The days faded into one another, skewing Francesco's perception of time. It felt like he was meeting Assistant Morbidelli every two days, rather than weekly. At the start of December, Morbidelli announced that the boy was to attend a party. It was Baggio Group's last gathering of the year, with a few key affiliates and special guests.
The week before the party, Francesco had rigorous sessions with his governess. All his other lessons, besides etiquette, were cancelled. Posture, dancing, toasting, manoeuvring a crowded room, ordering his staff, sitting, eating, walking, conversational skills, conflict navigation, facial expressions, accident avoidance, handling, and recovery. Everything was on steroids, from sunrise until bedtime. The lessons stopped only for meals and when the designer came by to take his measurements and fittings.
The day before the party, a stylist came to the house. The man spoke English with a thick French accent. He wasn't the same kind of energetic as Cindy. He was snobbish and talked nonstop about his 'achievements' and future appointments.
Francesco sat quietly, enduring the man's ramblings. The boy remembered Cindy and how focused her eyes looked as she worked. This man was distracted and looking around the room more than he looked at Francesco's hair. He was stalling, occasionally lifting sections of hair, then excitedly combing and snipping. Francesco watched the man carefully through the mirror. When he lifted and combed through the same section of hair he had minutes earlier, the boy stopped him.
The boy raised his hand and twisted his wrist with practiced grace, swiping backwards gently.
The stylist swelled his chest and watched the boy wide-eyed. "...Mr. Francesco? Is something wrong?"
But the boy did not answer the man or look at him. Instead, he raised his hand again. This time, he flicked his raised index finger. The stylist exhaled and started babbling about the intricacies of cutting the boy's hair perfectly.
It worked. The boy smiled internally.
In the midst of the stylist's explanation, one of the maids stepped forward and warned the man that he should leave as Francesco no longer required his service.
Seeing the man make no effort to back down, two guards stepped forward; one grabbed the man by the elbow while the other placed himself between Francesco and the stylist. But the stylist still refused to concede and complained loudly about his poor treatment. Hearing the man boast about his clients and announcing that they would help him get justice for his current treatment, the boy exhaled in annoyance.
Seconds later, the guards dragged the stylist from the house. Francesco's gaze never left his reflection as he replayed the events that just occurred. He was conflicted; on the one hand, it felt good to be able to have that much power to order people around. On the other hand, he wondered whether he would become like Nicholas. The memory of Aurora defending Clarisse at the gallery came to him, and the boy smiled. His mother had looked cool. He would want to be like that.
The maid smiling in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
"What is it, Stella?"
"You are growing into your name, sir."
Francesco looked at the woman beaming at him. She seemed genuinely happy about his change of behaviour. Before, she had looked at him with pity and amusement after he had mistakenly said 'gracis'; now her eyes held hope.
"Trim my hair." He ordered.
"Yes, sir."
Stella was one of his personal maids, the one most often taking care of his hair. There was no reason she couldn't do it now. After Stella trimmed his hair and demonstrated a number of styles, the boy picked one for the party.
"Well done, Mr. Baggio." His governess said from the doorway.
The stylist had been a test. Whether he had let the man finish or not was not important; rather, it was how he handled him that was the test. The governess gave a lecture, reminding the boy of the tactics and strategies he could employ before giving him the day off.
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The next day, Francesco woke up before the maids arrived. Excitement and fear left him skittish and needing to move his feet. The boy had jogged and swam until he got his anxiety under control. His morning passed uneventfully, as he had no lessons or quizzes. Feeling like he was slacking off, Francesco picked up a science book from the shelf and read until he fell asleep. Stella woke him for lunch, and his afternoon was spent getting ready for the party.
By four o'clock, Francesco and his governess had boarded a helicopter and were flying their way towards the airport. His governess would be playing the role of his mother for the party. Having the woman with him eased some of his concerns. Now he understood Logan's anxiety about attending parties without Aurora.
Francesco smiled sadly. The past week, thoughts of his mother and her husband had occupied his mind. He secretly hoped they would be at the party. He knew they wouldn't, but he still wished for some miracle to happen. He wanted to be with them again. Being off the streets and having a home were two different things. He had always wanted a home, and home was where Aurora was.
Francesco watched his governess step from the van with assistance from a guard. The woman looked elegant and graceful. She took a couple of steps, then stopped and turned slightly towards him. The boy met her eyes as he exited the van; she would be watching and judging him. He needed to get through the night successfully to have a chance to see his mother again.
That would be easier said than done. The guests were all adults; it would be difficult for Francesco to mingle with the crowd. Half an hour after they had arrived, members of the Baggio family entered: his grandmother, aunts, and their daughters. The four girls were all older than him. Security accompanied the family as they made their way to the stage.
