Rome

Rome

"Promising young violinist Ethan Gold, 26 years old, was found dead, by his fiancé at three AM at in his suite at the Grand Hotel de la Minerve. Mr. Gold was engaged with to Bianca Mignone, heiress of Naples Records. Their wedding was set for some time next month.

Ethan Gold was an American, but he lived in Rome mostly. He was known quite well in Europe for his passionate and talented interpretations of Paganini and Wieniawski.

The circumstances of his death remain unknown until now, but staff from the hotel said there is a strong possibility that Mr. Gold committed suicide.

Apparently, the Mignone family asked for discretion from the police regarding the case, because the police has yet to pronounce itself about the death. Police Chief Venturi said they are working on the case and will make a statement tomorrow.

Two days ago, Mr. Ethan Gold was seen leaving a well known gay club named Skyline after an event known as The Leather Party, in the company of a man, later identified as Luigi Rossi, a former 34 year old pugilist well known in Italy.

According to the photographer, Mr. Gold offered him a great amount of money for the pictures. When he refused, he was punched in the face by the musician, and his camera was broken. The photographer registered his complaint against Mr. Gold at the Second Police District. Unfortunately, the pictures weren't with him anymore and are published at on page 17.

The rumors are that he hung himself. His fiancée, Bianca Mignone was taken to the European Hospital. The family stated that she is traumatized with his death and is now being kept under sedatives."

"Wow." said Alexia, folding the newspaper, after reading out loud the news about Ethan's death for the second time. "Poor Bianca… The guy seemed to be an idiot, but she didn't deserve such a fate."

They were comfortably sprawled on the carpet of Alexia and Adrianne's apartment. Adrianne had gone to her studio, leaving Justin and Alexia alone.

"I still don't believe it." Justin said.

"After everything you just told me, dear, no wonder he was so scared at the vernissage…he barely looked at you, as if you were a ghost."

"I don't know what went through his mind that day…" Justin sighed. He had just told Alexia the basics of the story with Ethan and Brian, including the recent developments. "I mean, did he honestly think I would mention that he was stalking me barely two months before?"

"Who knows…" she exhaled the smoke slowly, putting her cigarette in the ashtray.

"When I saw him I thought: 'here we go again', because he actually said that I wouldn't escape him coming to Europe. Then I saw he was with his fiancée and it was almost funny, he was livid.'

"And how are you feeling now? About his death and everything…?"

He thought about it a little. "Sad," he said after a while. "It's not like I'll miss him or anything…I was content to never see him again, but I didn't hate him…I certainly didn't want this to happen. I'm just incredibly sad for him. To waste his life like that…"

Alexia looked at him. "I think I understand."

"He was such a talented artist, Alex; you should've seen him play…"

"I did see him last year in Paris. He was great."

"But he lived a lie. His whole career was base on lies, on pretending. And what for? To be the best violinist of all times? And for that he sacrificed everything he was, everything he wanted? He was terrified of anyone finding out he was gay. He pretended so much that I think he lost himself in the process."

"Judging from what you're telling me, it looks like was so lost that he couldn't stand it anymore."

"I don't have the slightest doubt that he did this to himself. He must've freaked out when someone took his pictures with that guy at a gay bar. He thought about the scandal…and decided to end it as fast as he could…how sad, how pathetic, God!"

"Well, now that you put it that way, I think you're right. He was terrified of the scandal, with his wedding so close and everything…poor guy."

"He was never very brave…he always took the easiest way out of everything, like when he decided to hide me, us, for his career."

"I bet that hurt."

"A little…after all I went through to get out of the closet, I'd never go back in…not for him. Not for anyone, I think. But then, I wasn't that in love as I thought I was…That's when I realized that he wasn't the only one lying to me…I was lying to myself too, because he was not who I wanted. It was Brian."

"Will you tell him?"

"Brian? Yeah…I guess he'll read about it anyway. But I'd like to tell him myself. If only I could get in touch with him."

"Have you tried?"

"Yeah, but it hasn't been easy."

Alexia got up from the floor and looked at him. "Do you want more wine?"

