The Genesis

ITALY, is a dream destination for many, holds a special place in the hearts of those who visit. Its captivating architecture continues to inspire awe, even upon repeated viewings. Renowned artworks never fail to leave visitors speechless. Couples choose it as their honeymoon destination, and tourists prioritize it on their travel bucket lists.

As for me, I turned Italy into my home.

At the tender age of ten, my family embarked on a trip to Italy, and like everyone else, I instantly fell in love with the country. I made a solemn promise to myself that once I turned eighteen, I would move here. True to my word, on my eighteenth birthday, I bid farewell to my hometown and set foot in Italy. During the eight years leading up to my move, I made extensive preparations. I learned Italian, although it seemed unnecessary as most people I encountered spoke English. I carefully planned which college to attend and where I would live. Saving up the required funds proved challenging, but luckily my parents offered to cover my college expenses, which eased the financial burden. In the end, all the effort was worthwhile. Now, at the age of twenty-four, I am the proud owner of a flourishing florist business. Flowers have always been a passion of mine, with their vibrant colors and sweet fragrance never failing to uplift my spirits. When I was younger, my grandmother had an expansive garden where she taught me all about flowers. Opening my own flower shop feels like a way to keep her memory close. "Good morning. Isn't it a beautiful day today?" Gio, the cafe's owner, greets me from behind the counter as I step inside. "Certainly is," I reply, a smile forming on my face, and grab my cup of coffee from the counter. Despite my protests, Gio insists on having my coffee ready every morning. I bid him farewell and swiftly leave the café, just as quick as my arrival. The early morning atmosphere in Italy transports you to a different realm. The streets are less crowded with tourists, and the sun peeks over the horizon, painting the clouds in hues of tangerine orange and bubble-gum pink. Every aspect of Italy mesmerizes me, from the quaint local shops to the world-famous Pantheon. While I reside in Venice, I occasionally venture to Rome and Florence. If it were possible, I would live in all three places. However, I have my sights set on Sorrento as my future home once I conclude my floral business. There's something about that city that makes me feel truly at home, whether it's the charming colored buildings or the crystal-clear waters—I can't quite put my finger on it. Today, like any other day in Venice, Italy, I wake up early to prepare for work, although I'm lacking the usual motivation. Nonetheless, it's Friday, so I can't complain. Passersby on the street greet me with smiles and kind words, as if we've known each other our entire lives. Although some people are friendly, there are always a few individuals rushing past, completely oblivious to the captivating scenery. Their minds revolve solely around work and money.

Yet, flowers never fail to add that extra pep in my step. Their delightful scent and vibrant hues infuse me with a rush of serotonin. The exterior of my shop, named 'Laura's Flowers', is adorned with blooms of various colors, as if they are welcoming visitors into a world of beauty and enchantment—a prelude to the wonders that lie inside. Sex, money, gambling—a casino in the French countryside. Two influential families that conceal imperfections. What could possibly go wrong? "Morning, boss," Alex greets me as I approach the front desk, a warm smile on his face, with a hint of a mid-life crisis lurking behind his eyes. "You're here early," I remark, raising an eyebrow. This early arrival is uncharacteristic of him. Alex was one of my first hires when I opened my business, and over the past two years, we've become best friends. Originally from England, he relocated to Italy in search of a fresh start after his heartbreak with a high school sweetheart. It appears that starting anew worked wonders, as he now radiates a sunny disposition even on the gloomiest days. "I thought I'd come help you get ready today," he says with a smile, but I'm skeptical, handing him my coffee, surprised when he declines. This behavior is entirely out of character for him. He sighs, setting down the papers he was holding and resting his head in his hands. "I've met someone," he confesses, his head still cradled. "Alex, that's fantastic!" I reply, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Why do you seem sad?" "Is it too soon?" he asks, raising his head to meet my gaze. Considering my own experiences, having only been in one serious relationship that ended in heartbreak, I harbor a certain apprehension about falling in love. Love is a bewildering entity that can either result in heartache or lead you to the one. At this point, I'm uncertain if I ever want to deal with love again, especially when I haven't completely moved on from my past relationship. "How do you feel when you look at her?"

"Him," he corrects me, and I nod, recalling that Alex is bisexual.

"Okay. How do you feel when you look at him?" I inquire further.

"Like I'm on top of the world," Alex chuckles softly, a blush tinting his cheeks. "His name is Evan." From the way he says Evan's name, I can tell Alex is smitten. The look on his face and the glazed expression in his eyes provide the answer he seeks. "Go for it, babe," I playfully nudge him with my hip. He laughs and shakes his head before picking up the stack of papers he had set aside. "I have to meet him soon," I add, taking a seat at my desk and toying with a stray flower that found its way near my keyboard. "Well, he invited me to an art exhibition tonight. One of his friends is the artist," I glance over at Alex, urging him to continue. "You should come. It starts at nine tonight." Since moving here and opening my business, I've been overwhelmed with work. One might assume that running a flower shop is simple, but it's far more challenging than expected. Every day, hundreds of flowers arrive, and numerous customers purchase them. I must ensure each flower is adequately watered and arranged to perfection. Taking a break for the evening would do me good. "Sure, I'll go," I make up my mind, eliciting a warm smile from Alex.

