Over the past month, my team and I have been brainstorming for the Autobiography Tour. It's my second headlining arena show, so this has to be perfect. This tour needs to visually embody the album and me in every aspect—the production as a whole needs to be on point. I'm obviously playing some faves from the first album, and hardcore Eurovision fans will not be pleased if I don't tack "Un'ultima volta" onto the set list.

I've been stressing over everything since I'm such a perfectionist. We changed my Eurovision dress ten times and the staging, three times before settling on my dream vision for the song. We barely made a full dress rehearsal run through of the final product because everything constantly changed. If that doesn't scream crazy perfectionist, I don't know what does. You can imagine my relief knowing that Italy is one of the Big Five, which means I didn't have to perform for votes until the final. I drove my entire team completamente folle! (completely crazy)

Seeing the concept we created come alive was the best feeling; I'm sure the results will be mutual once I see what the team has cooked up for me. This show is supposed to be my autobiography, an inside scoop into my life and my journey.

Last month, we thought of every pivotal moment in my life that paved the way for where I currently am in my career. We thought of colors and symbolism—fairy tale pink immediately came to mind regarding my name. For my Italian and Persian background, red, white, and green was considered. I don't know how it will all piece together, but I'm eager to meet my team today to see the results and tweak everything to perfection...

Except I'm totally late and stuck in traffic because the fastest way to the venue is ironically through the busiest street in the city. I cannot be blamed for anything. I didn't plant the arena in one of the densest sections of Rome. It's also not my fault that my grandparents live in the country, twenty minutes away from the city. Yup, they totally can't put the blame on me.

I sigh, sink into my seat, and kick off my rose heels. There's no point in telling Francesco to drive faster. He's been my chauffeur since Eurovision. What's more, he's family. He'd rattle on in rapid Italian about my impatience and how everyone will wait for me; they won't go anywhere. Besides, he's six years older than me and can definitely kick my ass. Not that he would—he'd NEVER hit a girl—but he's still my superior even if he's the one driving me around and not the other way around.

There's no harm in trying...

"Do you know how long it'll take to PalaLottomatica?" I ask. "I don't want Giovanna or anyone else to worry. I think I should text Gi an estimate of how late we'll be. You know how she is. Since that Ariana Grande concert attack in Manchester, she's on edge about my whereabouts."

Francesco rolls his eyes and turns towards me. His light brown eyes regard me in annoyance. He totally thinks I'm being a diva; his look says it all. Gritted teeth, a glare that seethes, and a stronger grip on the wheel create a recipe for one pissed off cousin. I'm pretty sure he could care less about my celebrity since it's taken him to this level.

"Use your imagination, Reesa. I don't know," he answers in a surprisingly cool tone. He runs a hand through his short chestnut curls and sighs. "But if you really want to know what I think, tell her we might be there in a half hour. And tell her I'm sorry."

"Gotcha...ragazzo amante." (lover boy)

He lightly shoves my shoulder and I can't help but giggle. I always knew he had a thing for my manager, Giovanna Ferragni. Gi is the one who discovered me at fifteen. She saw my Youtube covers and was so impressed by what she saw, particularly my rendition of Mika's "Underwater" that Mika, himself saw. She shot me a DM on Twitter and the rest is history. At just twenty-seven, she's a young manager. Who knew she'd strike gold and an admirer when she found me?

We're moving along now, but still at a slower pace than I'd like. Since we'll be here for a while, I might as well turn on the radio. I reach over and push the button. Much to Francesco's horror and my delight, it's one of my songs. He stretches a hand out to switch stations, but I slap it away.

"Oh, come on!" he childishly whines. "Parisa, I listen you your songs enough as it i—"

"That was then/This is now. Before the end it all came down. Before the end/It all went down, down, down, down, down," I sing the chorus at the top of my lungs to annoy him. At least I'm on key.

"God, I can't wait for this stupid traffic to end so I don't have to hear your annoying voice forever."

   ♫                 ♫                   ♫

Precisely a half hour after I texted Gi, we finally arrive at PalaLottomatica. Frankly, I'm impressed at Francesco's accurate estimate. He told me we'd be tardy by that amount of time, and it's been a half hour on the dot! Maybe I'm underestimating his skills. He drives me around whenever I'm in Rome and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. It makes sense now.

