A/N: Thanks for the support on this story! ...enjoy!xD
For disclaimer purposes...I DON'T OWN THAT WINE BRAND!
Suns Rising
Chapter Four
"Where are you two off today?" Robert asked amusedly as Oliver and Enrique enter the Jurgen Mansion's dining hall, identically clad in jeans and sweatshirts.
The pair looked as they would almost any day; the only difference was that the French boy's hair and eye color were not the same. He had forever discarded his beloved beret, for the purposes of keeping his...or rather, her new identity.
"We heard that Oli's restaurant had just re-opened under new management," the Roman answered. "We'd like to pay it a visit."
"Don't go traveling too often," Johnny told them, handing them as easy-to-prepare breakfast. "How many hours of sleep did you two get last night after that walk?"
A pair of crimson eyes swiveled in the redhead's direction. The amazing teen noticed most things. The greenette had been in the middle of drinking strong wine and immediately blushed at the question.
"...about three or four hours."
"You two should be sleeping today," said the Scot. "The restaurant can wait another day."
"But we can't," replied Enrique. "Both of you can come with us; we'll wait. I'm not allowing you to coop yourselves in this house either."
The German shook his head. "Thanks but no thanks Enrique, and don't worry about us."
The second youngest sighed, far from being convinced. His best friend took his hand.
"We're off."
"Take care and tell us all about it," called the Highlander as the pair exited the kitchen and faced the front door.
Oliver hesitated. Enrique looked back to see if there was any problem.
"Well, what d'you know..." laughed the vampire nervously. "I'm scared."
The playboy smiled tenderly and forcefully steered the younger boy out into the sunshine.
---
The Giancarlo heir hesitantly approached the huge restaurant's reception. The place was teeming with people. Their conversations were carried out in a hushed, reserved way and he had a sure hunch about the general topic.
"Uh...ahem...Bongiorno Aline."
The woman behind the desk jumped. "Ah! Bonjour Monsieur Giancarlo. How may I help you today?"
Blue eyes narrowed at the sudden disappearance of his date but momentarily waved the problem aside as he replied to the receptionist good-humoredly. "How's about finding a table? Or is the place full?"
Aline shook her head. "Oh no, monsieur...not as full as we expected it to be on our re-opening...um, table for how many?"
"Two."
"Two?"
"Yes, two."
The woman frowned and searched the Italian for who he could possibly be with when a blue-haired toffee-eyed Oliver popped up.
"Ah!"
"Bonjour!" he greeted in a more feminine pitch.
"...uh, my girlfriend." Enrique filled in with an apologetic killer smile. "Her name is Genévive."
The younger boy shot him a look; both knew that the name was conceived on the spot.
Aline was staring at Genévive with a stupid look on her face. But soon she dismissed the impossible idea in her head. Fate was playing tricks on her; their well-loved boss was dead and gone. This face in front of her was only too identical, but just a passing face nonetheless.
"There's an available table, messieurs. If you would follow me..." She left the welcome desk and led the pair inside.
There was no hiding that all-too-obvious gasp from the eating customers as the late owner's best friend waltzed in with a new girl. A hush fell over them as they all cast Oliver a second look.
The first glance was a dream. The second was the alarm clock, and everyone went back to their dishes, somewhat having lost appetites, as the loss of the greenette hit them will full force once more.
Not until the playboy and the snob were finally seated were they left in peace.
"This feels weird," said the French boy in a nervous fluster that had gripped him as soon as he stepped into his own restaurant. "I'm not usually the customer here..."
Enrique smirked. "Hey..." he said after a while. "Everything's going to be fine. Just relax, okay? ...what's the name of my favorite waiter here again? You know him..."
"Tirelli? You can ask for him."
The blonde did this and soon a young melancholic brunette in a chef's uniform approached the table. Upon seeing who it was, he broke into a beautiful sad smile.
