When we finally reached Paola’s house that evening, Marcel seemed unusually inaccessible, quiet. It’s not that he was ignoring us, but he visibly distanced himself from both me and our host. At first I thought he was not in the mood to socialize. But as soon as we entered the backyard, he plunged into partying. The garden was full of people, flashing lights and loud music. Marcel quickly found himself a new company, completely tuning me and the girl out. I could understand his avoidance towards me. But why Paolina? Had she gotten into a quarrel with him. A lovers quarrel perhaps?

Not having much choice left, I decided to spend the night alone. It was Marcel who dragged me to the party in the first place, but it didn't seem he was the one to keep me company. I stopped by the bar to grab a drink, and sat at the terrace stairs, gazing at the crowd in the distance. One could say I was chilling out, but not a single part of my body felt relaxed that evening. Disappointment, anger and sorrow were stirring inside of me, forming a tight tangle of bitterness in my chest. I couldn’t stop thinking about our exchange from the day before. I should have said something to keep him at our house. I should have done something to make him see I wanted his presence. If there was the slightest chance for us,  I forfeited it for good. 

I kept sipping Aperol, as if the drink could help me calm down.  The ice cubes in my cup were pleasantly ringing against the glass, as my eyes kept following Marcel's silhouette. He was moving gracefully among other party animals on the dance floor. I couldn’t help thinking he must have been flirting with the girls around him. The way he was dancing was so loose, so sensual. Or was it just me and my dirty imagination again? 

Immensely focused on his body swaying to the rhythm, I almost missed Paolina climbing up the stairs. She took a seat by my side, stretching out her legs with a deep sigh.

"Evening," she welcomed me with a blank tone, placing a bottle of wine on the ground between us.

I looked at her skeptically, surprised our birthday girl was finding my company more appealing than having fun with others. She silently followed my footsteps, staring at the people. Was she also observing Marcel? Of course she was… We were equally sick with the guy.  

"You want one?" She asked suddenly, taking out a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of her oversize jacket. 

"I don't smoke," I grunted, irritated that she was trying to make contact with me. 

"I doubt that."

She lighted a cigarette herself, gazing at me. Could it be that she had noticed me smoking on the terrace the other day? After a moment of hesitation I reached for the package she placed by the wine bottle. 

"Now we're talking," she approved my move and gave me the fire. 

"Why are you here?" I finally asked, looking at her petite silhouette sinking in a tight dress embroidered with golden sequins. 

"I believe our nasty moods have a common cause."

I scowled at her. Did she get the brush from Marcel?

"Don't look at me like that," she sighed pretentiously. "I know you're into him too."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I took a drag and continued to observe the crowd. 

"We were running together this morning, you know?"

Were they? It was the first time he hadn't tried to wake me up for "a jog" since he appeared in our house. Have they spent the day together? Were they having fun when I was playing dirty in his sheets? How ironic…

"I tried, I really tried to…” She rubbed her temples, as if she was unable to come to terms with something. “He said he wasn't interested," she continued, and my mind made a sudden turn backwards. "Neither in me, nor in girls generally." 

My heart started to race. I felt a sudden wave of relief cleansing me the moment my brain registered her words. So we were alike… How could I be so blind, so delusional? He was flirting with me, and I took it for mockery. He was trying to show he liked me, and I took it for kindness. 

"Is that so?" I looked at her nonchalantly, trying to sound indifferent.

Was the news something unexpected? Just by the look on her face I recognized she had her suspicions long before he decided to tell her. And she wasn’t the only one… Isn’t it more convenient to see things the way we want them to be, and not the way they really are? 

"Did he… say anything about me?" I asked after a short while, unable to hide my interest. It was a perfect occasion to gather some insight without exposing myself before Marcel.

"Ah, yes..." She let out a smoke, looking me in the eye. 

“And?” I nagged her impatiently. 

“You should ask him yourself,” she shrugged. It must have been nice, having me on the string and hitting exactly where it hurt. 

“Don't be such a bitch,” I whined. 

“Oh but I am.” She smirked before continuing. “Seriously though, he thinks you're scared of him.”

“I don’t quite understand…” 

“You're a moron, Victor,” she stubbed the cigarette and grabbed the bottle to pour herself a glass. “Go talk to him.”

Was I scared? Was it the reason I kept my eyes closed for the signs, convincing myself he was not interested? Was the fear what he saw in my clumsy ways, my pretended indifference, my  nervous stares and looks-away? 

“Go talk to him…” I slowly reprised her words, looking at the bottom of my now empty glass.  “I might need a drink or two before I can do that.” I filled the cup with wine she brought. „Happy birthday, Paola.” 

Having one glass after another, I gradually started to tolerate that bitch, maybe even like her. At least like her enough to share a smile. We chatted a little, laughed a little, and when the alcohol started to buzz in our veins for good, we even hit the dance floor. 

Before all the guests sang happy birthday, before Paolina blew the candles, I was already well-loaded. Summer hits were blending into each other, the world was swirling and swaying, swallowing me into a hole of unconsciousness. 

“I didn't know you were a smoker.” Marcel appeared beside me when I was taking a break on my own, watching people chilling in the pool. 

“I am not.” I smiled at him in a haze and let the smoke out.

He was holding a bottle of beer in his hand, but he didn't seem drunk at all. I noticed it was labeled as non-alcoholic. Weird, I thought. It seemed he wasn’t such a good-time guy after all.  

“Don't you think it's time to go?” He asked with concern.

“Are you worried about me?” I smiled playfully.

He sighed and came over to me, wrapping his fingers around the edge of a terrace railing.

“Maybe. Am I not allowed to?”

“You dragged me into this party, then went on with your business. Doesn’t seem like you care that much.” I looked at him boldly.

“Well, you’ve made it clear you’d rather see me gone. I didn't want to force myself on you.” He paused, and I noticed the corner of his lips rising, as if he was trying to hide a smile. “Have you missed my company?”

“Maybe.” 

I smirked, placing my palm on the railing, just beside his hand. The warmth of his skin almost made me tremble. He didn't move away, just kept gazing at me. Something in his stare was telling me he knew exactly what emotions my “maybe” was lined with. 

“Shall we go home now?” He asked.

I might have replied to him longingly “Take me home, Marcel. Please, take me.” Or maybe it was just a voice in my head, a sound of my flaming synapses making the last flip before blacking out. The next thing I remember was stopping by Lago di Vagli on our way back to the village.

“Let's wait here. Sober up a little before we get there.” 

Marcel helped me take a seat in the grass damp with the morning dew. His arm was resting on my shoulder, ready to intervene in case I lost my balance.

“I'll be deft like a ninja. Won't wake them up, I promise,” I laughed, taking a bottle of water he handed me.

The sheet of the lake was calm and still. The stars were reflecting in it, dispersing an endless void of darkness. It was the first time I've been there in such an hour. There were no people in sight, but nature was thriving, vibrating with noises of insects composing a sleepless symphony. I remember thinking it might have been the last night like this. With the warmth of a familiar body pressed against mine. 

“Would you stay if I asked you to?” I whispered, leaning my head against Marcel’s shoulder. 

“What do you mean by that?” He whispered back.

“You know what.” I exclaimed at him. Was he having fun pretending oblivion? “Don't move out.” 

We stayed still for a longer while. His palm squeezed on my shoulder. My forehead resting in the bend of his neck. My nostrils reveling in the scent of his body I was already accustomed with. I almost forgot what I wanted from him, lost in pleasant sensations, when he finally decided to respond.

“I'll tell my agent. Will you ask your mom?”

I pressed my lips to his cheek in a sudden outburst of joy.

“I will…”

“I will..”

“I will…”