The first woman-girl pair was his aunt, Estefania, and her daughter, Bria. The second were Viviana and her daughter, Emilia. Third were Illaria and her twins, Isabella and Annabella. Francesco instantly recognised his aunt Caterina; next to her was his grandmother, Claudia. The only Baggios present were those in his grandfather's direct family. He'd have to wait until the family gathering to meet the rest. The women gave short speeches and invited their guests to enjoy themselves.
Francesco watched the women descend from the stage and mingle with the crowd, their daughters at their sides. He noted that apart from Bria, the eldest, his cousins looked bored with the party. But the boy couldn't take his eyes off his grandmother as she interacted with the guests. Aurora and Caterina were her spitting image. Claudia radiated a motherly aura that made him sad and nostalgic.
"Mr. Jordahl?" Some called over his shoulder.
Surprise was etched on the boy's face as he turned around. No one at this party should know him by that name.
"Selene!" The boy exclaimed.
Selene chuckled. "Hi."
"Hi."
"I'm surprised to see you here," she said, her eyes searching the crowd. "I didn't think Logan would be at this party..."
"He's at home." Francesco said with a practiced smile.
"Oh..." Selene smiled sadly at the boy. "You really do have his eyes." She brushed her fingers along his temple. "It's good to see you again."
"And you. You look fantastic. I'd rate you as the most beautiful woman among the guests."
"You flatter me." Selene laughed.
"I mean it."
The woman looked at the boy standing in front of her. "You've changed."
"Have I?"
"Yeah. You give off an air of superiority... Like your mother."
Francesco clenched his jaw and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Might be the party."
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"Selene. Selene." A man called hurriedly as he brushed past Francesco aggressively, pushing the boy aside.
"You're supposed to be at my side looking pretty, not mixing with— nuisances. Quickly, Caterina is coming this way; how do I look?" The man tugged at his jacket sleeves and straightened his collar.
Francesco watched as Selene smoothed the man's jacket. Despite the smile on her face, she looked devoid of life.
"I don't know what idiot brings a child to the most exclusive Baggio party of the year." He scowled at Francesco. "Your parents can't afford a sitter?" He mocked.
"Leave him," Selene whispered.
The man pushed Selene's hands away in annoyance. "This is no place for a child. I had to claw my way in here while this child is roaming like it's a mall. He isn't even a Baggio; otherwise, I'd happily kiss his ass."
The man looked around the room, then grabbed Selene's arm. "Come on."
Selene winced as the bracelet dug into her flesh. She pulled at his hand, trying to ease his grip.
"Selene, is this man a bother to you?" Francesco asked, staring seriously at the woman.
"Adam, it's okay."
"You're too arrogant for a kid." The man warned.
Francesco signalled a guard, then held his breath and slowly released it. "And you're too uncouth for this gathering. How'd you get in?" He said in a low tone.
The man pushed Francesco's shoulder with his free hand. "Listen here, boy. I make more than you will ever see in your lifetime! I've been in Baggio circles for over a decade! No one here would dare disrespect me. Who do you think you are?! You're a nobody."
The two squared each other. Suddenly, Francesco was pulled into a one-arm hug. "Hey." Caterina said, smiling down at him. She turned her attention to the man, gently letting go of the boy and putting herself between the two. "I was wondering who the brave nobody was, disturbing the party. Turns out it was you. What's your name again. Clifton? Clinton? Hilton?"
"Milton." The man supplied.
"Milton." Caterina said with a dry smile. "That's no way to talk to a child. You've no idea what he's done for us to appreciate him, like everyone else."
"Caterina—"
"I think you should go home." She beamed at him.
Three guards surrounded Selene and Milton.
"No,no. No need to ruin the woman's night. Just him." Caterina declared.
As the guards escorted Milton away, Adam's guard approached him. The boy watched with confusion. Why hadn't the security moved when he ordered? He clearly made eye contact with one of them.
"You're brave kid," Caterina said, turning around. Her eyes fell on his guard first. "Carletto?" Surprised to see her former guard with the boy, Caterina glared at him. After giving him a cold greeting, she walked away to make arrangements for Selene.
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"Who are you?"
Francesco looked at his grandfather, confused; he didn't understand the question.
"Who are you?" the man repeated.
"Francesco Baggio."
"No. You are Francesco. Outside of this house, you are a nobody. Power depends on your environment. A king can only be a king in his kingdom. Everywhere else, those who know you will be your shield. In this house, you are a Baggio; the rest are your servants. That is why you could move the stylist. At the party, save Carlo; who knew you?"
Francesco replayed his encounter with the stylist, his mother and the reporter, and the first time he met Nicholas. Those occurrences were different from what he tried to do at the party last night.
"I admire your fire. You truly are Aurora's son."
Francesco watched his grandfather leave, his warning and words of wisdom echoing in the boy's mind.
A king can only be a king in his kingdom. Everywhere else, those who know you will be your shield.
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