The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 36

Chapter 36

          As usual, the Christmas concerts were brilliant, filled with timeless music, magnificent stages, and excited audiences filled with new people just hoping to hear good Christmas songs.

          And hear them they did! The boys, of course, were amazing, their voices perfect and awe-inspiring. Having filmed a successful documentary, I felt authorized to upload video clips as well as pictures, and the new, larger fan base loved them both. I was getting a constant flow of feedback from the Il Volovers, and I was able to supply them with what they wanted to see from the boys.

          I was having so much fun, darting around the stages with my camera and getting brilliant images to share with the fans, and as the weather throughout the country grew steadily colder, I always felt warm and comfortable when Ignazio was around.

          We had fun together, playing around during rehearsals, sharing hot chocolate, flipping through my landscapes, watching old Il Volo DVDs from when Ignazio was young and chubby and adorable, and just spending time together in our hotel rooms throughout the different cities we stopped in. On the constant plane rides we took the opportunity to rest and take naps, as I laid my head on his shoulder and listened to his music library with him: dozing as Sinatra, Michael Buble, Josh Groban, and of course, Il Volo played in my ear and helped me to relax.

          Sometimes, I would wake up and be unable to return to sleep because of my constant flow of thoughts, and I would just look up at him and gaze at his peaceful face, faraway smile, and his handsome features so close to me.

          As the December days passed by, I dreaded the days when we had to return home for Christmas. I didn’t want to go home to Florida and Harrison and have down time away from work. I wanted to keep going with Il Volo, traveling and taking pictures and promoting the boys. I wanted to stay with Ignazio, and the idea of being away from him for the weeks we were allotted for Christmas break didn’t sound like a break to me; it sounded like a separation.

          “Oh, Ignazio,” I whispered one day on a quiet plane ride. He was asleep and unaware that I was gazing at him, somber at the idea of leaving him. “I don’t want to be separated from you. Even for a little while.”

          Then I leaned closer to him and tucked my head into the crook of his neck, peering up at him as my mind wandered.

*****

          “And as long as I’ve got my suit and tie…Imma leave it all on the floor tonight! And you got fixed up to the nines, Let me show you a few things!”

          Gianluca and Piero were singing Justin Timberlake songs to the empty seats of the theatre as Ignazio playfully beat-boxed into his microphone along with them. I was lying on my back on the piano lid, holding my camera on my stomach and flipping through the landscape photos I had taken when we were in New Jersey. I turned my head and smiled as I watched my AMA winners dancing around the empty stage in their jeans and T-shirts.

          We were back in California, at the end of the Christmas tour, and Il Volo had only three more concerts left to do. It was a pretty short tour, anyway, only about a month long.

          This particular concert, in Sacramento, wasn’t until a few more hours, and the boys had plenty of time to play around before the concert. I watched them, smiling, and then held my camera sideways and yelled, “Boys!”

          When they turned, still dancing around at the edge of the stage, I snapped a picture and they laughed. Piero took bows while Ignazio blew dramatic kisses, and Gianluca smiled at me and then started to sing something in Italian, which Piero quickly joined in on.