Cold. So f*****g cold.
It's never this cold in Rome. I adjust the gold chain around my covered neck. Looking at myself in the mirror, my fingers trail down the cotton material of my black sleeveless turtleneck to the waist of my plain high waisted free suit pants. I pick up the long sleeved bolero short suit of the pants and slid my hands into it, feeling the suede fabric of the outfit. Helena is such an angel sometimes, the material warms me up a little and I'm thankful for it.
Do I need to put my hair in a ponytail? I hold it up behind me and stare at it through the mirror. Turning my face to the left and right, I'm unsure of how I should leave it— I share the soft creek of the door and my head whips back in an instant, my hair falling to my shoulder.
"The door was left open." A pa
