Aria
“Ethan, could you help me for a second?”
Tamara’s voice carried lightly from inside the villa.
We had just finished clearing the lunch table on the terrace. Ethan was stacking the empty plates while I gathered the glasses. The late afternoon light had softened into a warm glow, and the air felt calmer than it had earlier.
Ethan glanced toward the open sliding door.
“Sure,” he called back. “What do you need?”
“I think I cut my hand on something in the kitchen.”
There was a small laugh in her voice, almost embarrassed.
“Probably one of your fancy knives.”
Ethan wiped his hands on a towel and walked toward the door. “Let me see.”
I followed a moment later, carrying the glasses toward the sink.
The villa was quiet inside, the cool marble floors a relief after the warmth of the
