‘Nice, yes?’ he scoffed. ‘I’ve heard them complaining about her. She would not bow her head to their orders, have all sorts of people as friends, run away from important parties… A real brat, no doubt. I feel sorry for them.’

Dana and Tonya frowned at them, unconvinced. Everyone grimaced at his explanation, puzzled. Then remembered Alba’s unwillingness to demonstrate pain and her saying that “she hadn’t been brought up that way”. Maybe there was something else in both hers’ and Marina’s education that made them such mysterious, hard to read creatures, for some reason they couldn’t yet comprehend.

They set their minds on figuring it out until the end of that trip.

A street in Firenze

Marina, Jenny and Alba meandered for a few more minutes. A beautiful, stunning mansion soon came into view. It was painted white, four stories high and had a v-shaped roof, The front door was frighteningly large- wider than the Ferrers’- and golden. In its’ center stood a silver ring, which Alba rapped against the gold surface.

A sharp, clicked sound of high heels grew louder as it approached them, a dry, cold sound. It was followed by hollow boot steps. The teen made a face, recognized in her parents’ rushed paces the first signs of their anger.

‘Here goes nothing.’ The girl mumbled.

The door was opened by a bald, brown-eyed man who seemed to be in his fifties. His cheeks were swollen and beet red, a contrast to his pale skin. A chic tuxedo strained on his pot belly, buttons almost popping free. He was dressed to the nines and so was the woman who hung behind his broad back. Her blond hair stood in a complicated style, full of knots and curls. A scarlet silk dress hug her curves and trailed on the floor. Her cheeks were also flaming red. Her lifeless, icy-blue eyes scrutinized the three newcomers, plump lips screwing in a tight line as her gaze settled accusingly on Alba.

‘Where the hell have you been?!’ the woman yelled, furiously. ‘Do you know what time I is, young lady?’

‘A quarter to one. Ma’am.’ Jenny answered, already feeling a tad angry.

Marina looked reproachfully at the writer. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez, she was late because of me.’ The Italian confessed.