Promising student and avid reader, Zahra Calimeris, attends a book club where she meets Romero Vitale; A judicious professor and bibliophilic aesthete.
book 1 | ongoing
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I GROANED INTO my hands that were leaning on the battered steering wheel of my dad's hand-me-down car. The piece of junk would get me killed before I could even afford to get it repaired. My mother liked to tell me how it wasn't the car's fault but the driver. I knew I clearly was not a Formula 1 legend in my past life, but I certainly wasn't going to take criticism from a woman who had failed her driving test five times before giving up on driving altogether.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and shoved my phone into it, being careful not to damage the new book I'd just bought and removed myself from the piece of junk, wincing at the unhealthy sound it made as I shut the door.
I bent down to inspect the front tyre that was now deflated and made a mental note to call myself a taxi later.
I rose from my bent position and looked over at the beautiful mansion. Stone walls towered over me from where I stood. Never would I consider myself prone to the addiction or admiration of material beauty, but I'd be absolutely blind to not value the striking exterior.
My feet carried me across the gravel-filled yard to the front door, tiny stones crunching under the pressure of my black converse.
I pressed at the doorbell and waited patiently as it opened to reveal a short man with grey and thinning hair. He wore something that could only pass as extreme boredom on his face. The man assessed me slowly and finally parted his pale lips to speak in a toneless voice. "Mr Vitale doesn't accept any sort of interviewing at this time and foreseeable future," he paused and looked thoughtfully at me. "Or any forms of prostitution."
My eyes widened at the crude assumption that he'd made of me from his short time appraising me. His analysis and evaluation skills might have impressed me if I was a reporter or a prostitute, but I was neither.
"Sorry to disappoint you," I smiled warmly despite his face that was currently scowling at me. "But I'm here for the book club"
"Name?" he grunted, presumably mad that I was keeping him from his nightly ritual of sacrificing newborns to a malevolent deity or something of that nature.
"Zahra Calimeris."
The man swiftly pulled a piece of paper from the inside of his blazer and scanned it lazily.
"Ah, there you are, indeed." The creases of his scowl flexed into a tight smile and he made a gesture to tell me to come inside. "Follow me."
I closed the heavy door behind me and followed after the short man who walked surprisingly quickly for a man of his build. Or maybe I just walked slowly, considering the only frequent exercise I participated in was the twenty-minute walk from my apartment to my college campus.
The intricate interior was just as elegant as the exterior. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to admire it for long as we came to a stop in front of a set of mahogany double doors.
