Home alone again. I guess I should better start getting used to it.
The silence in the penthouse stretches, a heavy blanket woven with my own restless thoughts.
Lior has been gone since last night, a whirlwind of a kiss on my forehead and a promise to make it up to me later before he disappeared out the door.
“Business,” he’d said with that charming, slightly mysterious smile that usually melts away my worries.
But this time, the worry lingers.
The past two weeks replay in my mind, a series of disjointed images and unsettling whispers.
The weird packages, arriving in the dead of night, their contents unknown, quietly whisked away by Lior when he thought I was asleep.
The hushed phone calls in that rapid Italian, the words I couldn’t understand painting a backdrop of secrecy to
