Salvatore
I pass Milene, who’s setting the glasses down on the dresser next to the door, sit on the edge of the bed, and lean my crutches against the wall before sprawling out on the satin sheets. Milene pours the wine, then sways her hips as she moves toward the nightstand next to me and sets down my glass. Walking around the room, she sips the Sauvignon Blanc while checking out the space. I hope she likes it, because she’ll be spending every night here with me from now on.
“You really like art,” she comments, standing in front of a wide landscape painting on the wall facing the bed.
“Yes.”
“An expensive hobby.” She takes a sip of her wine and continues perusing the rest of the paintings.
I wonder how long she’ll keep on pretending we’re just going to chat. We both know how this will
