More murmuring. The guard’s tone is urgent now, almost pleading.
“I saidno.”
But even as he says it, his posture shifts. The refusal gives way to something else—his jaw working, his hand flexing at his side.
His eyes find mine. Just for a second. There’s a ghost of something in them he doesn’t want me to see. Something that makes my stomach drop.
“Violet.” He’s back at my side in three strides, hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face up. “I have to go.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” A lie. We both know it. “Stay in this room. Don’t leave for any reason. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Elio—”
He kisses me. Hard. Desperate. His fingers dig into my hip like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me.
“Stay,” he says against my mouth. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
One more kiss. Then he’s gone.
The door closes behind him. The lock engages with a soft click.
And just like that, the bubble shatters.
Time stretches differently without him.
I try to distract myself. First with sleep, then with the stack of books sitting atop his nightstand, some in languages I don’t speak. I pick up a worn copy of Dante’sInfernoin the original Italian and stare at the pages without seeing them.
The sheets still smell like him. Like us. I pull them around me like a shield and wait.
Hours pass. Four? Five? The sun climbs, peaks, then descends toward the sea.
Business, I tell myself.It’s business. He deals with things all the time. He’ll be back.
But the dread settles in my stomach anyway. Heavy. Cold. Growing with every minute that passes without the door opening.
I think about my confession.I like your mind, Elio.The way his expression cracked open, just for a second, before he covered it. The way he touched me afterward, like I’d given him something precious.
What if he doesn’t come back?
Stop it.I press the heels of my hands against my eyes.Stop being dramatic. He’s fine.
But the silence presses in. The room that felt like a sanctuary now feels like a tomb.
I get up. Find his shirt, a white button-down that smells like him, and pull it on. It hangs to mid-thigh, loose and soft.
The window draws me in. Terraced gardens spilling toward the sea. Palermo glittering in the distance. Somewhere out there, something is happening. Something that pulled him away from this room, from this bed, from me.
He’ll be back.
He has to come back.
I shower to kill time, then return to the window, watching for him.
Finally, there are footsteps in the corridor.
