It wasn't that Lovina's mouth was incorrigible and constantly exploding with expletives. It's just that they usually came out when she felt like exploding. Really, it was not her fault.

A prime example: now.

With all the fury in her body and angry words running through her mind, Lovina was currently wishing for the espresso maker to burst into flames. As hard as she tried yanking and pulling, gripping onto the handle until her knuckles turned white and her face was beet red, the filter refused to be released from the jowl of the espresso maker from hell. It seemed like the machine never did much for her but cause supreme anger and frustration. Day in and day out, she toiled in creating various types of coffees for customers who would order them. For all she cared, damn thing could go rot in a ditch. But then it was probably too stubborn to even do that.

"Here, Lovina, you should move before you hurt somebody. Namely yourself."

Lovina only snarled in the direction of the voice, which belonged to Bella. Bella from Belgium. The two had a history that traced back to Lovina's childhood days, but nowadays people knew her as Bella, the only person who could ever put up with Lovina when she was being insufferable. She strode over to next to Lovina, and after a few twists and clicks, was able to relinquish the machine's grip on the filter. She even had the nerve to wave it airily in front of her childhood friend with a smug grin, and not even spilling a single grind to top it all off.

The color on Lovina's cheeks faded from scarlet anger to an embarrassed pink, and she twisted her lips into a pout. "I-it's only because I loosened it for you," Lovina blurted, snatching the filter from Bella's fingertips. "…But thanks anyway." She unceremoniously flung the filter into the sink, metal hitting metal with a loud clang.

"Of course, Lovi, we wouldn't want you accidentally destroy the espresso machine, and all we would be able serve is coffee grinds mixed with hot water, would we?" Bella said, mirth twinkling in her blue eyes as she tousled Lovina's hair, all the while avoiding the peculiar wayward curl that Lovina had announced she would rip the balls off of anybody who tried touching, male or female.

Lovina glared at her half-heartedly. "Destruction would be a downright improvement for that thing. I don't get paid enough to deal with it."

"Well, you only press coffee and make the cannoli. Sometimes you clean, but even then we have to be careful, because then you'd use your paycheck paying off all the broken dishes!" A wave of laughter burst from Bella at the scandalized look on Lovina's face.

"Don't be mad, Lovina. You know that we only get as much as we do because there isn't much coming in."

"And whose big idea was it to sink most of the inheritance from nonno into this, again?" Lovina scoffed.

Bella placed a reassuring hand on Lovina's arm, the look on her face less playful and more sobering. "Look, I know it's slow, but we've only been open three months; something is bound to come along, right? C'mon. I know you don't care much for Ludwig, but do it for your brother. He said it was his dream come true, remember?"

Lovina turned away from Bella to the face front of the restaurant, unable to meet her too-sentimental gaze. Point or not, Feliciano had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"It's…it's stupid, that's what it is. My brother and that macho can just…" She trailed, staring out at the tiny restaurant setting before her, filled with nothing but empty chairs and too-clean tables, while the street outside bustled with tourists and shoppers passing by, skipping out on the eatery Feliciano had so affectionately named La Dolce Vita. Nobody could miss the name of the place even if they tried, because besides the painted letters across the window, Feliciano had taken great care to paint a mural on the wall facing the entrance that captured the essence of a time when their nonno cooked mountains of pasta for him and Lovina. Everyone was just as joyful as she remembered. Mural-Lovina even looked less disgruntled to maybe even border on the edge of looking cute as she dangled a strand of noodle on a fork over her, face smeared with streaks of sauce.

It was enough to render Lovina unable to bring herself to finish the last three words she had originally intended to say, words that included "go" and "themselves," with an action not quite so kind in between.

"….he and that macho can just go do what they want, and leave me out of it!"

Either Bella was exasperated, or well aware of the fact that what Lovina said and what she really felt never coincided very well, so she dropped the conversation with a sigh, shoulders sagging as she plopped onto a chair. She hopped right back onto her feet, however, when the jangle of a small bell that hung over the entrance broke the silence. Two girls, fashionably dressed and laden with bags from designer boutiques, noisily sauntered in.

One of them, her voice tinged with the exhilaration of a good shopping haul, asked, "Our legs are tired and this is the closest place." She took a sweeping look at the dining room around her. "Are you open? It is very empty."

Lovina caught Bella making a very slight, but visible cringe before piping right back up with a bright smile, "Yes! Yes, of course, please sit where you would like, and I will be right there to help you."

