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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STEPPING THROUGH THE doors of the Vitale mansion felt like a familiar routine, almost like déjà vu. I gave my shoes a good shake on the doormat, flicking off any stray leaves that had clung to the soles and greeted the grumpy butler before he wandered off somewhere.
The warm glow of the chandeliers cast a soft light over the grand entrance hall, illuminating the elegant marble floors and grand staircase. The familiar scent of wood and polish filled my nose, taking me back to the first time I had been there.
I released the grip of my claw clip, letting my dark hair spill down my back in a waterfall of loose waves. Shorter strands framed my heart-shaped face, creating a halo of shadow and light. My lips were tinted a deep shade of pink, and I nervously ran my fingers over them, appreciating the way the oil amplified the hue to match the shade of my blush pink cable-knit sweater.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered my composure with a mental pat on the back as I moved through the foyer, following the long hallways deeper into the Vitale mansion. The sound of my heels echoed off the walls, drawing the attention of a few maids and butlers who were bustling about their duties. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. I had always thought the mansion was run by a solitary butler—a grumpy old man who barely cracked a smile. Had Romero hired more staff? Or had they been there all along, and I had simply not noticed?
As I approached the imposing door, my composure scattered, and the deafening hush of the hallway felt palpable. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, nerves of seeing Romero again brewing like an impending storm within me. I smoothed my hair and adjusted my sweater, but the butterflies in my stomach refused to settle. This was not the first time I had entered this room, yet it felt like a brand-new experience, like I was taking a test I had not studied for.
When I finally mustered the strength to grasp the handle, a wave of nervous anticipation swirled in my gut. My legs felt unsteady, as though I was a delicate lamb venturing into the territory of a dangerous predator.
I scolded myself for being foolish and delaying the inevitable, then opened the door.
The library was just as I remembered it, with walls lined with books from floor to ceiling, and shelves casting long shadows across the room. Romero was standing at one of the shelves next to his desk, and as soon as our eyes met, a hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips.
"Ah, there you are, stalker," he said, his voice low and carrying a slight slur. "I have been eagerly awaiting this moment, counting the minutes until fate allowed our paths to cross again."
"It's only been five days," I replied, dryly.
"Feels like an eternity," Romero said, a playful glint in his eyes. "Every moment spent apart from you is a moment wasted."
I could not help but notice the half-empty tumbler on his desk. I suspected that the rich notes of whiskey were influencing his words, rendering him a besotted romantic poet.
