Chiara
“He? Who is he?” Domenico rolled his wheelchair forward.
“Leonardo, of course! He sent me this picture, and then he was like…” Eleanor trailed off. “That’s not the topic. What do you mean, she’s your wife? How? You got married? No, no. It’s impossible. Don’t give me that excuse, Domenic.”
“I don’t think I owe you any explanation,” Domenico murmured. “Pack up that stuff on the table and give it back to her,” he added, pointing to the guards.
The guards walked to the table in sync and began packing up the shoes and other items on it.
“Domenic! Domenico! What has come over you? You’re returning my gifts, which you gladly accepted, because of her? You’re literally throwing away years of friendship because of that thing?” Eleanor spoke, her voice breaking and sounding hurt.
I rolle