"Be nice," Bella hissed through her teeth as she bustled past Lovina to snatch up some menus. She must have not missed the dubious glare that Lovina shot her. "We only had seven covers for lunch, so maybe this is chance to redeem ourselves."

"You don't need to worry about me," Lovina sharply whispered back. "But if they ever need anything that a monkey can't make, I'll be in the back, 'counting' the tomatoes." They both knew better than to think Lovina was going into the back to take inventory of the tomatoes rather than, say, actually sneaking one or two to snack on, but that didn't stop her from disappearing behind the door that separated the front of house from the kitchen before Bella could make a retort.

However, if secretly lounging in the back room to snack was what Lovina had planned on doing, it was certainly not what she was able to do. Those plans had been delayed by Feliciano, the restaurant's head chef. As good a cook as he was, he had an unfortunate habit of misplacing utensils, and ingredients would often disappear inexplicably throughout the day, despite the careful inventory and placement that took place every night prior. Twice, Lovina had to run to the corner market to fetch some capers, and fifteen minutes later, to pick up a tub of ricotta. And then, right when she had only just returned from sprinting back from the market and shoving the ricotta onto Feliciano, Lovina was summoned again to the front, this time by Bella, whose customers had ordered espresso con panna, along with two cannoli.

When Bella had whispered "I had suggested it to them for you, Lovi," Lovina barely suppressed the urge to fling a spoonful of cream into those golden, golden locks.

By the time the two girls were satisfied and leaving, charmed and waving "Ciao!" to the ever-gracious head chef Feliciano who had emerged from the kitchen to bestow upon his customers personal tableside attention, dinnertime had come, bringing in three additional parties, one of which had some rather rambunctious children that several times nearly tripped Bella and tried hiding under Lovina's skirt in a game of hide-and-seek.

Although Lovina would never be caught dead admitting to being relieved to see him, any further pandemonium was averted when Ludwig appeared just in time to keep a tray of several glasses of wine from falling on any heads, and was able to ask the family to please have their children remain seated before Lovina officially blew a gasket and chased off everyone in the dining room—as she was wont to do sometimes.

By closing time, dishes were in the dishwasher, and Bella had cleaned the tables of any lingering crumbs before leaving. She left quite hastily, Lovina noticed. She had also been mumbling something about her cat. Lovina herself was sweeping leftover debris, and Ludwig was concentrated on counting and recording the earnings for the day. The only one with any shred of energy left was Feliciano, who was busy bidding the last customers farewell at the door with his usual air kisses and cheery waves.

"Short again today," Ludwig muttered from the register. "This isn't good."

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine right now, potato?" Lovina snapped. If he wanted to know what else wasn't good, it was her freaking day, having to work her ass off (without ever getting her tomato break, no less!). She was exhausted, and having the German in the same room without the buffer of Bella was not helping.

"I am only stating the facts, Lovina. There is no way we can make it past our third month if we keep this up. We need to do better, or something needs to change."

"Better? I'll tell you what's better, better to shove it up your—"

"Ve~ what's going on?" Lovina's attention whipped over to her brother near the entrance, his normally blithe expression marred with an edge of worry at the unfurling altercation. "Hey, hey, don't fight. We will do better, right? Even if we do get a few customers now, if we give them a good time and serve good food, they'll tell their friends, won't they? And then they'll come back with their friends, and that's how we can lift ourselves up!"

Lovina, too drained to counter Feliciano's tenacious optimism, only pursed her lips into a thin line and proceeded to forcefully jab at a piece of bread stuck underneath a table leg with her broom. Ludwig apparently felt likewise, albeit his terms were probably more along the lines of not wanting to poke holes in Feliciano's hopes, and nodded firmly.

Silent concentration reigned again after Feliciano drifted back into the kitchen, and continued that way until Ludwig cleared his throat in a wordless call for her attention.

"I know this is not the most ideal time to ask you, but I need to request a favor. And, should you feel the urge to refuse, then consider it more as a request to pay your dues."

"What the hell are you talking about? What dues?" Lovina narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

"Do I need to remind you, Miss Vargas, that you still have days that you enjoyed skipping that still need making up?"

She bit back a retort about meager pays and pushy Germans.

Ludwig seemed to take her silence as an invitation to continue: "Very well then. As you may or may not be aware, one of my responsibilities is to open the restaurant and assist in preparations to ensure its smooth operation throughout the day, so that when Feliciano comes in, everything is ready."

