She ordered a spumante and a cake with a huge cap of air cream. On top of the cream was a tiny hemisphere of reddish jelly – the pulp of the prickly pear fruit, frico d'India. A dessert spoon glittered on a beautifully folded napkin, and, looking at it, Lera felt a devil jumping on her left shoulder. The imp tugged at her ear demandingly and smiled toothily.
Lera looked around furtively, made sure no one was watching her, bent down and took the fruit pulp with her lips with inexpressible pleasure. Her face was smeared with cream, which had to be licked off for a long time with giggles. After making sure no one paid attention to her hooliganism, she drank half a glass of wine in one go.
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.