““It is eerie and uncanny how Luca has the ability to read my mind. “Will you go back now to London, Violetta?” he asks, his black brows lifting, his expression concerned. “ Italia has not been good to you. Maybe you think you should go home, where these bad things do not happen.” “Do you want me to go?” I ask, feeling very insecure. I couldn’t blame him, I realize with huge sadness. We’re in a real mess. Perhaps the best thing would be for me to go away and never come back. Luca’s lips tighten into a hard line. Slowly, he shakes his head. “It’s hard to know what’s best,” he says. “But I do not want you to go.” “I don’t want to go either,” I say in a whisper. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out again. We stand there silent, because we don’t know what more to say. I realize that shadows are stretching across the terrace. The air is milder, an evening breeze blowing softly. There’s a rustling sound from the cypress trees in the garden below, and we look over to see the first few bats emerging from the branches, circling slowly in the darkening sky. I think we’re both grateful to have something else to concentrate on. We walk across the terrace and lean on the stone balustrade, elbows almost but not quite touching. And we watch the black shapes rise and fall, the red streaks of sunset fading from the sky, and a clear white curve of moon rising slowly behind the dark silhouettes of the trees.””