"Cut to the chase, Kraut."

"I must ask that you take my place tomorrow, as I will be occupied with….business at the airport." Although his face never showed signs of one, his voice grimaced for him, Lovina was slightly gleeful to notice.

But it still did not make her resistance any less ardent.

"There is no way, no way in hell I am waking up that early, just so you can go jack off or do whatever. "What about Bella? Make her do it." She felt slightly guilty for scapegoating Bella, but waking up before noon was simply revolting to even think about. Ludwig would have to drag her kicking and screaming before Lovina would do that.

Judging by his heavy sigh and the wrinkle underneath his frown, Ludwig was resisting the urge to drag his palm across his face. "Bella has requested the day off. Apparently, her cat needs attending to."

So, it wasn't that Lovina was irascible and always spewing curses at anything that moves. Only at times when she felt like it was appropriate to do so.

And a good example: right now.

Eight thirty. Eight thirty—half past eight. Lovina had been awake since about an hour and a half ago, five hours earlier than she would usually get up, and that was just blasphemy. And all for what? Making sure they had enough flour, enough eggs, that the pasta roller was functioning properly, haranguing the local grocer, conniving snake that he was, who supplied them with the appropriate amount of fruits and vegetables for the day, never mind that his produce was mediocre since he always gave the best picks to the restaurants that could pony up a pretty coin…All the things that Ludwig usually care of.

God. He had better keep his word and relinquish Lovina of all her days playing hooky, and then some.

She languidly gazed out at the street that was slowly emerging with life, the passersby who did not even spare La Dolce Vita even a second glance, instead clutching foam cups from some megalo-million company's coffee and scarfing into their tasteless pastries. Seriously, were the brains of the citizens of Milano really that sleep-addled to not notice a great café when they see one? It was that, or their taste buds had been dulled out by their own insipidness.

For all of her griping, it wasn't as if Lovina wanted the place to fail. It was, after all, the realization of Feliciano's dream, the inception of which started with their grandfather, whose farm the twins would visit every summer. He was the one who had raised them on the creamiest milk, the freshest mozzarella, pillowy gnocchi, and, Lovina's favorite of all, the plumpest, juiciest tomatoes straight from the vine.

"The best quality ingredients speak for themselves," he beamed down at Feliciano and Lovina as he stirred the stewing tomato and basil. "Your part is to instill it with love."

And although they did not have the luxury of the farm-fresh ingredients anymore, anybody who has tasted Feliciano's food knew of the love he put into it.

As for Lovina, although her cooking was not quite like Feliciano's (too impatient, she liked to eat instead), she had always been partial to desserts. Not that she liked to brag, but making cannoli had always been her specialty, and damn, could she make a mean one.

Then, why in the world hasn't the world fallen in love with La Dolce Vita yet?

Maybe if Dolce Vita saw to some success, Ludwig wouldn't be such a pain in the ass. Her wages wouldn't suck as badly, and maybe one day she could scrounge up enough money for a place to call her own, a place that wasn't known as Ludwig and Felicano's couch. And Feliciano's smile wouldn't get a little tight when he and Ludwig discussed Dolce Vita's financial structure. Bella would probably be able to explore Italian peninsula like she had meant to before she had been roped into helping keep the trattoria afloat. (Or rather, she had rolled up her sleeves and elbowed her way into the job, and deflected any protests otherwise.) Times were hard, and they needed all the help they can get.

A glance at the clock on the wall told Lovina that only ten minutes had passed since she last looked at it. She put her face down, cheek to countertop, in defeat.

From the edge of her vision, Lovina could see a boy running across the glass window, stopping in front of the door of Dolce Vita, until someone beckoned him to run back to where he came from…

…A man passed by the window, peered in for a second, and ambled away…

…A small black car sped by the window as quickly as it came, but as soon as it was out of sight, Lovina heard brakes screech and some muffled shouting…

Her consciousness was slowly…slipping…

A jingle pierced the silence in Dolce Vita, and Lovina sat up so quickly she nearly toppled out of the stool she sat on, never mind the red smudge that she was sure was on the side of her face.

Two men shuffled in, one whose blond hair tickled the whiskers on his chin and the other whose only trait more peculiar than his white hair was his red-hued eyes. They entered, seated themselves and ordered two macchiato like they owned the place, even though Lovina had never seen them before in her life. It figured that she would get the strangest characters of the day, and the day was only beginning.

