the trainer was particularly merciless. He seemed to be trying to inflict bruises on Marco for the future so that he would have enough for the weekend. Marco's ass, which was beaten off the floor, ached disgustingly, and Marco himself whined in unison with it. Both of them, Marco and his ass, hid their pain behind a mask of severe tension, like real men.
Tomorrow was supposed to be a day off, but Marco couldn't let go of the feeling that no one would let him relax. And it was even more infuriating. On New Year's Eve, Marco was supposed to celebrate and have fun, but he was in no mood at all.
The door of the restaurant opened and a girl fluttered into the hall. She was a tall, curly–haired redhead wearing a light coat. However, the coat quickly explained itself – the girl spoke to the waiter and Marco heard an interesting accent. A northern tourist. "I hate tourists!" thought Marco and starred at his drink. The girl went to a table in the corner, opposite Marco, and began looking around with her big eyes.
Marco wasn't sure why he was staring at her. Perhaps it was because she was alone on New Year's Eve as well. The waiter brought the girl a huge tart with cream and a glass of wine. The red-haired girl carefully looked at the tart and then furtively looked around.
"Well, now, he's going to steal a spoon as a keepsake!" Marco thought wearily, but the girl did something absolutely different. She gently opened her lips and delicately held the tip of her pink tongue. Marco swallowed. His field of vision narrowed instantly to a tiny spot in the centre of which was the flushed face of the red-haired beast.
With an expression of lust, the girl bent over the tart, carefully wrapping her lips around the reddish flesh of the finico d’India and sucking it into her mouth with visible pleasure. At this movement, her cheeks slightly retreated. The girl tilted her head back slightly and closed her eyes, savouring the sweetness on her tongue. There were faint traces of white cream on her lips.
Marco's blood instantly boiled. He gripped the stem of his glass tightly. The man leaned further into the shadows so no one would notice him staring at the girl. Involuntarily, he parted his lips, watching the girl tastefully roll the pulp of fruit on her tongue before licking the remnants of cream from her lips with a giggle.
Marco cursed inwardly, feeling an unwelcome heaviness in his groin, and suddenly became angry. He was angry with Paola because his pride prevented him from calling her and inviting her to spent an evening to relieve tension. With Giorgio for aching legs and arms. With all of the couples at the tables for being so cheerful and laughing loudly. And finally, at the girl for not being able to use a spoon or a napkin.
Marco turned away abruptly, noticing how the girl had gulped half a glass of wine as if it were plain water. A drunk! A minute later, this witch was already stomping across the hall. Marco realized from her flushed face that the wine had reached its goal and was directing her actions more than her brain. The girl definitely couldn’t drink! Marco snorted contemptuously turned away keeping watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Meanwhile, the girl reached the piano in the corner, hesitated in confusion for a second, then finally fell down on the banquette and began playing some Christmas melody. Marco involuntarily turned around and looked at the girl. Her graceful fingers were fluttering over the keyboard, and her slender feet were stomping on the pedals. He wondered what those feet would look like without shoes.
The little red fox was swaying to the beat of the music, a slight smile playing on her lips. She clearly enjoyed what she was doing. Marco cursed again, tossed a few bills onto the table, and left the restaurant before he could properly put on his coat
He was waving his arms as he pushed them into his sleeves, accidentally hitting a homeless man who had been looking through the restaurant window. Without much remorse, Marco threw out a "Mi scusa" and kept walking, cursing under his breath about the December cold and all tourists in general.
He barely noticed the angry, hateful gaze of the homeless man he had accidentally kicked.
Chapter 3
While Lera was playing, only one guest left the restaurant, and he left at the very beginning. After that, the evening went smoothly. Lera sobered up quickly and started to play more cheerfully. However, the rest of the guests got drunk and started singing discordantly.
Lera regained her composure and began playing all the Italian songs she knew. The atmosphere became fun and emotional. Il cameriere moved her glass from the table to the piano and poured wine into it. Lera thanked him with a nod, but her hands were busy.
By eleven o'clock, the restaurant guests started leaving with songs, drinks and leftovers. Lera stepped away from the keyboard and went back to the table. A plump man, Signor Giuseppe, immediately sat down next to her with a basket full of goodies and two sparkling bottles of wine beneath them. Lera didn't know who he was, whether he might be the owner, the chef or someone else altogether.
Giuseppe, with expressive gestures, began to praise la bella ragazza, who had at least doubled his earnings that evening. He was so happy that he wanted to hire Lera immediately for a permanent position. The man was terribly disappointed when he realised that Lera was foreign and would not be able to work at the restaurant regularly. However, he pushed the basket towards her, not listening to any objections.
“And why is bella ragazza here alone on a night like this?” Giuseppe asked, watching as Lera ate her tart and finished her wine.
“Bella ragazza is on vacation and escaped to the eternal city to be away from everyone” Lera admitted.
“Oh! What about suo damo?! Did he really let you go alone?”
"No damo, Signor Giuseppe," Lera laughed, "Only the strict boss who let us go with gnashing of teeth, forced and reluctantly having to obey the inexorable Russian law. If she had her way, we would have worked without interruption!”
“Oh, what a shame!” Giuseppe cried. “Beautiful girls can't be without il damo! It makes them angry. Oh, I could call my nephews! One word from you and there would be five ragazzi here ready to do anything for you!”
“No, signor!” Lera laughed back, “You'll condemn me to returning home with a broken heart.”
Giuseppe laughed kindly.
“And what work do you do for such a strict boss?"
“An interpreter! From Italian”, Lera replied with pride in her voice.
“Madonna mia! Are you working for the government?” Giuseppe cried.
Lera stared at him in astonishment.
“What are you talking about, signor? Of course not! I work for a private translation bureau. Oh-oh! The agency! The boss would slap me on the lips for using the bourgeois word "bureau." Lera giggled. “Our boss is really worried about our status. They say she had been thinking about a name for the agency for ages.”
“And what did she come up with? Some kind of masterpiece?”
“Hermes”, Lera said with a serious face.
“Gah! And here are the Greeks! She should have named it Mercury”, Giuseppe said indignantly.
“That's right, signor!” Lera agreed with a smile.
Giuseppe raised his hand and checked his watch.
“There is less than an hour until the new year signorina! You should definitely try to catch your luck with clock striking, mia bella ragazza! And next year you'll definitely meet him.”
“Who?”
“Il damo of course!” Giuseppe shouted.
Lera snorted at first, but the imp on her left shoulder suddenly perked up, and the girl looked mischievously at Giuseppe and said:
“You know, Signor Giuseppe? Let me tell you about one of Russian New Year's traditions. Maybe it will help you too. Could you bring me paper, a pencil and a matchbox?”
Giuseppe looked at Lera with interest and asked the waiter to bring what Lera had asked for.
“So, Signore Giuseppe, this is a sure way to fulfil all your wishes!”
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