Intertwined
Here, the walls seem to press closer, paintings lit in warm pools of amber light, their subjects watching us with timeless eyes.
Renzo pauses beside a sculpture—marble, delicately carved into the form of a woman caught mid-turn, her expression lifted with eternal grace. He studies it for a moment, then leans near enough that his breath brushes the shell of my ear.
“She reminds me of you,” he whispers. “Untouchable. Perfect. And yet…I touch.” His hand settles firmly against my lower back, his thumb brushing lower, the promise of danger in his restraint.
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