“They’re calledfrittelle.They’re special.”
“One word, raisins.The tiramisu was far superior.”
“Heathen,” he muttered.
I shot him a glare.“Anyway, I went to the museum Allie had on the schedule, boring.Then the costume shop.That was fun.”
“That dress was scandalous.”
“You loved it.”I smiled, remembering how it came off.
He didn’t argue.
“Then drinking in the square and dinner… but I don’t remember you finding me.Just—” I drew my finger across my neck.A carnival scammer tried to take my picture as I drank the lemony aperitif.I told him to fuck off, creatively, of course.Then, one of the costumed harlequins shoved between us, sending the guy packing.He seemed charming.I thought it would be fun to stroll through the square because our costumes matched in color.It was a bit of a blur, the music, the laughter, the tourists snapping photos of everyone partying like it was the day before we’d all drop dead.
He grabbed my arm to steer me.I’d gotten used to this and let him lead.
Until the music dimmed and the lights were far away in the streets, not this dark place.
And just a few seconds later, a shadow moved across his throat, and a line of red blood spilled.
Then things went black.
Ringo’s jaw was tense.“You didn’t feel the knife he held to your ribs?”
I shook my head.“Maybe the corset was too thick.”
He nodded, hesitantly.“That’s probably right.”
“How’d you know?”
He shifted, straightening the sheets I’d tangled in my attempt to escape my nightmares.
“Tell me, please?”
“I knew because it would be what I’d do on a job.”His face was grim.
A noise escaped me.Whether it was acknowledgement or grief, I couldn’t tell.
I felt the urge to be completely, utterly honest with him.After all, he’d been honest with me.“I liked you better when you lied to me.”
12
Ringo
Saturday
Ellie pacedthe full length of the windows that wrapped around the eastern and southern sides of the building.Her call to Allie started calmly enough with catching up on her sister’s welfare, the extended vacation, her marriage to Mario, and then it shifted to her life, and Ellie’s replies grew shorter.
She was lying by omission.“There’s a gathering at the bar tonight.”The topic change was on the heels of mentioning she could see the lake from my rented flat.Nowhere in the conversation did she mention the break-in at the house or the horrific nightmares she suffered.Instead, she painted a rosy scene of her usual routine, now infected with my presence, because, and I quote, “He thinks he’s Firenze.”
I did not.Firenze couldn’t match my worst on his best day.And despite the little crush he nursed for Ellie, he still couldn’t tell the difference between her or her sister.That was a key detail.You can’t love someone and not be able to tell instantly whether they are their sister or not.It’s unnatural.
Except I didn’t love Ellie.I couldn’t.I was simply an excellent observer.
And I couldn’t stand getting woken at odd hours in the night and traversing the entirety of this apartment to console Ellie.That meant the expedient solution was to sleep next to her.It saved time and my sanity.
Maybe not the latter.Her scent was distracting.The way she swayed as she walked was distracting.Her smiles were as well.
