It was silly, Franchesca couldn't help but think that as she sat patiently at the foot of the steps. The first floor of the Inn was empty but smelled like a full blown restaurant, the spices and herbs settling into the air. She was dressed up, her shoulders and chest exposed but the length of the dress making up for it with the way it trailed past her ankles. Indeed the grey-blue pooled at her feet when she stood and Franchesca was thankful for it because she had little reason to wear heels.
The silliest part for her however, was the fact that she was incredibly nervous. It wasn't like when she was sixteen back in Seattle waiting for some guy she can't even remember the name of now to pick her up from prom. This was a full on affair, a relationship and though she was the one to suggest it the gravity of the situation only really settled in at that moment.
The knock on the door was soft but Franchesca was quick to jump up anyways. Isabelle shouted out from the kitchen over the sound of her cooking but the young woman paid it little mind. Her hand clutched the side of her dress and rose it so she wouldn't trip as she made her way for the doors. It was the second time she'd unlock the doors that night, Amelia having left the three of them to enjoy their dinner earlier.
Franchesca swung them open, perhaps a little too eagerly, but the smile on her face was immediate. He was everything and better than what she imagined, a man who was too mature and too handsome to be even be compared to some teenage prom date. Her cheeks grew warm at his kiss and the formality of it all after everything they had already been through made it all the more endearing. Her eyes drifted to the flowers and then to the wine and her smile only grew wider.
"Good evening, Wolfgang. Please come inside." Franchesca told him as pleasantly as she could, muttering in her normal voice moments after he entered and she shut the door behind him. "Don't want to let this small town in on our forbidden romance after all." She looked to him but the sound of Isabelle Rossi's heels clicking against the floorboards required everybody's immediate attention.
"Look live--" Franchesca whispered before Isabelle, dressed up in a gorgeous red dress and an apron, appeared at the door way. She cried of joy at the sight of the both of them together, coming over and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Welcome, welcome! I'm so glad that you came Wolfie." She exclaimed, Franchesca snorting at her use of the nickname. Isabelle's eyes immediately trailed down to the flowers and she cried out in excitement, giving the both of them some time as she hurried off with both bouquets in hopes of finding them proper vases. Franchesca wasted no time, taking his hand in hers.
Turning to him she nodded towards the dining room. "Are you ready?"
The whirlwind that was Isabelle Rossi swirled down the hall with mighty winds. Wolfgang had to brace against her presence, the tail of her red dress fluttering against his trousers as she came up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He reciprocated as politely as he could, though she was on a mission and pulled away from him the next minute, gathering in her arms all the flowers.
"I'm glad I'm here, Miss Rossi," he replied in a polite tone, putting on a small smile at the use of the nickname. Whether Franchesca had put that idea in her head, or she'd come up with it all her own, it amused him deeply, and he certainly didn't miss Franchesca's snort from a few feet off. She was gone as quickly as she'd arrived and as soon as she had, Wolfgang could only exhale a deep breath, processing just how overwhelming the whole situation was.
This was certainly not how he'd envisioned his semester going, not in the least, but given the choice, he wouldn't have changed any of it. "I'm not quite sure I am," he admitted, glancing to Franchesca. "But I'm as ready as I'll ever be." With one arm coiled around the bottle of wine, his fingers tangled up with Franchesca's. "Before we go though, I'm quite surprised your aunt is OK with all of this." He didn't know Isabelle well, but he hadn't expected anyone to be approving of their unusual, and taboo, relationship.
He counted his blessings.
"I'd explain why but I have a feeling like it'll come up, probably along with questions about intentions." Franchesca said as they paused. If anything dinner was going to be interesting. At that Franchesca brought him back into the familiar dining room, the tables were readjusted so they'd be sitting together and across from Isabelle. Amelia had argued it was way too much like an interview but Isabelle always got her way. At the center of the table were large golden trays meant to hold the actual plates of food her aunt was no doubt preparing behind the scenes.
