Paris|| Pierre Gasly

Seven

"Hello! Willow Major, I'm a total fucking retard." I say to the unknown number that called my house telephone. It's been five days of me and Pierre exchanging mails.

"Uh hi this is Charlie Mendel calling from Versace on behalf of Donatella. Is your mother around?" The caller asks.

"I dont..." I look around the house, as if I can find her in this one space of the house. "think so."

"Alright, if you ever see her, tell her her sister wants to negotiate business. Thank you."

"Yeah." I hung up the phone and decided to look for her if ever she was here. Sometimes I wonder how sterling I am as a daughter. I have noticed an extreme lack of presence of mind regarding my family's attendance in the house. But they don't even bother to say they're leaving so it's just partly my fault.

I walk around the house, searched every room. Nope, mother is not in the house. But we've got a ton of rooms that are straight up useless. We've got a server room— for what? We don't run an online platform. None of my family members are systems architects. We've got a room full of old consoles and a room for a jacuzzi that has never been fixed since 2010.
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For the rest of the day I have been doing nothing but read a book, draw the whole map of Middle Earth, do two-hundred crunches, and honestly counting my hair is more productive.

Shouldn't I be deciding on what to take for University? I got a year planned which is yet to be approved. I hear a car honk signifying one of my parents have arrived. I called for a maid to open the automated gates.

"It's your auntie." The butler said. I accidentally dropped the book onto my face and cursed, of course.

"Willoooow!" The front doors opened and I hear her greet me. I turned around and I saw the face of fashion. An icon. My aunt, Donatella. And what do you know, looking extra as always.

I stood up and greeted her, surprised that she has came to visit. She kissed both my cheeks and patted my head.

"Your mother still not here?" She asked her accent very prominent like my mother's. I shook my head no. "Sad. I was so excited to tell you—" she stopped talking. She shakes her head.

"What?"

"Oh my gosh I really want to tell you." She says like she's out of breath. "But I want to say it with my sister and brother-in-law."

"Tell me." I pleaded. She looked at me, smiled then rolled her eyes while chuckling.

"Okay." She gave up. "I want you to come with me to Milan." My eyes widened.

I am high on demand, what can I say.

"S-sure. When?" My talking capacity has barely succeeded to continue.

"Maybe in three weeks? In a week if you want a ride with me going there. I have to prepare for fashion week. Im a busy lady." She smiled then said, "Im borrowing your dad's jet."

"Why do you need me, exactly?" She does not visit often. She comes and goes. But now she comes and goes with a burden.

"Your mom has ranted to me about your plans of having a year off from school and I thought what better way to spend it than in Italy." Ranted? Okay wow I would be lying if I said I wasn't offended by my mom. But I nodded my head.

"And you didn't discuss this through phone because?" I asked. She could have called my mother's cellphone or use a video chat application perhaps.

"It's also an excuse to come visit my favourite side of the family." She mischievously smirks. Oh, Donatella, you never fail to flatter the hell out of me. She's the only person who believes I got confidence. She loves to make my ego big. Now she's planning on embarking on a trip with me, let's see how that goes. By the end of that trip my head is going to be so far up my ass I could see the future. "You'll do it?"

"I'd love to. I'll ride with you." I say. "But can I ask you a favour? It's kind of a big one." She nodded signalling me to continue.

"Can you drop me off at Barcelona first?" Her face contorted a bit.

"W-well I can do that. Yes, it's possible."

"Yeah but don't tell my parents." I say quickly. Her eyes narrowed. She gets her phone, checking her schedule I guess. Her acrylic nails making satisfying noises as it taps her phone screen together with the pads of her fingers.

"I'd have to leave you at Spain for a week. Again, I'm a busy person, I cannot go with you." She frowns.

"Yes, and that's totally fine. I'm asking a lot, I know I am a big burden. But can you help me make this possible?" I pleaded, but hopefully I don't sound too demanding. She sighed with content. As if she was relieved that her niece is actually growing up.

"Come here," she made a hand gesture telling me to move closer to her. She opened her arms and I immediately placed my hands around her. "We will make this possible. And I don't know your business there in Spain, but I will help you." I moved away and sat next to her.

I pray silently that this will become possible. I couldn't wait any longer to see Pierre.

My parents came home, telling me they had a dinner date. Donatella immediately told them about her plans on taking me on a journey across the world to my mother's home country. A few disagreements, apologies and hesitation later, Donatella has convinced them by the act of guilt tripping. Of course because of that, she was in favour.

"Take care of her, sister." My mother spoke.

"No promises, sister. I'm a busy lady." My aunt turned to me and winked.

"Donatella—" my mother transitioned her language to Italian. Really fast Italian, I must say. Really fast pissed Italian.

I looked at my father and he gave me a small smile before standing up and getting wine out of a glass display case. I huffed. My mother looked at me and paused her squabbling, scared that I might scream again.

"Just please. I don't want her hurt." Her voice broke. She was speaking to her sister but her eyes were fixed on me. Donatella frowned, understanding why she feels this way. Donatella grabs her sister's hand, grasping it tight.

"I'll never let anything happen to her. I won't allow it." She whispered. The last few words were almost unrecognisable.

I stood up to give them their time and walked to the room where I have been exchanging mails to Pierre the past days. I composed a new letter with only a few words.

Pierre,

See you next week.

I sent it and a few minutes later, he replied.

Omg are you shitting me?

I smiled.

When did I ever discharge feces to you?

I like to think I'm clever, excuse me.

The whole time we were exchanging mails.

E-mails acted as normal messaging applications as we talk with only a sentence but reply as quick as ever. There were times I almost got caught red handed, devising a plan to egress home. But the divines were on my side.

Mother and Donatella eventually ended with an agreeable proposal as I left the room to get ready for bed.

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Not much Pierre. Woops.
Do you just ever look at your work and think "wow my writing is actually horrific" and so you don't want to suffer reading it to check if there's an error? Because same.