writing this, and put in a lot of time, and I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to email me at annawritesfanfiction at gmaildotcom. (The site may not let you write the address normally.) Enjoy…

(previously posted on fanfiction dot net)

I took the tea from the fridge and went out into the garden, running a hand through my wet, loosely curly brown hair. I went to my bench and sat cross-legged on it, the cup of tea in my hands. I had been studying for exams all day, and I was trying to shut my brain off before bed. It’s very hellish when you end up dreaming about exams all night.

I sat quietly, listening to the silence of the night. One of the little bunnies that adore my garden hopped out of a bush and scampered off into the vegetable patch. I let it go. I didn’t really plant them for me as much as for the bunnies.

I quietly sipped my tea, and pulled my phone out of the pocket of my shorts. I scrolled through my music and put on a song called “O Sole Mio” by a group called Il Volo. I had come across them on Youtube one day and loved their music. They were Italian, and sang songs in Italian, Spanish, and English, and they were absolutely beautiful. The songs, I mean, but that adjective could stand for the guys as well.

The music was just what I needed to be soothed, and I smiled to myself and dangled my bare foot off the bench.

But then I heard something outside the garden. A rustling, and a shadow fell over the little garden light.

I put my tea down beside me and stood. I glanced fearfully over at the back door, my heart beginning to pound.

Il Volo sang, and I called out into the night, trying to mask the fear rising in my chest.

“Who’s there!? Come out!”

I reached for my phone.

Someone stepped into the garden, and the light fell across his face.

I dropped the phone in surprise, and the music stopped playing.

“Hey,” I said. “I know you.”

“Do you?” he asked in a deep Italian accent.

“You’re Gi- Gian-”

“Gianluca Ginoble.”

“Yeah, that.” I looked over his silky-looking dark hair, deep brown eyes, and crooked smile.

“Sorry I frightened you,” he said in that amazing accent, “But I heard someone playing one of our songs, and I was curious to find out who.”

“Yeah,” I said, “No problem. I’m Naomi Kendall, by the way. Sorry for my…appearance…I have finals tomorrow.”

“Naomi,” he repeated. “Do you know that it means beautiful?”

I could feel myself blushing. I looked down at my bare feet in the grass and smiled.

“No,” I said simply, “I didn’t.”