Stefano rushes inside, carrying a white dress shirt in his hand, and offers it to Salvatore. Reluctantly, my husband finally releases his hold on me. He puts the shirt on, but when he tries to fasten the buttons, I move his hands away and take over.
“There’s no reasoning with him, Ilaria. He’s as stubborn as a mule,” I mumble as I move down through the buttons.
Only when I’m on the last one do I become aware of an eerie silence in the room. Nino and Stefano are frozen in place a few feet away, their eyes glued to my hands and the front of Salvatore’s shirt. On my other side, Ilaria’s clutching the box of antibiotics, staring at my hands in a similar fashion. I run my finger down the row of buttons on Salvatore’s shirt, wondering whether I’ve accidentally skipped a hole. I haven’t. Shakin