"Is this your only Italian show?" he questions as he halts before security guards at the side of the building. The guards instantly recognize me and allow him to drive on through.

"Nope. I have one in Milan, then it's Paris. I can't wait for them to start already!" I respond, nearly squealing at the thought of being on stage again.

He shakes his head and chuckles. I can't help it—my excitement for this tour is uncontrollable! Even as I open the door, my hands shake. I have a strong urge to run inside to see the final product of the visuals. The suspense is killing me!

"Vai avanti!" Francesco shoos me away. "Have fun working so I can leave this damn vehicle." (Go on!)

"You love this 'damn vehicle,'" I tease, placing air quotations on the last two words. "You know you love being my chauffeur too. You're always up for it because you know Gi will be anywhere involving my music. You're using me to get to her, aren't ya?"

Francesco's face angers into a beet red color. He hastily points towards the exit and glares.

"Prendi il cazzo prima di farti lasciare," he threatens. I see someone is upset over nothing but a lighthearted joke. (Get the fuck out before I make you leave)

"Alright, alright! Sheesh, I'm going!" I concede, stepping out of the vehicle and grabbing my purse. Before shutting the door, I add "Ill give her your number. You're too chicken to ask for hers, so I'll be your wing woman."

Francesco drives off in a horrified and shocked state. He might have the upper hand in experience and physical strength, but he definitely can't match my brains. He teased me for my intellect growing up, but it can be advantageous at times. For example, I have bragging rights for knowing a host of Italian poems verbatim, something his father praises me for as a literature professor at the university. It's also hilarious when I speak about a topic completely out of his element.

I swiftly approach PalaLottomatica in an awe of grandeur, sizing it up and letting everything sink in. Legends have played at this venue, from Iron Maiden to Paul McCartney, and the Spice Girls to Carlos Santana. I can't believe I have the privilege of sharing the same stage as artists of their caliber! Although it's not the biggest arena in the country, it's one of the most historic. I'm honored to open the Autobiography World Tour at this venue.

"To think a girl like you would go from Youtube covers to Eurovision, to this!" I extol. "You've really outdone yourself, Parisa. Gi took a chance on you three years ago. You were merely a mediocre Youtuber far from the likes of the Biebs or Charlie Puth. You weren't even done recording the first album wh—"

"I suggested you enter Eurovision and this beautiful country chose your song to represent them?" someone chimes in. "Italy gambled on you just like me, Parisa. You stunned the continent with your gorgeous ballad and won their hearts. You were literally the most unknown contestant that year! Nobody knew you from a singing competition and your channel had a sizable audience, but you never went viral. Now look at you! I could cry because I'm so proud of what you've accomplished over the last few years."

Giovanna leans against the door and smiles. Her medium-length strawberry blonde hair is styled into beachy waves while dungarees and a white tee pair with classic black Vans. If I knew any better, I'd say she's going for surfer girl chic with a dash of country.

I would not be able to pull that off. I'd look childish since I'm petite, but Giovanna is model material. As a woman who could easily pass for a middle schooler, there are certain hairstyles and trends I can never wear. You won't see me in anything but heels unless I'm exercising; I don't even wear flip flops! Don't get me started on my skin tone. That can be equally problematic because it's an odd off-tan color.

"Your timing is impeccable," she mentions. "I thought you'd be here later. "You're usually terrible at tracking time!"

"Francesco's the time lord, not me," I giggle. "Did you know he has a major crush on you?"

"No...but do tell on our way. You need to see everything now!"

"Is it horrible?" I worriedly wonder. My worst fear is completely hating it and starting everything from scratch. We don't have time for that when the show opens in five days.

"I guarantee you'll love it, Par. Andiamo!" (Let's go!)

Giovanna grabs my arm and pulls me inside the building. During our walk to the heart of the arena where concerts and sporting events take place. I indulge her curiosity about Francesco. Unfortunately, the sentiment isn't as mutual as I hoped. Gi thinks he's attractive and has a great personality, but there's the whole "he's related to me" situation. She doesn't want to toy with our dynamic; it's perfect as is.

"What about you?" she asks. "You have an eye on anyone yet? What about the Bulgaria guy? I definitely recall you telling me you think he's cute. I know you do, Par."