The men quietly chattered as Lovina prepared their drinks, placed them onto a tray, and walked it out to them. They stopped almost immediately to regard her when she approached them.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Lovina asked, placing their orders in front of them, being as charming as one can be when grumpy, slightly groggy, and with a fading pink mark on her cheek.

"Well, I was about to inquire about something delicious and sweet to go with my coffee, but it looks like it has already presented itself. Wouldn't you say, Gilbert?" The one with the whiskers said, his accent perceptibly French. He gave a mischievous sideways glace at his companion that immediately piqued Lovina's ire.

"I dunno, Francis. I kind of prefer mine to be more…decadent. You know. Stacked. This one is flatter than an eierkuchen," the one named Gilbert replied.

Her knuckles were beginning to turn white as she gripped the tray at her side as Lovina felt the heat rise to her face. Something about their devilish and conspiratory grins was rubbing her all the wrong ways. And something about the way the one called Francis' roved from Lovina's face to her legs sent an impulse down her body to go take a thousand showers, and even then she probably still wouldn't feel clean.

So honestly, who could blame her when she screeched at them, "Hey! Who the fuck do you think I am?! We serve food here, not…not that kind of work! If you think I'm that kind of girl, you're barking up the wrong tree. Don't try any funny business, because I'm warning you—footballs aren't the only kind of balls we Italians are good at kicking."

"Oho! Look who's got a mouth on her! Feisty! Just the way I like 'em," Gilbert snickered. Francis' grin had not slipped one bit as he chuckled in agreement.

"My, my, is this how you treat customers, Lovina? A thorny rose, for sure. Is this the reason why patrons prefer to keep their distance?"

Lovina made a strangled noise in her throat and stormed back to her usual place behind the espresso counter, tight-lipped and still fuming. So angry was she that she failed to miss how Francis ever knew her name without having introduced herself.

"Hey, don't be like that!" Gilbert bellowed at her after recomposing himself. She pretended not to listen, turning her back to face him. "If it makes you feel any better, we only pick on people if they are awesome enough to handle it."

"Screw you!"

"Indeed, ma cherie. Only a privileged few are worth such attention. And speaking of a privileged few, there are actually important matters at hand that we must discuss."

Even Lovina could notice the sense of importance at Francis's last sentence.

"If it's about business, then you'll have to take it up with my brother."

"Ah, but you also have a foothold in this establishment, too, don't you? Your brother may run this, but you have also invested some of your own money, too, haven't you?"

It wasn't as if what Francis said was completely false. Feliciano and Lovina's grandfather had left them with a bit of money, and even though he received the cut that was slightly bigger, Feliciano still had to borrow some from Lovina in order to start up his dream La Dolce Vita.

"How do you know about this, anyway?" Lovina had turned back around and was eyeing Francis and Gilbert dubiously.

"Let's say a little birdie told us, okay? Now are you going to come over here and talk to us or not?"

"Oui, as much as we'd love to stay around and drink coffee, we have places to go, people to do, even if you won't agree to be one of them. Which is a pity," Francis sighed, hand over his heart as if he had been inflicted a grievous wound.

Lovina's flush flared up again. "How many times do I have to tell your dumb ass that I'm not like that?!"

"C'mon, princess! Are you coming over here any time soon, or do I have to carry you over here and tie you down? Because I am totally capable of doing that." Gilbert was beginning to stand up out of his chair, poised to carry out his threat, which was enough for Lovina to relent and march to the table.

"You better make this quick."

"Dutifully noted, mon coeur." Francis, from his jacket, pulled out an envelope of cream color, bounded by a flowing crimson ribbon, an indication of the extravagancy of the person who prepared the envelope. Lovina was mildly intrigued. "On behalf of a friend of ours, we would like to extend this invitation to you and your brother, in hopes that you join us at our formal party, and meet him."

"So what, is this some old, crusty guy that's lonely?" asked Lovina, with an eyebrow raised.

Gilbert shook his head. "No, why would we make friends with some guy like that? No way, princess, he's the real stuff. If not, you know, a little dense." He rapt his knuckles on his head for effect. "Actually a pretty popular guy, if you think about it. He's looking to do some business with the locals around here and wants to get a feel of things by meeting people."

"And what kind of business does he conduct, the drugs and guns and shady kind? Is he a part of the mafia?!"

"Funny, but no. More like the agriculture business. Keeps true to his roots, if you know what I mean."

