Elsa

The banquet is as boring as they got. Marcello keeps conversing with the men sitting at our table, discreetly stroking my thigh once in a while.

“I need to go to the other room,” he says. “Unfortunately, you may not participate in that conversation. I’ll leave you under Gabriele's care.” He kisses me on the forehead and leaves for the door, trailed by the other men.

My assistant materializes immediately, taking Marcello's chair.

“That woman in the red dress looks like a giant furball,” he says, and we both erupt in laughter, watching an elderly lady in a dress reminiscent of a Christmas tree decoration. “If not for those...