Until I Wrote Him
“You’re already doomed.”
The wind stirs again, sharper this time. It tugs at India’s hair, undoing the last of the pins.
Her curls fall free, wild and radiant.
Fabiano breathes out a low, “Magnifica.”
I glare. “Keep your admiration verbal.”
He chuckles. “You wound me. I only speak the truth.”
India laughs. “You two are impossible.”
“Thank you,” I mutter again.
Fabiano raises his glass in salute. “Friends, whiskey, jealousy, beauty, la perfezione.”