"No, thanks. My head's already spinning a little. I need to go back to the villa, Mr. Benini must be worried."

"I'll take you, but I don't think you're in any condition to pay attention to anything today, Justin. I'll call him, he's a lovely guy. Tell him you're sick."

"Thanks, Alex. I appreciate your help."

"Hey, we're friends. In case you forgot." She headed for the kitchen, grabbing her cell phone in the way.

Justin sighed and closed his eyes. He could hear Alexia's voice coming from the kitchen, speaking in Italian with Mr. Benini. He thanked God or whoever would be listening for finding her. He missed Daphne terribly, especially in moments like this, because she had the power to make him feel better, always.

He didn't feel too comfortable spilling his life to Alexia like that, after knowing her for such a short time, but he was still in shock because of Ethan's death. Besides, he wasn't the naïve boy people thought he was anymore, he really had the feeling he could trust Alex.

He took his cell phone off his pocket and pressed the speed button for what felt like the hundredth time that week. And for the hundredth time again, it went straight to voicemail. He felt tears coming to his eyes and blinked several times to stop them from falling. It was clear that Brian was cutting him off again, but why?

He remembered Brian's card again. "Always", he'd written. But now, months after that wonderful night, these words seemed empty, because he couldn't reach him, no matter how hard he tried. His cell phone was always on voice mail, he never answered the phone at the loft or the emails Justin sent… and Justin was so tired of Ted's lame excuses every time he called Kinnetik that he almost pitied the guy, so uncomfortable and apologetic Ted's voice sounded.

His only option left was Michael, but Justin didn't want to try this one yet. Maybe because he saw Michael's eyes looking at him, like he was saying "how could you leave him?', even if his mouth was smiling and he was saying "I'm so happy for you, Justin'. He knew he and Michael were friends now, but the other man would always favor Brian's side.

Why the hell Brian was doing this? He couldn't understand, not after all that had happened that last night. That Brian, that opened and sincere man, who had bared his feelings for Justin couldn't be this one, was hiding himself again…

Maybe he was a little sensitive because of Ethan's death. He was also feeling a little sick, perhaps because of the wine. He still couldn't picture Ethan's death…what a waste…such a talent given to such an unstable person…

"Um…Alex…" he said as she returned to the living room. "Can you take me home now?"

"Sure, Justin…but you don't need to worry, I talked to Mr. Benini, he said you can take the day off."

"Thanks. The thing is that…I'm not feeling very well, that's all. I think I need to be alone for a while."

--

Pittsburgh

Liberty Diner was full of customers and Debbie was tired as hell. She didn't complain, though. She had tried to leave the diner and be a housewife a few years ago, but that kind of life wasn't for her. She loved the diner's noise, Kikki's happy chatter and the smell of the Pink Plate. She loved the boys and girls who came here, some of them every day, others seldom…she just loved to see them, to be a part of their lives. It made her feel useful.

She looked fondly at her son while he ate his breakfast with Emmett and Ted. They all looked a bit grumpy without Brian, and it was strange to look just at the three of them when, for so many years, she had served breakfast almost every day for her "four musketeers".

"Hey Deb, wanna see the paper?" asked Kikki, handing her the newspaper. "I finished it."

"Sure, hun," she said, chewing her gum. "Michael, honey, do you want the paper?"

""Later, Ma," he answered from his usual place, mouth full of pancakes.

Distractedly she opened the newspaper, going straight to the page where the news about her favorite soap opera were. But the picture of the young man staring at her wasn't of a television star. It was a musician.

"Holy shit!" she yelled, covering her mouth with her hand.

In the blink of an eye, Michael, Emmett and Ted ran to where she was, worried.

"What happened, Ma?" Michael asked, almost in panic.

"Are you feeling sick?" Emmett wanted to know.

She turned the picture upside down on the counter so they could see it. "Look," she said, "Isn't this the guy Sunshine left Brian for?"

"Maaaa…!" whined Michael, "Don't talk like that! He didn't-"

"It's him, I remember from Lindz and Mel's party," Ted said, while Emmett took the paper from Deb's hands and started to read.