"She'll probably come any minute now with starters, always has to put on a show." Franchesca mentioned, her hand resting on the back of the chair as she turned to face Wolfgang once again. "So any last words? Fears? If it helps I'm a little nervous too. She doesn't really know anything specific and I uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "I haven't actually asked her about Germany yet but we'll just see how it goes, yeah?"
The feeling he felt must have been the last feeling felt by fish as they were pulled from the nets and struggled for air until death. His throat went dry, despite a hard swallow, as he proceeded behind Franchesca with grave hesitation in his step.
"She doesn't know about Germany?" he hissed in surprise. "We should be clear that I didn't invite you first off." He smiled, though felt dizzy. This dinner could go devastatingly and while he didn't particularly care about his career at the university, there could be bad outcomes just the same.
"You are a little she-devil," he mentioned offhandedly, just sort of shaking his head with an amused smirk. "Dragging me into this to help save parts of your own hide, hm?"
"I dragged you into this because I like you, and probably too much for my own good." Franchesca corrected with another one of her tilted smiles. She shrugged lightly, a laugh threatening her as she continued. "Saving my hide is just a very welcome side benefit to that." It seemed the young woman had more to say but Isabelle returned in full force. In her arms were the plates of the first course--the antipasto, because in typical Isabelle Rossi fashion, she simply had to treat the professor to a full course affair.
"Oh my, please--please go ahead and sit down." Isabelle told them, beckoning towards their seats as she set down a plate of small baked paninis to start the three of them off. She was a whirlwind, but she was old and things tended to slip her mind, things sometimes went unnoticed. "Oh dear, I forgot the drinks. Franchesca could you be a dear and grab something sweet from the bar?" She asked, too excited back when she greeted Wolfgang to see that he was more than well equipped with a bottle himself.
"At least you're honest," he said with a chuckle and pursued her into the dining room. Food was ushered out before their very eyes and he politely set the bottle of wine on the table before taking his seat, per instruction.
"This all looks very lovely," he began, though equally unsure how he was going to stuff himself full of all the courses if this was only the beginning. "And his long have you owned this Inn, Miss Rossi?" He'd seen it before, though he observed it more fully this time than the first. It was homely, charming, and smelled of deliriously good food. It was no wonder it was such a local sensation.
"I'm terrible of keeping track of years. I bought it off of some old geezer just a year after Franchesca here moved all the way to America." Isabelle smiled sweetly, looking up from her food only to notice just then what the professor had for them. She stood up, clasping her hands together as she called him the sweetest man around. "Forget what I said Franchesca, it looks like your man has everything covered. Do open it though!"
Your man. The reaction to the words was visible on the young woman's face, Franchesca turned to him, cheeks just a hint of red already as she took the bottle from him. Franchesca walked back into the kitchen, returning with glasses and a cork screw in hand. Isabelle sat down and like a polite goddaughter, Franchesca poured everyone the first of their poison.
Afterwards she sat down next to Wolfgang and Isabelle, as expected, beamed. "Alright," she began with a breath, the corner of her eyes wrinkling with her rosied smile."You must tell me everything. I am an old woman with no time for her own hot blooded romance." Isabelle laughed but continued on with a gesture of her hands.
"So please, allow me to live vicariously and young through the both of you."
Your man. Everything. Wolfgang was going to need a lot more than the small splash of wine provided to survive the dinner. Taking his glass by the stem and resisting the impulse to swallow it down in one go, he sipped it politely and set it down. Bargaining with his own brain, he promised another sip after a question answered. Except Isabelle's first question wasn't a question, and it was a doozie.
"Everything?" He echoes the word like he lost his grip on English and didn't understand what she was asking. For perhaps the first time in a while, he was flustered, truly speechless. "Well, I.. Franchesca..." There seemed to be no good way to start the subject of 'everything,' considering their everything was confusing and convoluted, on good days. Where did he begin between Rafael, a lighthouse, and an argument about pedestals and equals? About mutually assured destruction, white whales, and Sabine? Between horrible torture videos, an art competition, and an orange tabby cat?