An evening involving wine and light conversation sounds absolutely perfect.

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Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was already six o'clock, leaving me with only three hours to prepare for the art exhibition. Due to my busy schedule, I had only attended a few art exhibitions in the past, although I found art intriguing. Each person perceived art differently, and everyone had their own interpretation of it. Only the artist truly knew its intended meaning, allowing others to form their own opinions. While I couldn't claim expertise in art, my father happened to be an artist. Not only that, he was also an art professor who dedicated his life to inspiring aspiring artists to pursue their dreams, just as he had done. It had worked out well for him, as he eventually captured the attention of my mother. Their love story was a tale I cherished, and I loved hearing it whenever it was brought up. As the clock neared nine, I made my way on foot to the art exhibition since it was only two blocks away. My navy blue dress elegantly brushed the ground as I walked, accompanied by the click of my black heels on the sidewalk, the sound echoing through the street. A few couples strolled hand in hand along the sidewalk, engaged in whispered conversations. Alex awaited me outside the small building, and upon seeing me, he chuckled and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Well, don't you look stunning," he remarked, teasingly adding, "That low v-neck gives you a bit of a scandalous look." I playfully swatted him away. "Where's Evan?" I eagerly inquired, my eyes searching for him beyond the open door. "He's inside," he replied with a smile. "Come on, let's go." I took his hand, and he led me into the crowded room, guiding me through the throngs of people. I hadn't realized there would be so many attendees and wondered if the artist was quite famous. Alex finally stopped when we reached the back of the building, and there, I spotted a slightly shorter man with blue eyes, his smile warming my heart. "You must be Evan," I greeted him with a smile, extending my hand for a shake. "And you must be Laura. Pleased to meet you," he replied, his thick accent carrying through the crowded room as he shook my hand. "You're even lovelier than Alex described." "You're even more handsome than Alex described. I guess he's not good with details," I chuckled, nudging Alex with my elbow.

A waiter passed by, offering glasses of champagne, and I accepted one, taking a small sip and widening my eyes in delight. "This is the best champagne I've ever had." "Evan always insists on having the best," he chuckled, and my heart seemed to flutter at the mention of his name. "Is he the artist?"

"Indeed, he is. Why don't you take a look around, and we'll catch up later. The paintings convey different emotions, by the way," he added, nodding towards the artwork. Taking his advice, I began to explore the gallery, studying each painting with genuine interest.

Most of the paintings featured models, captured in a way that resembled photographs. Each model had a unique appearance, their beauty distinct from one another. None of them looked alike, and each painting seemed to convey a different emotion. It wasn't just emotions like sadness or anger but rather more nuanced feelings like lust or jealousy. Each piece intrigued me more than the last, pulling me deeper into contemplation as I tried to identify the emotion portrayed. The colors used were soft and almost creamy, evoking a sense of peace, while the expressions on the models' faces truly conveyed the intended emotion. The paintings appeared delicately executed, as if the artist had invested significant time and effort into each one. It seemed that the artist shared a personal connection with the models, and one model with curly black hair and soft ebony skin appeared most frequently, making me wonder if this was the artist's muse. Lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize someone had approached me until their presence pulled me back to reality. "Do you like them?" the person asked, causing me to snap out of my reverie.

The person standing beside me immediately took my breath away. I couldn't tell if it was the way their neatly framed brown hair complemented their tanned, tattooed skin or their radiant beauty that made me feel as if I were underwater. Their rolled-up sleeves revealed tattoos on their biceps, hinting at toughness, yet their facial features exuded gentleness. It was as if a painting had come to life, existing in the real world instead of on a canvas. Words were insufficient to describe their beauty, leaving me speechless. Their green eyes seemed to delve into my soul, observing my every move and scanning my body, leaving me with a weight on my chest. A small smile formed on their lips as they looked at me, tilting their head slightly. "Did you hear what I said?" Their accent resonated in my ears as their lips moved. "Sorry, what?" I managed to say, still captivated by the person standing before me. Their smile widened, accompanied by a soft laugh, as they moved a bit closer. "I asked if you liked the paintings."

"Like what?" My mind was blank, overwhelmed by their presence.

"The paintings," they replied, shifting their attention to the artwork on the wall.

"Oh, those," I breathed out, feeling foolish. "I love them. They're so captivating. I'd love to meet the artist. It seems like they put immense effort and thought into each piece, effectively conveying emotions. I feel like I could gaze at them for days just to grasp their full meaning." Their smile grew as they turned their gaze back to me, revealing a dimple on their cheek. "Well, you're in luck."

"How so?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

"I'm Bradley Grey. The artist."