The elevator doors slid open into the penthouse at half past eleven. The place was still lit up, music low, glasses scattered on every surface. Elio was sprawled on the sectional, shirt unbuttoned to his navel, a half-empty bottle of something amber dangling from his fingers.
“Where the hell have you two been?” he called, grinning. “We looked everywhere. Thought maybe you’d drowned in one of the pools.”
Lorenzo didn’t even slow. He just brushed past him with me in tow and dropped a soft kiss to my forehead. “You can go and take a rest now. I’ll just go out for a smoke.”
I nodded, giving him a tired smile. “I’m going to take a bath first then,” I said, and smiled at Elio, too.
But his gaze dropped to the black silk shirt I was wearing (Lorenzo’s, obviously), sleeves rolled a dozen times
