Pancake, upon your review, I just decided that it would just be a sort-of deciding factor, I suppose. I mean, Pearle did have her own deciding factors, and now, so does Margo. Will Rodrigo go for a traitor-ess, or a girl that needs confidence in sharing her inner self? And yes, we're both badass. 78D

Hehe, you'll be more surprised what other parts of the anatomy I related, Mere. :3

I noticed pizzachic hasn't reviewed yet. O.o

Is 4000 words enough for the long dowtime? xD


Chapter Eleven

The day had been rather boring without anything to do, but he didn't want to look like he was trying to invade their space or anything, and so he waited until late that afternoon to speak to her, still knocking on the front door. Luckily for him, she answered the door.

"Miguel," she called, startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, er," he stammered, searching for words. "Isn't Giacomo here?"

"Oh. Poor car's sleeping," she told him, chuckling. "He works too hard for his age." He chuckled with her, until she prodded, "So, what are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask if you'd like to go out again tonight," he said slowly, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing to say. He winced slightly at how awkward he must have sounded. "I mean…you know what I mean."

She chuckled, eyes gentle with amusement. "I've got nothing to do tonight," she answered. "Did you want to go now, or should I wait for a later time?"

"Er…" he glanced at the darkening sky. "Now would be good. You know, to make up for last night," he added quickly.

"Alright. Let me just tell Marlene I'm going out," she murmured, half to herself. "Watch the door, will you?" she asked, and turned away without waiting for an answer.

Yet, fear prickled in his chassis as he spotted Francesco heading for the front door, coming up from behind.

"Miguel," Francesco called, as appalled as Margo.

He turned to face Francesco. "Buenos tardes, Francesco," Miguel greeted.

"Buona sera" was the reply, voice curious, and…suspicious? "What are you doing here?"

"I—"

"Francesco," Margo greeted suddenly, as startled as she was earlier. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this some sort of comic?" Miguel asked, humor thick in his tone. "I've heard that line at least four times today."

Margo gave a few laughs as she sided by Miguel, but Francesco didn't take it too lightly.

"And where are you going?" Francesco half-growled.

"Oh, relax, Francesco; I'm just going out for a drive," she replied nonchalantly.

"And…what of Miguel?"

"He needs an escort to the docks," she replied. "I heard he and Cartalina were going to meet there, you know, to see the sun set."

Miguel could hear her getting impatient and more scared, but at a minimal level. Francesco was getting more and more suspicious, Miguel realized, as the seconds passed.

"Can't Miguel find his way on his own?"

She rolled her eyes. "This is Italy, Francesco. Miguel doesn't have a map on hand," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm.

Francesco nodded, but still looked unconvinced. Margo rolled her eyes and pushed past Francesco. "Miguel, let's go; you don't want Petro to think you can't keep a schedule, do you?"

"Perdón," Miguel murmured as he followed her, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Francesco's narrowed, threatening gaze, and fear crept on Miguel's chassis, making him speed off to side by Margo, trembling slightly.

"What happened to you?" she asked him as they drove out of Francesco's view.

"I have the feeling Francesco doesn't like me," he told her tremblingly.

"Nonsense; he doesn't like anybody unnecessarily," she told him, but could hear the uncertainty in her voice. He didn't challenge her though.

"So, where do you have in mind?" she asked him.

"Ahh…" He trailed off. He hadn't really planned this on his way here, just how to ask her out again.

She sighed in mock disapproval. "Come with me," she told him. "I've been wanting to show you something."

He followed her down the humble roads of Porto Corsa. Lots of the townspeople greeted her, not only by time but also by name; she must be quite popular with the town. Then again, she is Francesco's cousin-in-law, he thought, and shrugged it off. They never went faster than at least thirty miles, and she filled the silence with pretty much useless talk about current issues and the like.

She led him down to the coastline, and the sun was already starting to set, hovering over the ocean surface as she led him towards the end of the docks, a secluded place he would never have thought of going.

"This is one of the places I like going to when I want to enjoy the scenery," she told him quietly. "I suppose you can see why."

The scene in front of him plainly took his breath away. "It's beautiful," he said, no more than a breath.

A corner of her lips twitched, but she said nothing. No amusement came from her now; just calm.