"Says who?" Lovina fought to push down resurfacing memories. The fact that people in this time and day still took pride in things like that without somehow getting greedy and turning it into a loveless, large-scale vegetable synthesizer that pumped more chemicals than nutrients was doubtful.

"Hey, don't ask me, I'm just a friend doing him a favor by spreading the word."

Lovina was just about to continue on how questionable this all still sounded to her, until the door banged open, and a haggard-looking Ludwig, livid with a few strands of his usually sleek hair out of place, was seen from the doorway, pointing a shaking finger at Gilbert.

"Brother! Do you really think it is appropriate to allow me to lug all of yours and Francis' belongings to the hotel?! It is as if you have packed your whole home into suitcases!"

"Aaaaand that's the cue that this conversation is over, Lovina. See, wasn't that fast? Now off you go, and hope to see you there," Gilbert blurted to Lovina at nearly a hundred miles an hour before regarding Ludwig, shepherding the other man back outside and attempting to smother the flames of Ludwig's ire at the same time. "There you are, my favorite younger brother, we've been looking for you all over the place! And that whole thing with the suitcases, it's all Francis', you know that…"

Lovina's jaw fell in a mixture of shock, horror, and surprise. "B-Brother!? So that's how—" She rounded on Francis. "You knew?!"

"Ah, minor detail."

"Minor, my ass! All this time, and I never knew that macho potato had another potato in the family," she groaned. "This has got to be a nightmare."

Francis stood up after draining the last of his drink. "I must be going with Gilbert. But in all honestly, I think it is in your favor to go. There isn't much you can lose, considering, well, this." He gestured to the dusty tables with nobody sitting in the chairs around them.

"I hope to see you all dressed up nicely tomorrow evening!" Francis said merrily before closing the door behind him.

Lovina took one look at the cream envelope in her hands before thrusting it on the counter. Somebody who associated with the likes of Francis and Gilbert?

She needed that like a bullet to the head.

"What the hell do you mean you aren't going?"

"But Ludwig and I are supposed to do stuff together tomorrow night, sorella!" Feliciano was rolling out the pasta when Lovina approached him. He hadn't seemed fazed or showed anything out of his usual exuberance when she told him about the invitation.

Lovina threw a palm on her forehead. "Don't you get it? This isn't just some stupid party, it's a possible business venture. You know, something that could lift us out of this rut?" Her voice dripped with exasperation, desperation, and frustration. Why couldn't he see that this was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they could not afford to pass up?

"Ve, in that case, you should go!"

That actually caused her to be taken aback as she blinked in surprise.

"D-don't be stupid. I only work here. They probably want someone who actually owns the place, and knows its day-to-day functions down to the tiniest details. Stuff like that. I'm not cut out for that crap."

"Hm." For a second, Feliciano screwed up his face in thought, as if he was actually considering the proposition. Lovina waited with bated breath. "That sounds more like stuff Ludwig would know about. But wait, he's spending tomorrow with me!"

The sound of Lovina's skull beating against the metal of kitchen countertop could be heard over her brother's humming as he continued to merrily prepare the night's fettuccine.

"How many times do I have to apologize for being out yesterday, Lovina?"

Bella was probably pulling the puppy face she had been all day since Lovina had made it apparent she hadn't forgiven the Belgian for not appearing at the restaurant at all the previous day, forcing her to serve tables alongside Ludwig when he finally returned from dealing with Gilbert.

But Lovina would not have seen her comically pathetic face, however, as she was currently occupying herself by cleaning the tables with a rag as an excuse to not look at her friend. Her lips were cemented tight in refusal to even acknowledge Bella.

"Lovina~ don't be like that! My pregnant kitty was giving birth," she pleaded to the icy Italiana.

"And who is more important, your cat, or your suffering, harassed friend?" Lovina grounded through her teeth.

"Look, I really am sorry I couldn't be there for you, Lovina. It must have been hard."

"Damn right! First it was having to be here at god knows what hour, then meeting these two jerks, and—and then that potato, and my idiot brother…!" Lovina could feel the edges of her eyes sting with forming tears

"Alright, alright, Lovi, don't cry, don't cry," Bella's voice took on an even guiltier whine. "But you know what, I think I know how I make it up to you."

"Oh please, if this is another one of your schemes…" Lovina sniffed, and looked up from scrubbing the living daylights out of the table to face Bella, and she nearly regretted it. The look on her friend's face was positively devious. That trademark mischievous smirk was on her face, and younger days spent with Bella had drilled into Lovina that that smirk meant trouble.

