The Cost of Wishes
Matteo caught glimpses of sparkling lakes between the thick foliage as the train picked up speed, blending it all to a green and brown blur. He caught Lydia’s sly glance. Without words, he knew she was silently commenting on his pink cheeks, his face flushed from Campari and a bit too much sun on their weekend. Deeply tanned, Lydia was too elegant to burn, too refined to redden after a cocktail. Matteo snuck a glance at her delicate hands, fingers for piano, for a subject of sculpture, a goddess, the gold wedding band glinting in the sun. Some days he still couldn’t believe she was his wife. Bashfully, he met the deep pools of her mahogany eyes. He blushed.