"This dock we're on is for daytime use only," she explained, "from four in the morn to four in the afternoon."

"Really?"

She nodded, her DRL's flicking off. "Most of the other boats, ships and yachts don't come here for the only reason this is a shipping dock that must be open." She paused, her lips twitching decisively, before continuing in a noticeably softer voice. "One reason why it's a perfect night spot."

His initial response was amusement, and he laughed slightly, before he put two and two together. He stared at her in surprise, and he saw mischief and amusement in her brown gaze.

"You…?"

"It was an errant thought," she murmured, her DRL's flickering on again as she smiled at the wooden paneling, and she glanced up at him for a split-second, embarrassment in them now.

He opened his lips to speak, but no words have formed yet. It was a while before he spoke, minding his tone and his words, trying to keep them as inoffensive as possible. "Are you…are you even innocent?"

She chuckled once. "Nobody can be truly innocent from the world," she murmured, her gaze meeting his now as she spoke, smiling and gentle. "But some people chose to dwell on things and emotions like that, and, well, turn less innocent than average." She glanced away, and there was sadness in her tone. "I am one of them."

This encouraged his surprise even more. Such a sweet exec turned into a she-devil? This wasn't he had in mind!

As she met his astonished gaze, she started to speak again. "Let me explain," she started. "You see, I've always been, say, restrained…. My parents never let any friends in without their permission; I was never let out of the neighborhood without someone to watch me; I was never let a boyfriend; I always needed to give details when I went out with my friends, and even then I had to have some sort of chaperone with me; all computers in the home were under lock and key; I was never able to drink alcohol even when my friends could, and my parents freaked out when I took just one sip of champagne. I was never allowed a cellphone until I was working; all things I knew to be fun were stripped as I received unsatisfactory marks in my tests." Her voice was low and sad, but not as squeaky and stammering as yesterday. Her gaze didn't meet his as she enumerated. "I was…under a tight leash, you could say. And the final release I knew…was within myself."

He breathed quietly. His own parents were quite the same, but not as harsh as hers.

She didn't cry though, and that was good sign. "But it's over now, and I can live my own life…right up until I had to live with Francesco."

"What happened?" he asked softly in his interest.

"Well, when Dad left, I was just, well, eighteen, nineteen and in college. In Dad's last will and testament, the house, the furniture, anything else that wasn't mine, was supposed to be sold for money, and his bank account be opened for my taking. Then, I had to go straight here, to Italy, to stay with my closest cousin, Marlene, and be taken care of."

He jerked back slightly. "Wait, wait; how old are you anyway?"

She stared at him, smiling sadly. "Would you believe I'm only twenty-three?"

He stared at her, mouth agape in a silent gasp. She was only twenty-three?

She turned away, sighing. "I knew you wouldn't believe me." When a moment of silence ensued, she asked, "What about you?"

"I'm-I'm twenty-seven," he replied. "I…I hadn't known you were so young."

She breathed deeply, then sighed, staring at the setting sun. "Stress can do that, you know, make you look older than you are in many ways—experience, appearance, and all that—as well as the world."

He blinked. "How?"

"Well, for one thing, stress can make you feel older, make you manage things for the older people, and all that." She paused. "The world, on the other hand, is, as I said, not as perfect as the parents want the kids to think. Everyone has to realize the reality once they come of age, and…I think that's what happened to me." She glanced at him. "Everyone has to mature one way or the other, Miguel. For me, this was one of them." She looked away, settling on her chassis as she relaxed, eyes thoughtful but she didn't speak.

His head whirled in the pieces of new knowledge about her. He hadn't known she had such a life, somehow harder than he ever had. As far as he knew, his parents were still alive, as well as the rest of his family. He had his siblings with him, whereas she was an only child in the family. He was as innocent to the world as he was contented in his own home, but had a huge flash of shock when the reality hit as he ran away from his family. But this girl, she's had to see things as she was young. He didn't know if it was fortunate or not; she had time to prepare herself for the worst, but then again she had to live with the knowledge of what the world was at a young age.

Yet, he wanted her to continue her story. "So, what happened when you moved in? Into Francesco's home, I mean."