"Kristian? Um, no. Yeah I think he's cute, but he wouldn't date me. Besides, he's seventeen!" I object.

"Sure he would!" Gi counters. She wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me towards her. "Firstly, it's only a two year difference and he'll be legal next year. Second, he thinks you're pretty and you have a killer voice. Eurovision stans will IMPLODE if you two date! Finally, you'd be the most diverse couple out there. You're both hapas and speak multiple languages. I'm all for it. I think everyone else will love this pairing, especially if you end up collabing. Your voices would go so well together, I swear."

I grumble as her rant continues. She knows I will NEVER agree to a PR relationship regardless of how much the guy's status can further catapult my career. Giovanna, on the other hand, thinks a relationship with Kristian Kostov wouldn't be like that since he isn't known outside of Europe and Australia. But I am. This is a world tour I'm about to embark on, which includes the States and Canada. I'd be doing him a massive favor if we date.

"You over think everything, Par. You like him and he likes you. I know my calculus, and it says you plus him equals us," she continues as we reach the entrance. "We hosted Eurovision last year because you won the damn thing in Stockholm. This year, you attended as a vlogger and alumnus. You interviewed Kristian the most. I saw sparks, Parisa. You can't deny it. You two were beaming when you were around each other!"

"I can't believe you just used 2Ge+her lyrics to justify your case!" I deride. "By the way, Kristian is nice to everyone. He was one of the first contestants to talk to me, and we just clicked. He's a naturally bubbly and positive person to be around."

"Who's a naturally bubbly and positive person to be around?" my creative director asks from seemingly nowhere. I didn't notice him until now.

"Parisa's soon-to-be boyfriend," Giovanna jests, giving me a cheeky wink. "You remember Kristian Kostov from Eurovision, right? Represented Bulgaria, pale, dark hair, about ye high and has an amazing voice. Hey, maybe he'll be at the Moscow show!"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. I was looking forward to today, but Gi is killing my vibe. Knowing her, she'll probably hijack my phone to send him a DM or contact his people in my steed so we can meet in Moscow. As my manager, she unfortunately has that power.

While those two plot my potential love life, I burst through the doors. Another second of Giovanna throwing Kristian's name around, and I'll lose it. He's a good guy, but I don't want anything forced on us, you know. I don't want a fake relationship; if something happens, it should happen organically.

My anger dissipates once my eyes feast the stage.

RasAm really out did himself with this one. I don't know how we'd incorporate pink with the red and green, but he made it work. I didn't even notice the tour posters hanging around, and those should have been my first hint! What I see on the screen is more than I bargained for, and the handful of props onstage are perfect. I'm geeking out and this is only a fraction of it!

I rush towards the stage and sit on its center as a slideshow of photos appear. I wanted this to be my most personal tour yet; I asked and now I'm receiving. I remember picking those photos for fun. I never thought they'd actually be used.

"You don't hate it, do you?" RasAm questions. "We have time to tweak it if you're not satisfied with everything."

"Are you kidding? This is amazing!" I exclaim. "Each third of the show should commemorate special events while also relating to the songs. I'm honestly floored righ now. I have no words! I need to see my costumes and everything put together now.

"You want a dress rehearsal already?" Giovanna wonders. "Isn't that pushing it? You haven't been fitted yet."

"Not exactly. I just want a run-through of the set list and visuals. We've worked so hard on envisioning this tour, guys. I have the choreo down; I want to see it all come to life. Can we do that?"

"Sure," Giovanna shrugs. "Let's tour your home for the next few days first and get something to eat. After that, we'll deal with business. Your fans are in for the concert of their lives, Par. they'll never forget this for as long as they live."

"Great! Indiziamo." (Let's get started.)

Giovanna links our arms together, and the countdown to opening night commences. Over the next four days, majority of my hours will be spent here. I won't leave this building until I am a hundred and ten percent with the entire show. Every song needs to be pitch perfect, every step of the choreo must be precise, and the visuals should be my aesthetic. So little time, so much to do. It's all for the sake of that one or two night(s) in each city to bring everyone together for their shared love of music.

A/N:

It's been nearly a month and the Eurovision bug hasn't left yet. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm writing this book differently from everything else with shorter chapters. I just hope it's not a disappointment. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far and Parisa. What do you think will happen next? See you in part three!