Past imperfect - страница 10

The bubbles instantly hit her nose, and a minute later they passed through an absolutely empty stomach and reached her very heart, warming it. The imp on her left shoulder straightened up, swayed drunkenly, looked around and rubbed his hands in anticipation.

Lera looked after him. Instantly got tipsy, she was eager to continue her hooliganism. Looking around the small room, she saw a beautiful polished minion standing in the corner. She stretched her fingers to check if they were warm enough and, with confidence fuelled by the spumante flowing through her veins, began to make her way towards the instrument.

****

Marco was sitting in a restaurant, slowly sipping wine from a glass. He didn't feel like eating or going home. The only thing waiting for him at home was a mess made by Marco himself that no one would clean up during the Christmas weekend.

He and Paola separated almost two months ago and for some reason, the loneliness was especially acute today. He didn’t want to see Paola, their relationship had outlived its usefulness and ended surprisingly quietly. When they broke up, they both felt nothing but relief. Marco didn’t actually know what he wanted.

The couples and groups around him were annoying. Everyone was wearing red for the New Year, they were celebrating, laughing and taking pictures. Marco sat alone, twirling his glass with his fingertips. Not even the wonderful smells from the kitchen tempted him.

All Marco's muscles were aching frantically – today Giorgio had tormented him with special frenzy. At the end of training, Marco cursed the author who had invented the fighting scenes in the book, the screenwriters who had brought these scenes to the forefront, and himself for getting involved in this adventure.

The director was delighted with Marco's acting, but his fighting skills were not up to scratch. Well, Marco had never fought! He preferred noble ways to sort things out, and he loved team sports rather than this scuffle.

Unfortunately, it was very obvious on the screen. Marco confessed that his attempts to hit the face of an imaginary opponent were pathetic. However, Marco Guerriero did not shy away from difficulties! And for six months, Giorgio the mixed fight trainer had been bullying him at the gym.

Today, 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.