"So what?" Michael said, irritated, "who care if this guy is on the news? As far as I'm concerned he can-"

"Michael, dear, you better take a look at this." Emmett said slowly.

"What?" asked Michael, holding the paper and starting to read it. As his eyes started to scan the words written below the young man's smiling photograph, he turned several shades paler.

"Oh. My. God," he looked at his friends and his mother. "Ethan Gold is dead."

"Yeah, I figured that out by reading the news, thank you." said Emmett. "But why all the sudden worry?"

"Don't you see? It explains everything!"

"Deb, can you help me here?" asked Kikki, and a very curious Debbie had to return to her duties.

"Come on, let's go to the shop." Michael said decidedly, folding the newspaper and putting it inside his jacket.

"Why?" asked e dumbfounded Ted, tossing some money at Deb's direction.

"We need to discuss it properly."

"For God's sake, Michael, what are you talking about?" Ted insisted.

"Come on, you two! We can't talk about something like this here." he looked at Debbie, meaningfully. "Prying eyes, " he added.

"I can't. I need to work." Ted said.

"Do you? And where's your boss?" Michael put his hands on his waist, impatient.

"Uh… I d-don't have one."

"Exactly. Let's go." He walked towards the door decidedly. "Em, you coming?"

"Sure," Emmett chirped happily behind his two friends. "This smells like gossip, and Emmett Honneycutt doesn't waste a good gossip."

--

Ibiza

Brian moaned again when he tried to get up. Despite the sun outside, he was shivering under two duvets and all the blankets he could find. It had been two days since he started feeling like shit. Actually, he always felt like shit nowadays, but now he could definitely say he was starting his already expected and very dreaded downfall.

He couldn't take Ethan's death out of his mind . It wasn't so much because of Ethan himself, he had always hated the guy and wasn't going to like him now that he was dead. It was because as soon as he read about it, he thought if Justin already knew the news and how he would react. And thinking about Justin hurt.

He wondered if Justin was still in Rome, and if he, per chance, would have seen Ethan. He wondered if Justin's hair was longer, and if he had already dropped the 'starving artist' image. He knew it wasn't that long since he last saw him, but each and every thing about the blond interested him. And Brian missed him so fucking much.

He tried to get up to get an aspirin, only to be assaulted by a coughing fit. It felt like his ribs were going to burst and his head popped up each time he coughed, but he couldn't stop it. His breath was short and he was sure he was going to pass out, but somehow, he managed to calm down the cough after a while and started to doze off again.

Justin was painting, his back turned to Brian. He was all in black, which was strange, because Justin almost never wore black. Brian tried to touch his shoulder but his fingers went through Justin's skin, as if Brian was a ghost. He tried to say Justin's name but couldn't, his tongue felt like it was glued inside his mouth. All he could do was watch as Justin's angry strokes filled the canvas with something he couldn't see.

They were in a place that looked a lot like the Central Park, but Brian couldn't tell because his vision was blurred with unwanted tears. He wanted so much to touch Justin and see why the blond's shoulders were shaking as if he was sobbing… But he couldn't, and it filled him with despair and an anguish that he had never felt in so long time.

He wanted to ask Justin to turn around because he missed him so much and wanted, needed to se his face… but Justin didn't look in his direction, just kept painting and painting, as if nothing else existed, mingling angry strokes with soft ones, sobs and sighs, moments of utter calm and moments of despair.

Justin's fingers were almost white because he was holding the brush with such a strength that Brian, for a fleeting moment, thought that the brush would break. He wanted to warn the blond to be careful, because Justin's hands were so gentle, soft, white, perfect, artist's hands… he didn't want to see them hurt. He couldn't bear to see any part of Justin hurt.

Suddenly, Justin shoved the canvas away from his own body in a fury Brian had only seen during the Pink Posse. The easel fell on the ground along with the canvas, and Justin, still sobbing, threw the thick brush on the unfinished painting.

"Shit, Brian." was all he said, before he went away, walking fast toward the sunset, and then there was fog coming from nowhere, and in a second he wasn't there anymore.