"Monsieur Giancarlo! What a pleasant surprise! And what may be the name of your lovely madame?"
"Genévive," was Oliver's demure response, catching Tirelli's full attention.
The man was unable to speak for several moments. Like those before him, his grief and everything that went with it was deceiving him.
"Are you alright?" the Italian asked him.
"Eh? Oui monsieur," he replied, losing a bit of his professionalism. "Je suis desolé. It has been stressful lately."
Enrique 'ah'-ed and his companion fell silent. "We just wanted to know how you lot are catching on," continued the former. "Who's running the place now?"
Tirelli smiled his sad smile. "I am, monsieur." Oliver brightened up at that. "Shall you place your orders now?"
"Oh no..." said the playboy. "Perhaps later. For now just a--"
"Veuve Clicquot." the snob finished absently and soon found the other two looking at him.
...Genévive forgot...Veuve Clicquot was Oliver's favorite champange. Nevertheless, the chocolate-haired chef left the table and Enrique almost fell in a dead faint with his sigh of relief.
"Pinch me when I do that," groaned the greenette, placing his head in his hands.
"Oh I'll do more than pinch you..." was the reply. "Come on, let's look for something to eat."
"Oh!" Oliver exclaimed, wearing an expression of anguish. "I can't..."
His lover shot him an incredulous look. "Why ever not?"
"Remember what Johnny said? I won't be able to taste a thing. Besides, it's a total waste of money. I can feed...someday, somewhere. You don't need to bother about it right now."
"Even just something here that's raw, or has blood...steak...anything--"
The suggestion sounded ridiculous and not to mention absurd. Oliver couldn't help but laugh. "Enri-love, you don't have to. I insist..."
Enrique sighed. "If you must, but eat soon, ayt?"
"I will I will..."
"How long does it take till your kind goes insane from hunger anyway?"
The Frenchman looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I have no idea. We could ask those two research-addicts back at home."
At that moment, Tirelli came back, bearing the much coveted champagne and asked. "Would l'monsieur like to place his order?"
The pair exchanged looks.
"Um," Genévive began. "I would just like to know; I don't mean to be rude but...does the restaurant still serve...Florentine Omelettes? I've heard they're made extremely well here."
The Italian made a tremendous effort to suppress a snort as the waiter-executive chef gave his date an uneasy look. She reminded him so hauntingly of his late colleague that he was absolutely sure he'd be too sick to work tomorrow.
"I'm sorry, madame," he managed to answer. "Florentine Omelettes have ceased to be our specialty. No one else in this world can define the omelettes made here as good as Monsieur Les Desmond had."
"Oh." The boy reddened considerably. "It's alright...I'm terribly sorry for the loss--"
"Your order?" Tirelli interrupted quite forcefully, turning to Enrique with hopeful air.
"He'll have a Floating Island with a dose of cocoa powder," Genévive, in her nervous state, wasn't able to keep her mouth shut.
The brunette tried his hardest not to lash out and tell the girl to stop being so damned insensitive. "Wh...What about you, madame?"
"The drink is fine."
Tirelli was grateful to leave, but not without a scornful whisper to Enrique.
"I see why you have fallen for l'madamoiselle. She is just like him!"
When he was out of earshot, the blonde burst into raucous giggles.
"DID you see the look on his face?!"
Oliver was still red. "I shouldn't have done that..."
"Damn right you shouldn'tve!" grinned his best friend. "You gave him a cardiac arrest making him remember all those stuff."
"Speaking of that," the greenette added in a sudden dark tone. "I bet all these people here didn't come to eat."
"...but to see who's the new management!" was the finish. "Not exactly the most polite thing to do."
When the hangover of laughs left the Giancarlo heir, he looked at the French boy with his eyebrows furrowed.
"You missed something in your 'transformation' this morning. No wonder people stare at you..."
"Really? What?"
"Your eyebrows are still green."
