Zahara
Just you, Nera.
Massimo’s words ring in my head as I hurry along the dirt path toward the parking lot. My vision is so blurred by tears that I can barely see where I’m stepping. I lift my arm and brush the wetness away with my sleeve.
That bastard.
“Zara! Wait!” my sister calls after me.
I quicken my pace. I’m in no shape to talk with her now. The only thing I want to do is curl up in a dark corner and cry in peace.
My arms are still covered in goose bumps after coming face-to-face with Massimo for the first time. I didn’t expect him to be here. If I knew he was going to be at the funeral today, I would have put foundation. The rash on my face afterward would have been worth it. It might be stupid and vane, but I always saw myself wearing makeup whenever I imagined meeting him
