"Pass me the eggs, Milo, please!" Fiore slurs, mouth full, and hand outstretched.
I, Romina, Uncle Bruno, Fiore, and even Massariol are having breakfast in the Council's cafeteria.
Which, calling it a cafeteria, feels almost like an insult.
It's an Italian-style café, but with the "beauty filter" turned on: an Art Nouveau greenhouse with soaring ceilings and arched windows that flood the room with warm light. The wrought-iron window frames, painted a deep green, are decorated with floral patterns that seem to move slightly, as if the room itself is breathing. The gleaming parquet reflects the light in golden streaks, and the solid-wood tables, draped with spotless white tablecloths, look like they belong in an elegant bistro. Between tables, ficus and potted trees sprout, as if someone decided the indoors should feel like a garden too.
In the center of the hall, an island counter buzzes with flawless baristas: they churn out coffee, fresh juices, and fragrant pastries with the ease of lifelong luxury-hotel staff. Only here, the aromas don't stay put—they drift through the air, lingering, as if they want to follow you to your table.
Outside the windows, a small lush park completes the scene: flowers and plants that sway slightly, too alive to seem… normal.
I slide the plate of scrambled eggs toward Fiore, who devours them as if he hasn't eaten in weeks.
Where the hell he puts it all, I have no idea. I glance at his statuesque physique.
Today he's wearing a billowy mint-green shirt, buttoned just for show, revealing glimpses of her vanilla-colored chest. I look away, sipping my espresso to keep my thoughts from derailing.
From what I gather, last night he went back to his place with Massariol; this morning he joined us in the infirmary with a change of clothes for both of them. The T-shirt he lent me hangs loosely on me, but it's nothing compared to the one he gave Romina: it looks like a dress. Yet she doesn't seem to care and now stares at everything around her, eyes wide, too captivated to remember there's a plate in front of her.
"Milo, this is insane! That's a ghost?? Nooo, and there's a witch over there?? And down there…" She talks non-stop, waving a grape on her fork that, at this rate, will rot before it reaches her mouth.
"I know, it's all very… overwhelming. But for heaven's sake, chew something, Romie", I scold her.
"I'll handle it", Fiore interjects. With a lightning-fast bite, he snatches the grape and pops it into his mouth.
"Hey!" she exclaims, finally distracted from her rambling. "Now I need another fork."
"And why's that?" he asks, chewing contentedly.
"Indirect kiss, ciccio bello*. No thanks," she retorts, swapping her fork for mine without caring about my protests. "Then maybe you'll cast a spell on me too, like you did with Milo."
"Oh? Fairies don't cast spells like that. It's just my utterly natural charm, sweetheart" he struts, even giving me a wink.
I roll my eyes, exasperated. I'd give anything to have a tenth of his self-confidence. I'd be set for life.
I turn to Uncle Bruno, looking for a diversion.
"Uncle, what do we do now?"
When I came back from the bathroom this morning, I ran into him in the hallway and we finally got a chance to talk a little.
He confirmed what Diamante had said: they had indeed agreed that he would be my guardian until I came of age.
Then, with a hint of embarrassment, he even admitted that he isn't really my uncle—he was just a friend of my parents.
Wow, what a plot twist. Not blood of my blood… and yet? For me, he's still my uncle, my only family.
At least now I understand why he used to enter my house like a thief in a church.
I hugged him tight. Then we went to wake Romina.
"So, I spoke with Diamante," he tells me calmly. "He's expecting us after breakfast in his office. Zuan and Nicodemo should be there too."
"Ugh, what a hassle," Fiore groans.
"Who are Zuan and Nicodemo?" Romina asks, curious.
"Two big pains," Fiore comments without thinking, sipping his cappuccino.
"Fiorenzo!" Massariol scolds him, sitting beside him. Tiny as he is, you can barely see his face over the edge of the table. He clutches a teacup that looks like a basin in his hands.
"The leaders of the Fantastic Alliance and the Dark Brotherhood," I interject. "Romi, don't be scared when you see Zuan… he's… closet-sized with a permanently angry face."
"Don't worry, I have to say I'm already starting to get used to this… new normal," she answers, eyeing with interest a striking young Goth dressed all in black, complete with dark eyeshadow.
"Lucky you," I mutter, while my eyes—like a full-blown maniac—wander down Fiore's shirt, just as he leans over the table to grab the jug of orange juice.
After breakfast, we head toward Diamante's office, a few floors below the café.
I yawn conspicuously. I can't say I got much restful sleep last night, between absurd dreams and the cramped space of the tiny infirmary bed. At least my side hurts less. Romina seems much better, too: her foot no longer bothers her, walking calmly ahead of me, alongside my uncle.
"Need another coffee?" Fiore's smiling face pops into my field of vision. I jump.
"Maybe. Didn't sleep well," I reply, looking away.
"Why not? Thinking about me?" he asks, amused.
"Chill, blondie. Not every move I make revolves around you", I reply dryly, though my stomach flutters.
"Mmm, you sure? I noticed your lingering gaze earlier."
How does he always see what I'm up to?
"Isn't it you who can't stop thinking about me? Every move you make seems to revolve around me," I fire back.
"It is," he answers without hesitation. "I'm your Fairy, remember? My job is to stick to you."
The butterflies in my stomach vanish instantly. In their place, a weight drops from my gut down into my deepest core.
Of course. How did I not realize it before?
It's his job to stick with me. To care. Nothing more.
After all, he even told me that if it weren't for the Fairy Code, he would've ditched me years ago.
Even yesterday's kiss… now it's clear: it wasn't really about him. Sure, it's not part of his actual job, but it's obvious it only happened because I wanted it. My body wanted it. And he went along with it, simply because the chance presented itself. Nothing more.
I almost laugh: what an idiot. Am I really that lonely that I mistake every tiny bit of attention for something more?
I grit my teeth, trying to push the thought deeper. Stay down, in the dark.
"Planet Earth calling Milo, do you copy?" Fiore's voice breaks through my thoughts.
I don't answer.
"When will you finally put your thoughts into words? It's painful watching you stew. Keep frowning like that and you'll age faster," he teases. But I'm not in the mood for games.
"I already told you," my voice betrays my frustration. "If it's such a pain to stick around me, just don't. Nobody asked you to."
"It's from Co—" he starts, but I cut him off immediately.
"Yeah, I know, you and your damn Code, got it! Listen, don't stick so close, okay? I need space."
I quicken my pace toward Romina and Uncle Bruno, leaving him behind.
I feel a bit guilty about the brusque exchange, but I'm really annoyed. With myself, more than anything. But this is not the time to dwell on my love life.
Diamante's office door is open, and a lively murmur comes from inside. We step in and find not only Diamante, Nicodemo, and Zuan, but also a group of figures dressed in black and white. One of them—elegantly attired in a white tuxedo with a golden bow tie and a walking cane—is the strange runner I met this morning.
"Oh, there he is! There he is!" the oddly elegant runner exclaims jovially. The room falls silent instantly. "Our young hero!"
*Ciccio bello: Friendly teasing, like saying "cutie pie" or "big guy" in a joking/affectionate way.