"...oh great," and in the most girlish fashion, he pulled out a mirror from his purse and glanced at himself before stowing it back in. "Must've overlooked it. Why can't stores have wigs for eyebrows?" he complained in a most serious tone that he sent the Italian laughing again.
He noted in passing that almost everything seemed to be back to normal. He felt a fleeting sense of pity for Oliver's nearest and dearest who did not know he still existed.
"Tell me, Enri," the greenette snapped him out in a hushed tone. "Are those the Barthez Battalion and FDynasty on table 29? It's eight tables away from ours...behind me, behind me!"
Enrique stole a look over his companion's shoulder. "Yeah, how did you know?"
"I heard them." The sound of chair legs scraping the floor soon reached hypersensitive ears and he added. "They're coming this way, aren't they? Oh I don't want to turn around..."
"Yep," was his reply and sure enough, the other two European teams were looming over them.
"Hey Enrique," greeted Miguel. "How are you?"
The Italian supported his head with his hand as he turned to face the Spaniard. "Everything's quite alright. I'd ask you all to take a seat but this is only a table for two..."
And speaking of two. "Oh yeah...everyone," he smiled and indicated Oliver beside him. "Meet Genévive."
They brightened. Claude held out his hand to the bluenette. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Pleasure's all mine," was the modest, smiling reply but the hand was left untaken, for the vampire thought it was the best thing to do.
"Are you sure it's okay for you to be dating so soon?" asked Miguel. "Or has the incident straightened you out so rapidly?"
Both the young aristocrats got the 'joke' and had the same initial reaction. The snob soon laughed though and the playboy remained flushed and stunned at the tan teen's bluntness.
"Miguel!" Julia and Mathilda scolded lightly as Aaron and Raul snickered.
"She isn't your usual type, though..." the redhead among them remarked casually. "But I guess it's an improvement...modest, well-mannered...like a real lady, unlike--"
"I get the point, Raul," the blonde groaned.
Oliver couldn't help it, he laughed again. Were conversations really going to be this way once he passed away? The thought was hilarious.
"On behalf of my friends," Claude began apologetically to Genévive. "I'm horribly sorry if they're acting like this. A dear friend of Enrique's just died, see..."
"So I've heard," was the clear, good-natured reply.
"...and before you," Miguel butt in. "They were extremely close. And if you've known Enri-poo long enough, you should keep in mind that you wouldn't last for long as his girlfriend...no offense."
"Miguel!"
Julia gave him a shove, but she was smiling nonetheless. "If I knew better, I'd say you're bullying her!"
"None taken!" answered Enrique's date in the same mildly amused, amiable tone. "Besides, I have complete confidence that I shall be able to last very long begin 'Rique's...chick."
"That's the way to talk!" encouraged Mathilda. "Ignore Miguel...really."
"He misses Oliver too much." Aaron continued.
"...we all do..." Claude and Raul added in unison.
The blonde and the greenette exchanged uncertain glances. The latter felt a pang of guilt in his chest but ignored it.
"Could we please talk about something else?" the former snapped.
Miguel shrugged. "Just glad to see you haven't jumped off the window ledge of a 50-storey building, that's all. We can't exactly mooch around you table all afternoon. Stay healthy Giancarlo...and nice meeting you senyorita Genévive."
With that, the group took their leave.
"Miguel was bitter," smiled Oliver. "There's no other explanation."
"Man, changing the circumstances I would've punched his lights out," growled his best friend.
"Makes me miss them..."
Enrique became preoccupied with fiddling with something under the table. The French boy saw summer blue eyes widen.
"Blimey..."
"What is it?"
A beyblade was placed on the table top. In its centre, Amphilyon and Unicolyon had merged.
The pair stared at each other in surprise. Seconds later, Tirelli returned with their orders and they talked of other matters.
The small phenomenon was promptly forgotten.
TBC
A/N: Forgive typos! Tell me what you think! ...enjoy!xD and ciAo...