And Brian, looking at the canvas on the floor, felt his chest clenching with sadness, looking at a picture that was all black, except for a closed wooden door, adorned with green leaves around it. Even if he lived a hundred years he would never forger that door. Britin.

Brian woke up with a start and another coughing fit. He sat up in panic, trying to ignore his protesting muscles. Shit, this whole disease thing was making him 'soft' – God, he hated this word – or else how could his heart be racing so much just because of a fucking stupid dream?

He closed his eyes, trying to return his breath to a normal rate. Looking around, for the first time, Brian really felt how impersonal the hotel bedroom was. Luxurious, yes… but cold, with no pictures, no memories, nothing.

Was that really the way he wanted to go? Alone, in a cold hotel room, like the fucking fiddler? Scared as if he was hiding from something? Was that really the way he wanted to spend his final weeks, months, or whatever was in store for him? Away from everything he treasured the most, away from everyone? He had nothing in common with Ethan Gold – besides wanting Justin, he thought bitterly – and dyeing in a hotel room wouldn't be the first thing.

He tried to get up again, this time succeeding, and walked to the window. Looking at the world outside, he felt so far away from it, as if he was already dead. Ibiza was beautiful. But it meant nothing to him, and its beautiful beaches and is wonderful bright blue sky weren't the last things he wanted to see.

"Fuck," he muttered, when he tried to open the window and his ribs protested against the single movement. The word turned into a series of coughs and he reached for the coffee table, grabbing a tissue. He coughed again, this time covering his mouth with the tissue and threw it in the basket. He missed, and when he, groaning, bent down to retrieve it, he noticed that it contained a not so small number of red specks.

He froze, for a moment, startled with the knowledge that this was really happening to him, that he couldn't dismiss this shit as the flu anymore. An then, after a few seconds, as with everything in his life, Brian Kinney was prompted into action. Ignoring his stiff muscles, he bent down again and grabbed the telephone lay on the floor next to the bed.

"Hello," he said, "This is Brian Kinney. Could you prepare my bill? I'll be checking out today. Yes. And could you get me a car to take me to the airport?"

--

Rome

Justin didn't have any illusions about being the best of the five winners of the contest. Each one of them was good in his own way. They were all very good and talented. But he didn't expect to feel the worst of them.

Technically he was perfect, he was told that several times. And frankly, he still could paint whatever and whenever he wanted, because painting was like breathing for him.

But looking at his latest work, his not nearly finished canvas, brush still in his hand, he could clearly see that there was something missing in his art. It lacked the passion of the previous paintings, as if his heart wasn't in what he was doing. And frankly, it wasn't.

Sighing, he sat down in the bench near the window and looked outside. It was already six PM and he was tired, but he had to show something to Mr. Benini the next day or the man would think he wasn't interested in the program anymore. And he was, he loved Europe, but lately he felt strangely detached from everything.

The truth was so obvious and clear that he had to smile at its simplicity. He couldn't paint like before because his heart, mind and soul wasn't in Rome or anywhere near Europe. It was all in Pittsburgh, with Brian Kinney.

It wasn't because he wasn't able to contact him for over a month now. He already knew that, at some point, something like that would happen, because Brian was Brian and his walls would go up eventually. Brian's walls were like a second skin to him, and he used them sometimes without even noticing it.

Justin smiled again, this time sadly. It was necessary Ethan's death to make him realize that he, Justin Taylor, was doing exactly the same thing Ethan Gold had done: sacrificing everything for his art. He was sacrificing the love of his life, his one and only chance of being truly happy, for something so elusive like success.

Ethan had sacrificed his whole life for the chance of being a great violinist, and he had succeeded, or at least he seemed to be on the right path. But doing that, he sacrificed his personal life, denied who he really was. Was it fear? Fear of not being accepted as a gay artist, fear of being looked as less talented because of his personal life? It was all bullshit, because in the end, the pressure ended up being too much and the guy took his own life.