He took another sip of wine, forgetting about his internally made bargain. "That's a very long story... the story of everything."
So I would imagine!" Isabelle bellowed, her laughter shaking her small frame and filling the room with warmth. Or maybe it was the generous amounts of wine Franchesca had come to consume over the last few exchange of words that was heating things up. For a moment she paused and entertained both possibilities in her mind.
"We kind of just fell into each other." Franchesca began in an effort to make it easier for the professor, her hand searching for his underneath the dining table. Isabelle turned to her in response and quirked a brow out of interest. Franchesca continued. "Though I'll admit that I blurred a lot of lines I probably shouldn't have."
She took another sip from her glass. "Don't regret it though."
Isabelle leaned back her eyes turning upwards along with the corner of her lips as she seemed to think profoundly. The old socialite looked back at the both of them and grinned. "Have you two had sex yet?" Franchesca snorted and descended into a fit of coughs as the wine went down the wrong pipe as a response.
At thirty five, Wolfgang had gone on his fair share of awkward and uncomfortable dates, certainly. This one took the cake, even though he never understood what that idiom meant. Franchesca helped with her comment, but the second question proved worst than the first and if he'd been left stumbling for answers before, he was speechless now.
Below the table, his fingers wound around Franchesca's, giving them a little squeeze as she descended into a hacking cough. Wolfgang reached for his wine and chugged, realising this was he hardest 'no' he'd ever have to utter. At very least, he was glad the answer was no. Not because he didn't wish to be with Franchesca in every way possible, but because saying 'yes, Miss, I've fucked your goddaughter' was the worst possible combination of words he could think to put together at the dinner table.
"No, we have not," he clarified in a voice that was as eloquent and refined as ever, even if in his brain, his thoughts were ripping him apart.
Oh?" Isabelle's expression shifted into that of genuine surprise, her plucked brows arching and her mouth opening oh so slightly. Franchesca knew her aunt wasn't afraid to tackle the tough topics but the second question? Really? The young woman sighed but smiled all the same as she added on to his answer.
"There's just been a lot going on so we're just trying not to get too caught up in the current." Franchesca said, her hand returning the squeeze he gave earlier. Whether she spoke for the both of them she wasn't entirely sure but it seemed a serviceable enough explanation.
Isabelle laughed again and paused to take a sip from her glass. She watched them from over the rim all the while and as soon as she placed the glass down she had advice ready to be given. "From my experience with affairs, I've learned that you don't wait for the right time, you make it."
Her words would have seemed almost sagely to her goddaughter had it not been said in context of when she should have had sex with her college professor.
"Find sometime in between class, lock a door--" She continued, but the sound of metal clanging against the stove in the kitchen was enough to interrupt her. Isabelle Rossi cursed, coming to a stand and smiling sweetly before excusing herself. "That must be the pasta boiling over, no worries. I'll be back soon."
The moment the older woman disappeared into the kitchen, Franchesca let out a sigh of relief though she knew this moment of respite wouldn't last long.
Her hand still woven in his, Franchesca turned to face Wolfgang, her expression somewhere between embarrassed and amused and her cheeks tinted a warm, warm red. "I expected her to be a little invasive but that...I was not expecting. Are you alright?"
"Ah, hah," was Wolfgang's only verbal response. For the first time in a long time, he felt genuine heat in his cheeks, and it burned a path all the way down the column of his spine. It wasn't the same heat he felt when Franchesca leaned in closed, so close he could feel the warmth of her body, and pressed a kiss against his skin. No, this was a prickling heat. The heat of genuine embarrassment. Affair? Between class and lock a door? He wondered for a moment if Isabelle thought him married.
