Romanza In Rome

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• Taimoor •

Clasping the leather strap of his wristwatch he fiddled with the tapered ends. Struggling to close the buckle against his wide wrist. He clenched his teeth in frustration and hung one leg in the air, resting his hand on his wide thigh his body flailed around as he focused solely on wearing the watch. It was a long fight and two minutes, fifty eight seconds later he had succeeded in his mission. Straightening his tailored jacket over his silken dress shirt, he walked out of his room. His shoes had a bit of a heel on the ends and added an extra inch to his already six foot one height.

Racing down the halls of his parent's mansion, he slid down the thick staircase railing. All signs of the brooding, strict CEO vanished into the thin air. He grinned at his mother, who was a vision in the blazing red evening gown. Her hair resting on her slender shoulders in a sleek middle part. Beside her stood the ever doting Yusuf Khan, famous for his cooking skills and restaurants, even more so for the way he showered his wife in their affection. Taimoor smirked to himself for having beaten Emir to it. His elder brother still lost somewhere.

"Where is Emir? I swear that man takes way too long". He cleared his throat.

"I can see what you're doing Taimoor," Janice clicked her tongue.

Walking to him, with her fur wrap resting on her lower arms, she pulled at his ear lobe. A scar remained behind from his and Emir's failed attempt at piercing their ears by themselves when they were young rebellious teenagers.

"He is already at the art show, we have all been waiting on you," Yusuf added.

Taimoor cursed under his breath. The close proximity with his mother meant that she had heard, and a sharp slap landed on the bulging muscles of his back. The three walked out of their home and sat inside the sleek pearl white Mercedes. Taimoor in the front with the driver and his parents in the back. It made no sense for all of them to take separate cars when their destination was the same. An art show by a Pakistani artist in an art gallery Emir owned — one of his many side investments.

Outside the sky was a peacock blue, almost dripping into a grey from the heavy traffic. The vastness was covered in a thicket of clouds and against the steely backdrop the green shrubs and tall trees stood out. Life sprung out from every direction, little lingering as Autumn took over. Most had already lost their thick foliage and birds had migrated to somewhere warmer. Taimoor's eyes followed the tall street lamps, their bright white lights glinted on the car roofs each one more expensive than the next. A few vespas whizzed by their sides and he could hear his mother murmur cries of shock.

He chewed on a piece of mint gum, the smell of his cuban cigar still lingering on his fingers and his shirt. The smoky aroma filled his nose forcing him to use his father's cologne that was always present in the dashboard of his cars. He may enjoy the way it smelt but he knew most — including his own family would prefer to not have it torture them for the entire evening.

"Did you do some reading on today's show?" His father engaged him in conversation.

"I did. It's mostly nature and how humans interpret their feelings. I don't even know why mamma finds these shows entertaining," he spoke.

It was true. Taimoor had yet to understand the likeness his mother had for sculptures. The woman liked to collect them, and had already covered her estate in thirty of them. Most of which were commissioned and the other bought from auctions or art shows.