"Well, after a few months when I showed what I can do—he wasn't very happy about me coming into his home, see, because he and Marlene just settled in, and she was, well, pregnant"—she winced slightly, awkwardly—"with Franco, I guess he thought I was some sort of liability, you know, someone else to take care of: to provide education, food and shelter for, and all that crap," they both chuckled slightly. "So, when a few months after I proved myself an asset instead—because I realized how much remorse he felt for me at the start—you know, working and taking after myself, as well as for the rest of the family while Francesco didn't have races to go to, I guess he was happier with it, then soon enough, I guess we just…bonded, I guess." She shrugged. "Then, he started becoming overprotective once reports of"—she swallowed—"rape…were heard just a few kilometers out of town, as well as in other cities other than in Genoa.

"Soon, he started becoming like my own parents: tight security, setting a curfew, no going out without Giacomo…." Her voice trailed away. "I once thought I could be as free as I could be, but no, I can't seem to be the bird that's got to leave the nest."

She seemed so sad as he looked at her, and, instinctively, he pressed against her. She leaned against him, her eyes sliding shut, and he sighed. She's had such a hard childhood.

"So, setting all the sadness aside," he started, "are you happy with your life, with yourself?"

Her eyes opened slightly. "Well, yeah, once you don't dwell on the past," she replied. "I mean, everybody has a past, but you never dwell on what has happened before." He realized she straightened with his unsaid encouragement, and her voice was stronger. "You look to what you can do with your future with what you have now, and you can focus on the present. I mean, it's like jealousy in a relationship: you dwell on it, and it only leads to more trouble." She stared at him with bright brown eyes. "You have to talk it over, to compromise. In this case, you can't forget about your past, but you don't have to focus on it too much. It's the past, and it can't help you now. But the mistakes you have done: talking back on your parents, going back on your words, all those mistakes have probably been embedded in your mind, and surely you can't make the same mistake all over again, knowing the consequences."

He felt uplifted, too, at the strength and content of her words. She was like the teacher he never had, one that never taught him these things in his life. He realized he had so much to learn from her, and so much to learn from life.

He blinked, smiling slightly at her. "Thank you for telling me this," he said softly.

"And thank you," she replied as quietly, with fervency in her tone, "for listening."

He was confused, and he frowned slightly in it. She chuckled slightly as she continued. "It's hard to find someone who truly listens these days. A friend can sometimes be awkward to talk to because they might not be willing to listen. They might not be able to appreciate whatever you have to tell them."

He nodded in understanding, remembering how uncomfortable about the subjects he sometimes wanted to take up with Benedicto, the last to join the trio. Tercio may have well been his closest friend, but he also wanted to have been close to Benedicto.

"Come," she urged. "There are two other main spots I like going to." She paused. "If-if you're willing to join me, that is."

"Of course," he replied gently, smilingly. Somehow, he knew he'd follow her wherever she'd go.

She smiled back before reversing, turning out of the dock. He followed her out of the beach, in and out of town and into the countryside. Privately he wondered where they were going as they headed quite uphill, and she stopped at a sort-of cliff, whose edge was bordered for safety, that overlooked Francesco Bernoulli's seaside hometown. Yet, instead of the town or just the seaside, the cliff gave a panoramic view of both, and the two could view the sunset while perusing a part of the small town that was Porto Corsa.

"Wow," Miguel breathed.

"Told you so," she murmured as they cut power to their headlights. The last of the sun had slipped below the ocean's surface, and twilight was giving way to early eve.

"What made you discover these places?" he blurted quietly.

"Oh, when I had problems at work," she replied, "or a big bowl of PMS, or when I had mental block, or when I wanted to talk to Dad." She shrugged. "I've many reasons."

"I…I can't believe I missed this."

"A lot of people do, you know, miss out on things like this," she told him. "Always rushing things, always wanting things earlier than they should be. And it all results in a stressed-out, messy mind." She sighed. "Sometimes, I wish my staff could see this."

Silence ensued again as he took in the beautiful view. They stayed there as long as the moon rose silently in the sky, fat and white. Suddenly, her belly rumbled.

"Oh-!" she squeaked in response as he chuckled. "I…guess I'm hungry," she said apologetically.

"Me too," he replied. "Why don't we get something to eat first?"

