"Can I kiss you?"
I fight to keep my breathing steady as I reply. "No."
"And why not?" He clenches his jaw, moving back.
Grinning lightly, I move forward. "Because I want to."
Then I crash my lips onto his.
···
They were like shards of glass. Sharp...
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❖❖❖
I TRY to take a deep breath, aware that the proximity between us was just one length of the hallway, not more than a meter.
since when were you affected like this?
Since now, apparently.
Marcella seems to pause, her grip on my elbow faltering slightly, as if not knowing how to act.
Same here, same here.
We stand, paused at the man in front of us. He couldn't be any older than 25, and now that we were closer, the finer details stuck out. How his brown tousled hair matched the tanned skin tone, how-
Enough ogling.
I look down, embarrassed, hoping one of them would say something.
Marcella did not seem embarrassed nor think it was awkward, because a small smile had laced her face.
She moves forward, somewhat dragging my body along, stumbling as I realize our height difference was extremely comical.
I was well up until the man's shoulder, whilst he had to shift his gaze down to Marcella since she only reached around my nose.
I look between the two.
Did they know each other?
"Hey figliolo, what are you doing here?" (translation: son)
son?
oh.
I pretend I didn't just google translate italian in my brain, trying not to show the fact that I understood what she had just said.
The man still keeps staring at me, and I finally see the similarities between the mother and son duo. He seemed to have inherited Marcella's light grayish eyes, the jawline, as well as the tanned skin.
It made me wonder what his dad looked like. Green eyes, tall.
"Mi hai detto di venire qui." (translation: you told me to come here.)
I have to reel back to his voice. Was there not a single flaw in this man? His voice was rough and husky but somehow came out smooth, as the words rolled right off his tongue.
Sue me.
Okay, but still extremely rude. How dare you speak Italian behind my back?
Jokes on you, but even I understand, even with my measly amount of Italian vocabulary.
Marcella frowns, probably questioning why he was replying to her in Italian.
"I texted you?" Came her confused reply.
Finally, thank you, now I don't need to waste my brain storage translating stuff.