It would have made sense, he supposed. Most men were at his age. The vast majority of his professor colleagues were married, though some recently divorced, as well. In fact, the only name he could pull to immediate mind who was his age and unmarried, and not ever divorced, was Dandelion. The similarity between him and Wolfgang heightened the man's mortification. As he continued to boil in his self-doubt, he was glad it was the pasta that boiled over first and not his own sense of sanity.
He slouched into his seat when Isabelle disappeared, reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring another healthy dose into his glass. From the corner of his eye, he could see Franchesca turning to him and he smirked, lolling his head in her direction. "My, that is quite the woman," he muttered. "So crass and unafraid to ask anything, hm? Are these questions going to get worse?" he asked, dropping his voice into a whisper. He was concerned how the questions could get much worse. What's next? She was going to ask him about personal dimensions of himself?
Still, he couldn't help crack a stupid grin, leaning forward to steal a quick peck from her lips. "It's worth it all, every question its weight in gold, to see you in a dress like that," he admitted. Despite the questions, he wouldn't have exchanged his place in the world for anyone else's.
"We won't manage to do much more than we're capable of in this matter, but we shall do our best and make sure it won't be much less. Now, bring on the questions."
Franchesca couldn't help but wonder if the crass and unafraid line was poking fun at her for being directly related to the socialite. For a moment she considered it, Rossi women were rather outspoken, but there was a difference she felt between her confidence and her aunt's shamelessness.
Franchesca was fixing to answer his question when an abrupt compliment and an even more unexpected little kiss took her breath away, and to a degree, some of her composure. At first she sat back stunned at his boldness but then her expression melted and a smirk came to mirror his.
She wriggled her fingers away from his, but only so she could slap Wolfgang playfully on the shoulder in the moment that followed. Her laugh was genuine and her cheeks redder than before. "Stop being so charming while I'm already flustered, damn it."
Before Franchesca could say or retaliate some more, Isabelle returned with a pot of Bucatini in a hearty red sauce. The old socialite wore gloves as she set it down at the center of the table, the room heating up at the steam that rose from the color. Suddenly it smelled distinctly basil, oregano and crushed peppers and Franchesca, as nervous as she may have been, was ready to eat.
"You two seem so stiff, lighten up! Though its just the three of us its a small dinner party the same." Isabelle proclaimed as she stood back straight, her fists coming to rest on the curve of her hips. "Drink, eat, laugh. What is life without such things! "
Franchesca laughed in return and shot Wolfgang a little happy look after she finished her the remaining of her glass of wine. She held it out to him for he was the one closest to the bottle.
"You heard the lady."
"And I am in no position to refuse," he agreed, reaching for the bottle of wine to pour out a share into Franchesca's glass with the same devilish smirk he had been wearing before. It was a subtle smirk, something so hardly noticeable, most wouldn't have noticed it at all because it only reflected minutely in the corner of his lips. It didn't form the usual dimples in his cheeks, nor did it incite any laugh lines, but in his eyes—in his eyes, it lit like a fire, amused and dangerous all the same.
He set the bottle down, which was now half gone, between the three of them, before picking up his own glass and drinking, more than sipping. A generous flood of relaxation followed as the wine quickly stole the edge from his personality and allowed his muscles to destress. His grip on Franchesca's fingers was more pleasant, than death defying, and he glanced to Isabelle with more ease than before. Perhaps he was using alcohol as a way to make the dinner a bit more enjoyable for himself, but he was not ashamed.
The food smelled delicious and it stole his mind from thoughts of sex to other means of indulgence. They were served, and without pause, Wolfgang purred in delight at the taste. "You are quite the cook," he told her with a smile, this one more genuine and dimpling his cheeks. "This is delicious. Again, thank you so much for having me this evening."
He wondered if he'd ever be able to look at food the same again after being spoiled with two dinners from Isabelle's kitchen. It hardly seemed fair. Suddenly, his meager lunches of smoked salmon, tomato, and baguette seemed dreadful in comparison.