"I know about that thing you got invited to. What do you say if I can get you off the hook here, and you there before you can say 'bellissima'?"

"Wh-what!? How did you even—"

"You left it here on the counter, silly, and that fancy ribbon and pretty paper is hard to ignore."

"You…! Well it doesn't matter anyway, you can't just make it up to me that easily! Besides, it's already started an hour ago, and we've still got plenty to clean up here, especially since Feliciano and Ludwig decided to ditch."

"Correction, we let them ditch because they've been working nonstop, and don't worry, I've got this covered! I'll just think of the extra work as making up for yesterday."

"No! Oh no, if I cut work again, Ludwig will probably make me come up here at seven for the rest of my life! And what makes you think I'd like going to some fancy thing like that?"

"But Lovina, this is different. Just think of it as...you acting in the best interest of the establishment. There's nothing wrong with that, is there? And you need this. As your dearest and most trusted friend, I am telling you to go because you need to get out there and meet somebody. Who knows who you might find tonight?"

Bella winked, and Lovina thought her eyelids were coming to meet in a wink, too, but that might have been more of a twitch. She could sputter all she wanted, but when Bella had the argument clenched, there was no use resisting.

"All I ask is that you tell me all the details!...Or maybe your hickeys will tell me enough."

Perhaps the only reason why only Bella could handle Lovina was because she was just as insufferable, herself.

Maybe it was a bad idea to have come. Why had Lovina ever let Bella talk her into this, anyway?

And now she here was, in the ballroom of the swankiest hotel of all Milano, sipping on rosé champagne of the sweetest variety, wearing a too-short party dress that ended way above her knees ("Since you have neither an impressive chest nor bum, you at least have killer legs. From all that running, I suspect," Bella said to her over the phone when Lovina had asked for advice on what to wear) and left her shoulders exposed, and a classy pair of heels that laced all the way up to her ankles that she was sure her feet were not going to forgive her for wearing.

But what really topped off the deal was that now apparently, people regarded her as Feliciana.

It had been an honest mistake, really. Well, it had been honest maybe for the first two seconds before becoming something small that was totally warped out of proportion.

Lovina would like to blame it on Arthur. He was where it all started. Arthur had been standing alone nursing a glass of scotch on the rocks, and Lovina just happened to be loitering around close enough to hear him to ramble "Great party, isn't it," sounding none too enthusiastic. He seemed to be too busy focusing his gaze on some other blond, laughing with the person next to him at the bar.

"Yeah, it's real rave up in here," Lovina had mumbled into her flute as she took a sip. If anything, her reply was directed more towards it than anyone in particular.

"I'm sorry, what?" Arthur had finally snapped his attention away from the bar to regard her, thinking Lovina had said something meant for him.

"Uh, I mean, whoever planned this sure knows how to throw a party." She mentally kicked herself. That had to be the stupidest thing Lovina said all night. It served her right for not keeping her mouth shut.

"Yes, with all his 'passion' rubbish, Antonio had better know how to throw a good shindig. With good liqueur, I might add." He took a sip of his drink. "Where are you from?"

"I'm a local, actually. My family and I run a restaurant around here. La Dolce Vita, ever heard of that?"

"Ah, I think I've heard of you. Is it the one restaurant with some loudmouth girl who keeps scaring all the customers away? At least, that's what the locals are saying."

Lovina's eyes widened, her whole body tensing. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "I-is that what you're hearing? Who t-told you that bu—mess?"

Arthur shrugged. "That's what I'm hearing. I think there was a name, too. Lavinia? No…"

"….Lovina?" She squeaked out, trying to not be incriminating as possible.

"Yes…yes, that sounds about right." Arthur eyed her dubiously, his (rather thick) eyebrows inched a smidge closer. "You aren't her, are you?"

The garbled noise in the back of Lovina's throat came out as a cross of outrage, scandal and embarrassment.

"Of-of course not!" She hoped her blush wasn't as obvious to Arthur as it felt. "I'm just a relative. Fe-Felici…ana. That's my name. Not…that other one."

It was official: that had to be the dumbest thing she said all night.

"Oh. A pleasure, then. I'm Arthur, by the way," he said, glancing again at the bar, which by then, had cleared out enough so that the blond sitting there was now enjoying his drink in solitude. "Excuse me for being rude, but I have myself a blue-eyed, so-called hero to catch." At that, he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, and marched in the direction of the bar.