Wasn't he, Justin, doing the same thing? Sacrificing his personal life for the dream of being famous…? How many times, in these two years, had he had woken up in the middle of the night with Brian's name on his lips, only to find out that the man wasn't by his side? How many times he had wanted to call him to tell him something sad or funny, or just to hear his voice, only to realize he had to make a long distance call, because Brian wasn't part of his everyday life anymore?

Ever since he left Brian sprawled on his bed the night he left for New York, he questioned himself, the real reasons behind his own actions. Sure, he wanted to be a famous artist, but something deep inside his mind told him this wasn't the only reason… But he had almost died at a bombing, and Brian was there, telling him to go get his big chance, and Lindsay and everybody else told him how great it would be… and it was so easy to leave everything behind and throw himself in a new adventure in New York City. But one question always bothered him: why had he left like that, mere days before the wedding, when being with Brian was all he always wanted?

Ethan's death had showed him the one thing he and the violinist had in common: Fear. Ethan was afraid of who he was. Justin was afraid of the magnitude of his love, he was afraid of what would happen if he took a chance to be what he really wanted, or in this case, to finally be with whom he really wanted.

It was almost funny, because, as challenging as being known in the art world as a famous painter would be, he wasn't afraid of that at all. He was born an artist and he would always be one, until his death. If he would be a big fat success or not, it didn't matter to him, because he didn't need it, because he knew who he was and what he wanted to do.

What really scared him was the possibility of a whole new life with Brian. It was scary to know that he loved Brian so much, and it was even scarier to feel that Brian was the person who helped define him, Justin Taylor. Suddenly, the option of having the life he wanted with Brian – with a big mansion and all – wasn't a dream anymore. And he was scared, because he didn't want to fail. What if they didn't work as a couple? What if Brian regretted his decision? What if he never wanted monogamy? What if Brian never saw him as his equal?

Justin had left, hoping things with Brian wouldn't end and that, magically, the future would take care of itself and he would find his answers. And here he was, in a foreign country, with the chance of being famous in his hands. So… why wasn't he happy? Why did his heart ache so much? Why his paintings lacked he passion from the first months?

There was only one thing he knew for sure: he was tired of the damned fear. He would live in fear forever if he gave up Brian He didn't need to be famous, but he needed his art, and for that he needed his muse, his inspiration, the person that always made him feel new and alive. His art always came from his emotions, but his emotions always came from Brian.

His art has always been a natural thing to him. He was selected out of so many and had won the contest. His true challenge was Brian, because didn't come to him easily. Without him, Justin felt that no matter how many great things happened, a part of him was missing. He needed the love of his life to feel at peace, to function properly, to finally be complete.

Now, all he had to do was find Brian. He needed to tell him that he wasn't afraid anymore.

With this thought in his mind, he looked at the canvas once more. And he had that familiar feeling again, as if something inside him had just woken up. The unfinished work suddenly felt full of possibilities. A little more blue, perhaps…Smiling, he closed the window and walked decidedly to the canvas, resuming his work. The painting was far from finished. All the others had already finished their work. Justin knew he had a very long and sleepless night ahead of him. But now he didn't care.

--

Pittsburgh

"Come on, get in," Michael said, after unlocking the shop's door. When Emmett and Ted stepped inside, Michael looked at the two sides of the street and finally got inside the comic book shop, locking the door firmly behind him.

"Michael, please," Ted tried again, "What's going on?"

But Michael didn't answer. Looking at his friends, he put his index finger over his lips in a gesture for them to keep quiet. Then he turned only half the lights on and walked to the back if the shop, disappearing, leaving Ted and Emmett astonished and listening to him opening and closing doors.

Finally, when he came back, Emmett looked at Ted questioningly. The older man just shrugged, so Emmett asked, "What were you doing back there, honey?"

"Checking, of course."

Ted lost his patience. "Checking for what, for crying out loud?"

Michael looked at Ted as if he was stupid. "Checking if we're not being followed."

"Uh…"Emmett didn't know what to think of Michael's bizarre behavior. "Who would follow us?" he asked.

"The police, who else?" said Michael, matter-of-factly.

"P-p-police?" Ted almost choked.

