Dressed in all the paraphernalia someone packed into my suitcase—especially Siena's “something blue”—I find Lorenzo dressed in black, his chest exposed.
I don't even have time to feel remotely embarrassed because my curiosity is far greater.
The massive tattoo stretching across his chest, beginning at his collarbone, reaching part of his shoulder, and extending down toward his abdomen, torments me.
It's not the first time I've seen it.
And the skull at its center, with the dark hollows where its eyes should be, still seems to stare directly at me.
He's sitting at the edge of the bed, attentively watching my movements, and gestures for me to do the same.
I tighten the belt of my robe as if it could somehow save me from drowning.
He says nothing.
He simply waits.
I sit beside him an
