Luka is not going to answer my questions.
—Oh please... What else could I be doing instead of running? —he asks me when I come back from the street.
Shrugging my shoulders, I reply: —I don't know... You tell me.
Approaching the min-bar in the room, Luka picks up a bottle of cold water and drinks it. Sometimes I think I'm a little crazy because Luka came back to the room all sweaty and panting as if he had run a lot. But running all afternoon? I don't know if anyone can actually do that, I don't know if it's physically possible, especially in the Texas heat this time of year, it would be very strange to think that Luka had actually been running all this time.
Smiling softly, Luka comes up to me and kisses my forehead, saying: —Claire, I promise, I was just running, trust me.
I can only