"Look, Mickey," Emmett put both his hands on Michael's shoulders. "This whole James Bond thing is very exciting, but you better explain what's going on, because you're scaring me."

"Did you take a bump to the head recently?" Ted asked. "Feeling dizzy lately?"

Michael shoved Emmett's hands off his shoulders, walked toward the counter where he had left his things, grabbed the newspaper, opened it and pointed dramatically to Ethan's picture. "Brian did this."

"Oh my God!" Emmett shrieked, covering his mouth with his hands, horrified. "Brian killed himself?"

"No!" Michael yelled, "He did this to Ethan!"

"Who?" asked Ted, dumfounded.

"For Christ's sake, are you deaf or what?" he yelled again, pointing to the paper once more. "It was Brian! He killed the fiddler!"

"Oh God, you did bump your head." Ted said, seating down tiredly on a chair nearby.

"D-do you c-care to explain how you reached this brilliant conclusion?" asked Emmett, now starting to get nervous.

"It all makes sense to me now," Michael said, looking at them. "He told Gus!"

"He-he told Gus he was going to kill Ethan??" Emmett was as white as the wall now.

"It's too hot here." Ted said faintly, stretching his collar around his neck uncomfortable.

"Shit! Of course not!" Michael started to pace, practically pulling the hairs off his head. "Listen carefully and then tell me if I'm wrong."

"Okay, okay, we're listening," said Emmett, sitting down too. "Aren't we, Ted?"

Ted only nodded. He was not feeling well. He hated the police.

"He's been planning this for months." Michael started. "Slowly, withdrawing himself from us so we wouldn't notice his strange behavior. He p-p-planned the whole thing and then he went away, d- disappeared, so we wouldn't be charged as guilty too." he stammered, shaking his head. "Then, then he went to Europe, found the fiddler, killed him, and now he's going to jail – oh God, Brian is going to jail – or at least he'll keep running and hiding himself for a long while. That's why he told Gus he would be away for a long time. Because he's probably hiding by now, and he doesn't want his son to worry!" he finished, dramatically.

Emmett and Ted were looking at him, mouths hanging open, dumb expressions on their faces.

"What?" Michael asked.

"But…"Emmett said, "The paper says Ethan killed himself…"

"A man as intelligent as Brian would make it look like suicide, Em!" Michael put his hands on his hips

Ted blinked several times. "Uh...m- maybe you're forgetting one thing, Michael. It's obvious that Brian probably hated the guy, but why would he…" Ted shivered, "kill him?"

"Okay, I'll spill the beans: Ethan was stalking Justin in New York."

"Brian told you that?" Emmett asked, incredulously.

"Uh…not exactly. I happened to be at the loft when Brian was very drunk and mumbling something about Ethan following Justin everywhere, and he ended with, and I quote 'I'm gonna kill the fucking fiddler'. His own words."

Emmett nodded knowingly, eyes wide. "Oh my God, Brian is a criminal, a fugitive!" They all knew how possessive Brian was about Justin, especially concerning the fiddler.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ted was sweating profusely now. "B-Brian w-wouldn't do something like that…would he?" he asked' looking at the other two, frowning unhappily.

They only looked at him and nodded slowly.

"Jesus! Ki-Ki-Kinnetik is doomed! " he wailed. "And I'm fucked! I just bought a house! I'm a business m-man!" he put his hands on his chest. "Oh God. Do you think the police will think I helped him?"

"Ha!" said Michael. "And what about me, uh? His best friend! They will never believe I had nothing to do with it!"

"Hey, you!" said Emmett, "Poor Brian is somewhere we don't know, probably hungry, homeless, afraid and lonely, and you are here worried with your own lives?"

"Cut the crap, Em," Ted said, "It's Brian we're talking about! He would hardly be hungry and homeless."

"Oh, you don't know anything about the underworld, Teddy. How criminal minds work and all."

"And since when you do?"

"Listen," said Michael interrupting them, "We better not draw too much attention to ourselves for a few days; maybe not even be seen together in public."

"You're right!" Ted said, quickly regaining control of the situation, "Who knows if we are being followed?!"

