The father
~ Eleanora's POV ~ My father arrived on a Friday morning without calling first. I was upstairs when I heard the car on the gravel. I went to the window and looked down and saw him getting out — Lorenzo Caruso, in his good coat, the one he wore when he wanted to make an impression, holding a bag that suggested he had planned to stay at least one night. He looked up at the villa the way people look at things that are larger than they expected. Then he looked smaller than I had ever seen him. ~ * ~ I did not go down immediately. I stood at the window and watched Marco intercept him at the front steps — polite, firm, the way Marco handled everything. My father said something. Marco listened. My father said something else, gesturing slightly, the way he did when he was trying to be persu
- Writer