Apparently, word traveled fast at a party, because as the night progressed, even as Lovina kept to herself, many others would approach her with a smile, chirruping "Hello, you must be Feliciana!" They would tell her their name, a few words about where they were from and how great it must be to live in a city like Milano would be exchanged, and that was that.

It was a good thing Francis and Gilbert weren't around, Lovina thought, that was, until she happened upon them meandering through the guests. Fortunately for her, both of them were too occupied to notice her, Francis lounging on a plush couch surrounded by giggling women, and Gilbert haphazardly swinging a tankard of beer while being screamed at by a woman who had greeted herself to Lovina as Elizabeta.

This whole night was a washout, and the only thing redeeming about it was, and Lovina nearly gasped in amazement when she laid eyes on it, the food. Bountifully and elaborately laid out on the table in front of her were platters mainly comprised of tomatoes, prepared every which way. Stewed tomatoes, fried green tomatoes, tomato salads, tomatoes on bruschetta, and that was only one corner. It was nearly enough to make Lovina pinch herself. She supposed she could have seen it coming, however; the event was hosted by some tomato-grower, after all. Whoever the man was, he was still a mystery to Lovina, she reminded herself with some indignation. But for now, she'd settle for a slice of fresh tomato drizzled with olive oil and dressed with herbs.

"Excuse me, are you Feliciana?" Somebody was tapping gently on her shoulder, interrupting her in mid-chew.

If she had a Euro for each time she heard that tonight…

"Yeah? What's it to you?" Lovina turned, her eyebrows arching in annoyance. If she hadn't been so irritated at how she had been called by a name that wasn't hers all night, and if her shoes weren't really starting to bring the hurt into her feet, and if the poor fellow hadn't actually just interrupted her in indulging in the only joy of the night, the first thing she would have noticed about the man was his emerald eyes, the way they were staring at her with all the hope in the world, as if she was the only one who could make all his dreams come true, and that slightly dopey, cheerful smile that could infect anyone in a mile radius around him.

Anyone except for Lovina, that is. (Would he at least stop gawking at her like that? She could already feel heat starting to rise to her cheeks.)

"S-so? I'm Feliciana. Who's asking?"

At that, he laughed a little, carded a hand through his hair in what could have been thought as an attempt to control his eagerness. His face lit up even brighter than the city during Carnevale.

"It's you! It's really you! See, I asked Gilbert and Francis if they knew who you were, and they kept on saying something about 'Lovina, Lovina,' but everyone else was saying Feliciana, and I figured that Gilbert and Francis might have had a couple drinks…But anyway! I've been trying to talk to you the whole night; it gets kind of hard when everyone wants to walk up to me and say hello, as nice as it is…"

Lovina simply stared at the man in front of her, dumbfounded. Seriously, was this guy here for real, tapping her on the shoulder, and then starting to blabber off about stuff? It was a shame, because if she were to be honest with herself, he really wasn't so bad on the eyes, toned in all the right places, that perfectly wide smi—

"…But I really shouldn't be going on like this, should I?" He cleared his throat, stood up straight, prim and proper, took hold of one of her hands, cradling it to his lips that he pressed upon her middle knuckle, his twinkling green eyes never once leaving Lovina's face. "My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and I am here to sweep you off your feet!"

Oh god, did he just fall straight out of a storybook, what kind of prince does he think he was?

At a loss as to how to react to such an introduction, Lovina snatched back her hand that had been practically fondled. She could still feel where his lips touched her skin. Antonio probably had some kind of disease. One that made him lose his mind. With being handsome as side effect.

"What was that? Some sort of pick-up line you use to sweep idiot bimbos off their feet? Like hell I'm jumping into bed with you after that!" He'd definitely have to try a bit harder. Just a bit, but it's not like Antonio had a chance with her in the first place.

"That didn't work, did it? I guess being dramatic is more Francis' game," Antonio chuckled sheepishly, before realizing what Lovina had said. "Oh, oh no! Is that what you think I'm trying to do? Because that's not what I was trying to do, you're not that kind of girl at all—"

"Oh, you mean I'm the kind no one would like to go home with, is that it?"

"Now that is definitely not what I meant! I'm sure that—that you're amazing, and a guy like me can only dream"—his eyes flashed down at Lovina's legs for a nanosecond—" but what I meant was that I wanted to meet you because you seem like a wonderful person, and not that I wanted something out of you! Or is it in you? Hm."

