CHAPTER 8

OLIVIA.

I got dressed, made up, and perfumed. I left the house at the appointed time to arrive on time. I was too excited—as I had never been before—for this meeting with Carl. I was so engined that I completely forgot to call the restaurant and reserve a table.

On my way home from work, I was imagining the idea of reserving one of the farthest and most private tables in the place. I wanted to return to the enjoyment that he provoked in me the time we met, where he enveloped me with his body, his hands, and his psyche in the middle of the restaurant, almost in front of everyone. I wanted to live again the risk of being seen, even if we were hiding.

I wanted so many things... The itch, the sensation caused by his flattery in the fragmented panorama of danger, that gloomy vision, that delicious nervousness. The truth is that I wanted him in La Napolitana because the place had already been baptized by our ways of living.

In the end, however, so much mist made me forget the reservation.

B