"Good idea," she replied, and led the way down.

Dinner wasn't quiet, not at all, even if the place had been. In fact, it had been engaging as she began telling old stories and jokes he never knew she'd had.

"Unfortunately, most jokes in the family are told in the manner that we play around with the language," she told him. "It's the Pinoy sense of humor, you see, and you can only appreciate it only if you can understand the language." Her look was very apologetic, but nonetheless, all her stories had been hilarious all the same.

"So, there's this car who has a '4x4' mark on his rear, you know, the alt sign of all-wheel-drive," she started. "He sleeps soundly at a parking lot, sunning I suppose. And then, there's this penniless but, say, crazy car who's giggling all by himself.

"The car sees the '4x4' sign, and grabs a nearby pen, having said to himself, 'Four…times four…equals sixteen!' and scribbles the answer just after the sign." Miguel could only snicker as he tried holding back his laughter, his gaze never leaving hers. To his amazement, she could tell jokes with a relatively straight yet smiling face, just as a comedian would.

"The AWD wakes up, and finds he has some ink on his rear. Furious, he asks for a new paint job, and hopes it wouldn't happen again. The next week, as he suns quietly again, the crazy car comes back, and finds the '4x4' sign again. With the same pen, he writes 'equals sixteen', and goes off again, giggling like the crazy man he was." She waved off with her tire, gesturing what had happened, breaking her eye contact with him for a moment.

"The AWD finds the ink on him again as he wakes up! 'Alright, fine'," she said gruffly, mimicking the car's voice. "'If that's what the old coot wants, then let it be!'

"Soon enough, the AWD stays in his favorite spot again, sunning as usual. The old coot comes back to find his answer still on the AWD's rear." Her eyes glinted with amusement. "To the AWD's amazement, the crazy car still got the pen, and wrote as he said smilingly, 'Correct!'"

Miguel burst in his laughter as she finished with the punch line, and she laughed with him. It took him a while before he settled down. She heaved a sigh of relief as he settled down.

"I don't believe I've ever heard that before," he said, almost exhaustedly.

She chuckled at him. "My father used to tell me jokes like that," she said.

"But…but I thought—"

She shook her front. "My dad and I were quite close as I came of age, always joking around when he's in a good mood."

He nodded in reply. It was the same way even after dinner, a happy round of conversation, until they left the restaurant. The moon had risen high in the cloudless sky, showering Porto Corsa with its pale light that could not be seen in the interference of the street lamps.

"Come on," she murmured, and when he glanced at her, she had gone, but not very far. She had turned around to face him as she reversed, inch by inch, eyes to his. She smiled, a corner of her lips twitching. He chuckled, and sped towards her. She reversed, swerving around as he sided by her, and they both faced the way they had come again.

"How-how do you do that?" he asked her in astonishment. "You seem to just…turn around in place."

She chuckled. "I learned," she told him simply. "And you can learn, too."

"I look forward to it," he replied enthusiastically.

She laughed, nuzzling him fiercely. He smiled down at her, chuckling, as they drove out towards the countryside once more.

"So, where are we heading?" he asked her.

She swerved again as she giggled playfully, and she drove in reverse as she stared at him with smiling brown eyes. "You'll see," she told him, and curiosity burned in his belly as she turned and raced forward.

He caught up to her soon enough, to a place where trees and brambles bordered something in a circle. She turned to face him as he moved to her side.

"We're here," she murmured softly, and pointed with her eyes to the clearing ahead. He stared around in amazement.

The clearing, having a small stream and a gently falling waterfall at the cliff face on the opposite end, was bathed in moonlight, turning all colors from green to silver, black and white. A grand oak stood in the near-center of the clearing, its thick branches spanning outward to form some sort of shade from either the sun or the moon. The clearing gave no sign of fauna; maybe that was because it was nighttime, he thought. The only flora that was there were the wildflowers that littered the clearing, growing in trios and pairs and in different colors like white, blue, and yellow. The clearing looked like a very private place to stay; the bushes and trees that bordered the clearing were thick, and there was no sign of anyone living within the rock face of the sheer cliff on the other side of the meadow, nor was there a sign that there would be a rock fall.

"Go ahead," she urged him, nosing him forward. He paused for a moment in uncertainty before he stepped into the moonlight.