Lovina severely wanted to tell him that the question didn't matter; it really wouldn't help his case at all, but she supposed that it was to be expected if Antonio really did hang out with the likes of Francis and Gilbert. At the moment, the only thing stopping her palm from meeting her face was the hors d'oeuvre on a small, dainty porcelain plate in her hand.

So she set it down on the table next to her, took a breath, parted her lips, and…

"I am so out of here."

And she swiftly swiveled herself around to march off in the opposite direction, but not swift enough to miss the alarmed look on Antonio's face and his hand when he grabbed for her wrist.

It was warm. Searing. Almost electric, and rooted Lovina to the spot.

"Hey, wait! I didn't mean to offend you back there," he breathed a little laughter. Lovina noticed his fingertips rubbing at the back of his neck, which, she guessed, was a nervous habit (and quite frankly bewildered her; was she really anything to be nervous about?). "So, let me start over: My name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, founder of DelSol Farms, leading supplier of organic and naturally grown tomatoes. And, well, others things, too, but tomatoes are my pride and joy."

That certainly had Lovina taken aback. She gaped at him. Almost in disbelief. In all honesty, she hadn't been sure what to expect out of the host of this grand fête—a rich CEO-like character laden with symbols of his success and fortune on his personage and every stitch of his clothing, or a bumpkin with manners that were rudimentary at best?

Sizing Antonio up, he didn't exactly fit into either side of the spectrum. No, he was different. Different from anybody in Milan, Lovina would even dare to say.

He reminded her of soil and sunshine. He was…onesto a dio genuine.

"Feliciana?"

Lovina was rudely jerked back to Earth and the magnitude of her current dilemma at the sound of that name. Gesu Christo, how was she going to survive the rest of the night like this?

"I was just thinking about how rude it is to keep a lady waiting," she harrumphed. "Impressive title or not."

"I can't apologize enough," he said. "That's the problem with having so many friends, I guess: not enough time properly give to everyone! But believe me, I've been trying to grab your attention for a big part of the night."

Now it was Lovina's turn to be dusted with color. Her eyes shifted away from Antonio's green ones as she mumbled something about the rudeness of shameless flattery.

He hadn't appeared to have heard her, since he continued on: "...Because I can tell when someone loves tomatoes as much as I do right when I see them. Which is why. Why I had to meet you, that is."

A skeptical eyebrow arched, and Lovina could not help the intrigued smirk that curved the edge of her mouth. "Oh? And just how are you able to do that?"

"Think of it as something like women's intuition. Except, you know, the obvious difference. But I swear it works the same way." His smile was wide and a little goofy, crinkling the edges of his eyes. "I bet I can impress you with my goods."

"I-idiot, you can't just go propositioning that to a girl you've just met!" She could feel the blush creeping down her neck (with Antonio's eyes surreptitiously following).

"What is it that I said this time?"

Lovina huffed. He looked genuinely bewildered, so she did not choose to pursue that train of thought any further.

"Look, the reason why I'm here is because I was told the reason why you are in town is because you were seeking business ventures with the locals to establish yourself in the area. And I was hoping we could work something out, because my brother's business really, really needs it." She hoped she did not sound too desperate or needy, because in all honesty, La Dolce Vita needed DelSol Farms more than they needed them.

"Right! I haven't forgotten about that! But…"

Just as he said those words, the orchestra picked up in tempo, playing a jazzy swing tune made for dancing. And dance was what the guests did, as couples took their partners' hands and dragged them out to the ballroom floor. Lovina could even spot Arthur being hauled enthusiastically by a bespectacled man. Open space shrank away as bodies filled the area, and Lovina felt her back pushed as a less-than-careful couple, making her lose her footing; her high-heeled shoes did nothing to help either. And she would have met the ground if it weren't for the strong, calloused hands holding onto her bare shoulders and waist.

"Oops, careful!" Antonio's lips were right by her right ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath, and Lovina's skin burned where he was touching her, even through the material of the dress.

She swallowed thickly, and gently pushed herself upright from him. His hands slid away. "I'm fine," Lovina muttered.

"In any case, I think we should talk business someplace else more private," he said above the music. "Francis and Gilbert got me a room upstairs. We can talk about it up there.

"What do you think…Feliciana?"

The color drained from Lovina's face.

Fuck. Just. Fuck. Fuck her life, fuck Feliciana who actually did not exist, fuck that puppy-dog look in Antonio's eyes as he grinned nervously and waited for her answer.

And fuck her as she nodded in agreement.