The next day I woke up, I felt like a better and stronger man. I showered my dark chestnut hair thoroughly and used some fruity girly shit that fratello wears. It smelled terrible but every dam day I hear the girls wooing over how nice he smells. It better work!
Thank god we Italians have good style or I'd be shit out of luck. I rummaged through my closet, pulling out every Gucci shirt and pair of Louis Vuitton pants I owed. I probably sound like a girl, but I admit that I changed a total of 23 times. But each time I changed, I changed for her. I changed because I thought I wasn't good enough for her. Once I decided on a white silk button down pair with fashionable black pants and a red blazer, I checked myself in the mirror. I had to admit, I looked fly. After an extra spritz of Axe, I strolled downstairs. Feliciano was in the kitchen, cooking 'morning' pasta for himself. Typical.
The doorbell rang suddenly after I ate my breakfast. Italy skipped to the door and opened it with a sing-songy voice. Just out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a tall blonde haired beauty enter my casa. Shit. My stomach was doing twists and flips. Both she and Italy took seats at the kitchen table with me. For once, Germany decided to sit across from me.
"My, You look handsome today, Romano." She smiled at me. This was no ordinary smile. Germany never smiled unless she really meant it. Her eyes twinkled as I weakly replied with "T-t-t-thanks. You look g-gorgeous."
It's a good think Italy is an idiot or this would be even more awkward.
I'm sure my face was as red as a tomato, but who could blame me! Just look at her…with her extra low cut shirt, unusually short shorts, and hey-is that makeup? What's going on?