My head snapped up, and there she stood by the brick column to the right of the bar where the wall met an old arcade machine and a cracked mirror that reflected only half her body. The soft amber light slid over her flushed olive skin. Her long toffee-blonde hair fell over one shoulder, the strands dancing on her collarbone. Those pale grey with flecks of blue locked on mine, and I didn’t breathe because I didn’t want her to vanish.
“You drink too much,” her soft, hoarse voice threaded with the reprimand I used to hate yet love sternly.
I turned slightly, tilting my glass. “And you don’t drink enough. I hope you get to understand me.”
She smiled. A slow, ruinous curve that always meant I’d lost before I even touched her. “Understanding you would mean losing myself, Domenico. I was never
