At the Villa's guest wing, my suitcase sat untouched at the foot of the bed with its zipper still half-open from when I'd thrown things in earlier. The room was too big—high ceilings disappearing into shadow, dark wood floors polished until they reflected the faint moonlight coming through the windows. The king bed was draped in white sheets, pillows stacked perfectly, like no one had ever slept in it.
I stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around myself. The sundress still clung to my skin, wrinkled from yesterday, smelling faintly of whiskey and sweat. I hadn't unpacked. Hadn't showered. Hadn't even sat down since the young, quiet maid whose eyes always averted showed me in and left. Her footsteps had faded down the hall, soft and quick, like she didn't want to hang around.
