"Rosa? Are you having one of your attacks?"
My mother’s voice was too sharp, too laced with the hyper-vigilance of a woman who had spent thirteen years looking over her shoulder. She knew the exact cadence of my breathing when the walls started closing in.
I swallowed hard, forcing my throat to open, forcing my voice to sound smooth, light, and entirely unaffected by the ghost of the fire that had just been choking me. "No, Mom. I'm fine. Just a little tired. The pre-wedding dinner ran late, and it’s... it's a lot of people."
A heavy sigh traveled across the transatlantic line. "Good. Because when you told me you were going back there to help Adrian... my chest has been tight ever since. You don't belong in Italy, Rosa. You belong here, where it’s safe."
"I know," I whispered, looking