His gaze swept around the place, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. From the gently flowing stream to its source, a quietly falling waterfall, to the great oak tree, to the rock face, to the border of shrubbery. And then, as he gazed upward, he found the fat, white moon silently gazing down at him and all that was below it. He later noticed how beautiful the moon was in this silent place, and was awed by it; it was, after all, the first time in a long time that he'd seen the beauty of things this way.

For her, on the other hand, she stared outward as he moved deeper into the clearing, but this time, neither the grass nor the tree nor the flowers were of her point of interest; instead, it was the car that stood in front of her, gazing around in his awe.

Her brown gaze took in every detail, tasted each color even if they were subdued, caressed each contour of his smooth, sleek golden body as she gazed at him. He looked so calm, and yet at the same time, so strong. She could, and at the same time she couldn't, imagine the strength underneath his fiery colors, underneath his metal body. It was uncomfortable to stare, yet it was nice to.

Soon enough, he realized he was as alone as the moon above, and he stared around for the car he was looking for. He found her, settled at the entrance, staring right at him. He felt uncomfortable: prickling with embarrassment, but at the same time anxious. But for what reason was his anxiety, he wondered blindly.

"Margo," he murmured, but the call was loud enough in the silence.

The question may have been unsaid, but she knew what he was too embarrassed to ask. Her lips twitched before she spoke. "I wanted to see how you would react," she replied as gently. "Most people don't seem to share my interests."

"But I do," he blurted out mindlessly, almost immediately. "I do."

Her lips twitched once more, but said nothing. Her gaze was unreadable in the shadows of the trees that hovered over her head.

"Come with me," he pressed.

"Why?"

"Because," he started, but suddenly thought better of what he was going to say. Then again, it was just the two of them, but why was it so hard to admit he liked her? Why was it so hard to admit he was falling for her, aloud, and even more so to himself?

It was even worse to not tell her at all.

"Because I want to share this with you," he replied, voice soft. He was lucky his headlights didn't flick on.

Her eyes closed for a moment, and he figured it was in thought before she revealed her brown irises once more. She stared at him with recognizable uncertainty, and she, too, stepped out into the moonlight.

That night of the party, on the balcony, seemed like a dream, a ghost. The sun's golden glare was too bright; the scarlet sunset turned her orange; the harsh white light of fluorescent bulbs was too strong. Here, in the moon's pale yet gentle radiance, was where she belonged.

He blinked several times, unsure if she was real or if he was dreaming himself, because it was like she stepped out of a dream and into his world.

"What's wrong?" she half-squeaked.

This shook him awake. "What's wrong," he started slowly, "is that you are so absolutely entrancing, so absolutely…beautiful." There are no other words for it; these will have to do.

She blushed thickly, daytime running lights flicking on as strong as they would go as she smiled shyly. "I am?"

Oh, gods, he thought in awe. She looks so cute when she blushes. "Of course you are."

She glanced away slightly. "No one's ever recognized me that way before," she told him. "Outside my family, I mean," she added quickly.

"Then to me," he started, moving closer to whisper, "you will always be beautiful."

She stared at him, windshield glistening in the half-light, and he returned it with his rare, truly gentle green gaze.

"Oh, Miguel—"

"There's no need to call me that anymore," he interrupted, sure of his words.

This startled her. "Why not?"

"My real name is Miguel Rodrigo Camino," he confessed. "Since I was a boy, close friends and family have always called me by my second name." He smiled hopefully at her. "Will you do the same?"

There was a moment's respite from her, until she nodded, smiling. "Of course," she told him, "Rodrigo."

His second name sounded even better in her voice, in her accent, and his heart filled with such ecstasy and love it hurt. He could only stare at her as she moved to his side, rounding him a full two hundred and seventy degrees. She pressed close against his side, and he leaned slightly against her. He breathed in her sweet, warm scent with lidded eyes, feeling everything then nothing at the same time.

"Rodrigo?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

It was a song he wanted to hear from her every day, a phrase he so wanted to believe and the take heart of. Even if it was a statement he took so lightly before, even if it was a phrase that gave him no meaning before, now was the only moment he knew its importance, its strength.

"I love you, too."