BLUEBELL MADONNA was on her phone talking to her father, and he knew how to eat out every neurons left on her brain, and she snapped her fingers to her driver keep focusing on the wheels not eavesdropping on the conversation she was having with him (although the conversation was in Italian). After a long time of traffic, she left the car, shutting the door strong, she sighs deeply, trying to recompose before enter on the restaurant. She removed her sunglasses, and greeted to one of the staff from the restaurant, which led her to a table reserved to her. She put her bag and glass on the chair next to her, and start to looking at her phone, while one of the waiter went to grab the menu for her. To her is rare to find a place who makes a decent Italian food, but this local is one of her favorites, and the food is always well made. Her emails was blasting of notification, and she was seeing each of them.