Fifteen Hours Later:
I spent most of the flight looking at old videos and pictures of my parents and I on my phone with tearsin my eyes the entire flight.
I never knew that it would hurt this bad to be alone.
It was excruciating to realize that I can't turn to talk to either of them. Instead I find strangers who roll their eyes at me.
Nothing says courtesy better than a wrinkled nose or a scoff and eye roll.
It was— it was disheartening to see and realize.
Just as I walked out of the airport and began to cross the street to get a taxi only to hear a loud screech.
"Watch out!!!" I heard before I was roughly tackled.
I laid dazed for several moments as my head spun violently.
"Are you alright, dolcezza?" A smooth, deep voice asked from somewhere next to me, as I slowly sat up.
"What in the hell does dolcezza mean?" I asked, squinting in confusion at him.
As I fought not to close my eyes, and sleep the ache off.
"Sweetness." The deep voice replied amused.
"Please don't call me that again." I replied, with a frown as I rubbed the tender spot on the side of my head.
"Alright. Listen, I am so sorry about what happened, it's just the cars were coming in fast, and I thought you were about to get hurt." He explained.
"Well, thank you , I gu— holy shit." I gasped as I turned to look at the man speaking only to discover he was way taller than I expected him to be, and looked like a fucking GQ model.
Taller than any man I knew back home, with broad shoulders, a fact that looked carved by angels, and eyes that looked like a pair emerald gems.
And I met him this way.
Oh dear Lord in high heaven. Why does this happen to me? Why did I choose to make an ass out myself today? Of all days.
"Are you alright, dolcezza?" He asked, as his eyes widened and he stuck his hands out as if I may fall again.
"Yes, I am. Look, I—I gotta go." I muttered as I turned away, bending down to pick up my luggage from the ground before whistling for a taxi to stop.
"Wait!" He called but I ignored him as I quickly handed my bag to the driver, before sliding into the back seat.
"Dove perdere?" He asked me. (Where to Miss?)
"Hotel Villa Athena, per favore." I replied, as I stared out the window, taking in the beauty. (Please)
"Nessun problema." He replied. (Not a problem)
As soon as we arrived at the hotel I quickly paid the cab driver, and went in.
My eyes widened at the beautiful decorated walls, and everything else within the room.
When I reached the frontdesk. A tall, curvy, fair skinned woman, with her dark hair piled into her head in a fancy hairdo, looked up from the computer and smiled at me.
"Benvenuto all'Hotel Villa Athena, come posso aiutarti oggi?" She asked with a large smile. (Welcome to Hotel Villa Athena, how may I help you today?)
I stared at her for a second as I mentally translated how to ask her for a room. When I finally remembered, I nodded to myself before speaking.
"Sì, ho bisogno di una stanza per favore." I replied, thanking my lucky stars that my dad had thought ahead and taught me a little Italian. (Yes, I need a room please.)
Though I never questioned it, I guess it made sense that he had some sort of familial connection to Italy.
He always said it was the place he and my mom met while he was visiting during one summer.
Why I never questioned this, surprises me. He always said that his family was dead. If he left it must have been for a reason.
Which meant I could have walked into a dangerous situation myself.
"Certo, per quanto tempo rimarrai?" She asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. (Sure, for how long will you be staying?)
I bit my lip, thinking, but realized I had to do this. "Indefinitamente." I replied as I took the card out and slid it towards her. (Indefinitely.)
Well, I guess there was no turning back now.
After paying, and she handed me my key card, I quickly made my way into the elevator, pressing the button towards the third floor before making my way towards the room.
It was just as beautifully decorated as the lobby. With the same creme and gold color scheme. But I ignored everything, as I closed the door behind myself and locked the door.
Dropping the bags into the small couch pushed against the wall, I kicked off my shoes and padded my way towards the balcony to take in the sight.
Italy truly was as beautiful as my dad described to me when he would tell me stories of his visits.
So, why had my father left?More importantly what was he hiding from me?