The memory won't leave me alone.
It's been haunting me since that damn song played on the radio this morning—some old Italian ballad my mother used to hum while braiding my hair. The melody unlocked something I'd buried so deep I'd almost convinced myself it never happened.
But it did happen. And now I can't unknow it.
I find Lorenzo in his study, bent over a stack of documents related to our Chicago trip. He's wearing reading glasses—something I've only seen a handful of times—and the sight of him like this, unguarded and focused, makes my chest tighten in a way I don't want to examine too closely.
He glances up when I enter, and something in my expression makes him set down his pen immediately.
"What's wrong?" His voice carries that edge of concern I'm still getting used to. Still l