Emmett shook his head, sadly. "I never thought, our dear friend, a criminal…"

"We better get going, Em." Ted advised. "I need to work. I am everything Kinnetik has now. I'm the pillar of the company, and I can't led everybody down." He sighed, already thinking who the hell would have Brian's brilliant ideas to the campaigns.

"Yeah, you better go," said Michael, already sniffing, "I'll call Ben and tell-"

"No!" Emmett shrieked. "If we are being followed, your phone calls must be monitored too!"

"That's bullshit" Michael dismissed, "Because then they would have put microphones here too and…"

He stopped abruptly, and the three looked around frantically, looking for the said 'hidden microphones'.

"Well," Ted said cheerfully and a little too loud "Thanks for the comic books…and the water, Michael, I was really thirsty. Now I'm going to work, because I am an honored and responsible man."

"You're welcome, Ted," said Michael loud too.

"And I, " Emmett said so loud hat it sounded like he was singing opera, "Am going to work too, I have a big wedding to host in a few days, very important clients, very important."

"Yeah, okay Em!" answered Michael, "Now I'll open the shop, because this is an honest job and I need it to pay my bills! I'm such a hard worker, you know."

They nodded at each other. Without another word, Michael opened the shop's door and Emmett and Ted left, as secretive as possible for two drama queens.

--

Rome

Alexia was busy. She had a lot to do. She was going back home in two days and she had a lot to pack. As always, her capitalist side had spoken too loud and she had bought more shoes than she really needed, and more toys for her nephews than they could enjoy.

Adrianne was in her studio, cursing loudly in French because her staff always seemed to leave everything to the last minute, and she had a lot of things to take care of before packing.

It was almost midnight and Alexia sat down on the expensive sofa, tired, a glass of Cabernet in her hand. Her thoughts drifted to Justin. She was worried to leave him. They were going to Venice in a week and everyone was excited, except for her new friend. He was smiling and chatting as always, but the light seemed to have left his eyes. She knew he was doing some serious thinking about his life, he was more introspective lately, but it wasn't her place to ask.

The previous night Justin had showed her his new work, and she was impressed at the depth of the young man's soul. His painting was something that even she couldn't define, a mix of emotions reflected in dark and pale colors on the canvas, mirroring exactly the conflict inside the young artist's mind.

It was beautiful, as always, but his eyes were uncertain when he showed her the piece, as if he was uncertain about is own work. That was unexpected, because since she knew him, Alexia had never seen Justin doubt his own talent. She knew deep inside he knew his potential, but the turmoil inside him was reflecting on his self confidence and that wasn't good.

She was lost in her thoughts when the door bell rang, bringing her back to reality. Alexia frowned, looking at her watch. Almost one in the morning, who would come to her apartment at this time?

She wasn't really surprised when she saw Justin at the door, a sheepish and shy smile on his lips, eyes scanning hers. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept at all, his clothes and hair in disarray. But he irradiated peace.

"Sorry…" was all he said, raising his arms in a helpless gesture and letting them drop again at his sides.

"Come in," she said smiling tenderly at him.

He stepped inside. "I hope you weren't sleeping."

"You know me. I never sleep before two. Do you want a drink?" she held his hand and pulled him toward the sofa.

"Whatever you're having." He sat down, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly.

Alexia want to the kitchen and minutes later returned with another glass of Cabernet.

"So…" she gave him the wine. "Do you wanna talk?"

Justin shrugged. "Not really."

"Okay." She said, because she knew eventually he would.

He took a deep breath, as if rehearsing what he was going to say. "Look, Alex, I know I've been a little distant these last few days…"

Alexia just nodded, giving him the time he needed.

"And I want you to know that…knowing you was one of the best surprises that ever happened to me. You're a great friend." Justin got up and started to pace, Alex followed him with her eyes. "And – and I understand If you're gonna be mad at me and all, but I made up my mind."

He stopped before her and looked her I the eyes. Then he dropped the bomb. "I just talked to Mr. Benini this afternoon and dropped the program today. I'm going back to the US. To Pittsburgh."